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Dar es Salaam 12.10.2001
KM's covered NIL
Average Speed NIL
Quite a lot has happened in the last few days, I've been frantically running around trying to organize things, write articles, run a hand over a dive centre, organize a secret project, and take photographs. A lot of people have been really helpful. Some have not! Narinder has been his usual laconic self and almost driven me round the bend, but at the last minute he has come through with some incredible goodies. Stuart is in London buying tools that are unavailable in Africa. I also suspect he is sipping his last bitter before the trip, and Cisca is taking her parents around Tanzania. Sam is lost somewhere in internet free Estonia.
In Dar es Salaam Frank Machumu the Mechanic has been a star, and Pip from the High Commission has been a tolerant and kind host.
I was diving today, but I found time to write this anecdote. I hope you all enjoy it.
FUNNY STORY
I was desperate. I am often desperate. But this was different. The Weasel had arrived in Dar es Salaam and needed some working on. The vehicle had travelled empty because she was missing a window. I needed to ship all the expedition equipment to Dar, fix the vehicle, find somewhere to store the gear and sleep somewhere.
I decided to rang my friend in the British High Commission for some expert help.
"PIP, I need help" I wailed into the telephone.
"What sort of Help" She asked in a concerned professional manner?
"I need to stay for a few days"
"OK" She sounded less concerned.
"And I need to leave some stuff in your house"
"OK whatever" She replied even more casually.
"And I need to leave my huge stinking great Landrover at your house for 10 days"
"RAf! For this I need presents, one present from each country you go through. IS that clear!"
"Anything!!! I promise". I had to have somewhere safe to store my kit. Dar is no-where to leave your stuff un-attended in a vehicle.
"And dinner too"
"Alright !!!alright!!!!, oops my credit is up" and I turned off my phone.
The next day I boarded yet another rickety Cessna and flew back to Dar es Salaam. I took a taxi straight to the docks. Some things in Africa have not changed in centuries. Dar still has a Dhow Port. It is called "Majihazi" and it was here that the Weasel had arrived. I needed an agent, but domestic and east African break bulk Cargo is normally cleared by an employee of the importer. A foreigner, alone in the Dhow Port would be eaten alive, financially if not physically. I rapidly engaged the shipping agent as a customs clearing agent.
"Err Mr. Salum, you help me and I'll give you a small present at the end of all this"
"Ok no problem, come!" and he dragged me off to buy the relevant forms. Mr. Salum was an ethnic Arab spiv who drove a 450 cc motorbike inside the docks themselves. He zoomed me many miles from office to office. Along railroad tracks, past huge car compounds, oil terminals, fire stations and cranes we sped. Within two hours I was sitting in my truck at port gate no 2.
"This is not on the manifest," screamed the fat Auxiliary Policewoman pointing at the wooden food cupboards.
"No mama this is part of the truck" pleaded Mr. Salum,
"No it isn't" Howled the woman. She was near hysteria now and clearly after a small present. Mr. Salum looked at me in a crestfallen manner. His eyes told me that there was nothing he could do to sort this out. I was tired, dusty and covered in grease and grime that ports seem to generate. I had had enough.
"Oh don't be so bloody stupid woman" I barked in English "these are clearly attached to the vehicle and are for food." The policewoman looked taken aback, she was the bully here, not the grimy Landrover driver.
"Ok " She whispered and stamped my form. The assorted agents and drivers tittered with laughter. Someone had finally got one over on the big mama. I was fingerprinted one last time and allowed out if the gates and into Africa. Once again, the Weasel was back in business. I slept well that night!
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