The Tazara

I am sitting here on a beach in Dar-es-Salaam, working on a school project with the lapping of the waves a rhythmic stimulant for rapidly evolving thoughts. However, should I need a break, a momentary thoughtful pause away from my laptop, there is another source of inspiration, distraction, sorry: a glowing sunrise from across the Indian Ocean!
For Simba school is soon forgotten and my camera tries to capture the full glory of Phobeus’ diurnal blessings upon us mere mortals. And as I try different angles, hoping innovation might make up for the limitations of my camera, the mind churns again and I recall how, when and why I got here far away from a Ndola that is somnambulantly getting through yet another August.
With a family steeped in the culture of the railways, albeit Indian, with a wife whose adventurousness is definitely not worthy of derailment by mere travel sickness, with a son who enjoys all forms of transport (but has a special affinity for Thomas the tank engine), with daily stimulants from the travel channel and with an innate spirit of intrepid adventure, Mr and Mrs and Master Renaux, accompanied by stand-by babysitter, Miss Renaux, decided to take the Tazara from Kapiri Mposhi to Dar-Es-Salaam.
My regular travel agent shrieked at my suggested itinerary, a former resident of Zambia gave me the thumbs down on Facebook and a present student suggested that I might be the only one on the train. Looking back, I smile at such universal misconception and disdain for Zambian infrastructure!
Yes, the toilets had no running water – even in first class, but there were staff at hand to ensure that there was always a bucketful around to do the job. In fact, our first class coupe – compartment on the Tazara – was spacious, clean and each berth was provided with two blankets, a sheet and a pillow. The mandatory bottle of mineral water that had been allocated to each berth did not pitch up, but that did not prevent us from sorting out or packed meals and readying ourselves for a long but comfortable journey. Yes, the train did shriek to halts and jerk to starts and it did give us some bouncy moments, but it also inspired little Calvin to come up with a ditty titled, “Bouncy, bouncy train.” It also offered us stunning views of undulating mountains and we even spotted giraffe, wildebeest, elephant and antelope as we chugged through the Selous game reserve in southern Tanzania. Yes, a forty-two hour journey eventually lasted forty-nine hours, thanks to a local strike in Mbeya, but we took that opportunity to chat to strangers from different corners of the world and to learn a bit of Swahili as well. The delay also meant I could digest another Safari or two before we entered the chaotic hustle and bustle of yet another commercial capital – and experience anarchy on the roads of Dar es Salaam.
But most of all the Tazara will also be an enjoyable memory because on it, we exchanged gifts and even ‘adorned’ our coupe on the occasion of our fourth wedding anniversary. And, no matter which corner of the world we might find ourselves many years from now, we can always say we had a truly interesting African adventure.