Lost luggage just the ticket in East Africa

Dar es Salaam – Kilimanjaro Airport is hot and humid when I arrive on the evening flight via Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar. It’s late and the airport is the only oasis of light in the inky blackness outside the frame of tarmac lights. However, that fickle airline god has deigned to give my luggage some frequent flyer miles without the hassle of travelling with me. It’s not like my luggage hasn’t been lost before, but my faith in its return is dropping faster than a barometer in a hurricane as I watch with fading amusement as the luggage guy shuffles around trying to find the key to the luggage office — not the best way to build confidence. Normally, I’d find this funny, but I’ve been flying for about 10 hours on a southern African milk run and I’m a little testy.

Finally, the key is located and the computer whirs up. It spits out a form, which the attendant hands across with an admonishment not to lose it, as “there’ll be no luggage without it.” Welcome to Tanzania, indeed.

The luggage area has emptied, leaving only me and a relaxed customs officer sitting behind a folding card table to the arrival area. He looks at me, asks no questions, and applies a few quick stamps to my well-travelled passport and nods his head at the sliding glass doors that deposit me officially inside the United Republic of Tanzania. I do a mental inventory of what’s in my lost bag — not too bad — mostly souvenirs from South Africa. I have enough clothes and toiletries in my carry-on for three days and then I can do laundry. I’ll be fine.

The promised driver and vehicle are still waiting with my name on a placard outside the arrival gates to deposit me at my hotel. The driver explains it’s a one-hour drive through the wilderness. There are no lights, the road is pockmarked and winding, and without even the reflected light on an animal’s eyes to pierce the blackness. I could be heading toward Arusha or into a lake — it’s too dark to tell.

The driver and guide speak softly in melodic Swahili but the quiet spell is broken when my head hits the roof as we plummet into a pothole I thought existed only in legend.

The desk clerk at the hotel in Arusha doesn’t seem happy to be disturbed when she’s finally located and the Second World War elevator seems even less sure it wants to go all the way to the fourth floor.

After a few minutes, I jury-rig the door to remain locked and gingerly settle into an African Idol TV show on a sagging bed with a massive mosquito net designed to cascade right to the floor; I pat my anti-malaria medication reassuringly.

Safari circuit
The next morning, my safari guide is astonished I’m travelling so lightly but nods knowingly when I tell him my luggage is acquiring air miles elsewhere in Africa. He assures me that the company will find it and deliver it to me.

The drive through Arusha is exactly what I thought Africa would be; still the ramshackle stores sponsored by Coco-Cola and Pepsi and the muddy, littered alleys and roads are a shock to the system. The poverty is everywhere but the people are dressed in immaculate clothing of vibrant hues and intricate designs. This sea of colour is set against the backdrop of mountains and rich red African earth…and, of course Pepsi signs.

Arusha is the middle of the safari circuit — between Lake Manyara, Olduvai Gorge, and the vast sweeping plains of the Serengeti.

It is a few hours drive to Lake Manyara on blissfully pothole free, smooth roads. Children run up to the car to sell trinkets or collect candy and run alongside to wave and smile hello. Their smiles infect me and I smile along with them.

A few yards inside Lake Manyara Park, a herd of elephants lumbers through the trees. Baboons curiously sit on the hood and look in. Just exactly who is here to see who?

A few miles further we confront a mother elephant nursing a calf. A beautiful, touching image, right? Well, it was — until the smell reached me!

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