Arrival, Shock and Awe

                                         Day 1   Arrival, Shock and Awe

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 Wow we are in Africa.  When the hell can we go to bed? 
      It’s a long, long trip to the metropolis of Arusha, our first stop on the African Continent.  Door to door it's 30 hours.  The psychological trip is longer.
      In Miami we walked barefoot through long security lines, and body checks, hefted our luggage on to the x-ray table, and progressed into the airport's huge terminal. Glaringly lit, air-conditioned to an arctic chill with pine scented rest rooms and automatically flushing toilets, where drinkable if not desirable water gushed from the taps. Glittering shops selling gum, magazines, and luxury goods. Jean or suit clad travelers, dining, drinking or glued to lap tops as they wait to pull wheeled carry-ons down gently sloped ramps onto waiting planes.
      We deplaned in Kilimanjaro airport. Carried our luggage down the steep stairs leading to the tarmac and crossed a hundred feet of dark pavement into the  yellow lighting of the bare terminal where two custom inspectors waited in open kiosks. Discovered the rest rooms are outside, and we can use them only after customs. Showed our passports to an official, picked the rest of our luggage from the pile by the door.
       We found ourselves in the outer airport, a small room with a booth selling cigarettes and cokes closed in the corner, and a line of men waving  signs for the arrivals lucky enough to have pickup arrangements. Instantly,  pushy, insistent would-be porters engulfed us. 
     Everyone but arriving tourists is dark, faces in shades of brown, shades of black. Men and women dressed in bright cloth sari-like garments or uniforms. Men in khakis. No women in trousers.
       I pushed through the crowd and found a wooden hand-painted toilet sign indicating the way around the outside of the tiny terminal.  I cautiously moved that way, and asone looked at me  I crossed under the bare bulb of the outer foyer into the toilet. The smell lead the way. I saw three stalls, one a dirty sit-down toilet, the seat askew, the others porcelain lined holes in the floor, only one with a door.  A roll of toilet paper hung inside the entrance, but I preferred Kleenex. I find my many camping trips stand me (literally) in good stead and use the squatter standing up. 
      Returning I found our group, eleven with my husband Charlie and me, gathered near two six seater Toyota Land Cruisers. A few cabs and motercycle taxis still hoped for fares.
     We were welcomed by a round faced, brown man in Khakis still carrying a sign that proclaims our group identity,  Overseas Adventure Tours.  Another blacker and stockier man is loading luggage into the vehicles.  Everyone introduced themselves, and we said “I saw you on the plane. Where do you live?  Have you been to Africa before?” to each other, and did not listen to the answers.  Time enough tomorrow.
      We climb into the land rovers and rushed through what seems a tunnel of darkness over a two lane strip of paved but potholed highway for two hours.  Exhausted I slipped in and out of sleep, dreams and reality merging only to be jolted apart by a particularly rough bounce or sound of gravel hitting our sides as we skim by another vehicle on the narrow road.  It seems we are flying but a glance at the speedometer shows only 75 Km, about 45 miles per hour.
        We slowed as the road becomes crowded and turned down a rutted dirt track between kiosks and venders, some with dim lights illuminating their wares.  I realized that it is only about 9:30 here, although I was so tired.
        We stopped outside a fortress like gate. A man carrying a rifle and dressed in a military appearing uniform opened it a crack,  and he and another man peered out at us. seeing our guide, they opened the gate wide, and waved us though.  We found ourselves in a landscaped small world, quiet, spacious, where we are assigned to bungalows with screens and flush toilets, showers and faucets which produced water in abundance. But we are cautioned under no circumstances to imbibe this liquid, even to brush our teeth, Bottled water was provided.
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     We sleep for eight hours, secure in our mosquito netted beds, in our screened, guarded castles, and awake at 6:00 AM to bird calls and laughter from workers.


                                     Arusha, Tanzania Street Markets