The places we stay

We are lead down a dark passage with evenly spaced wooden doors down the sides of the walls every three or four steps. All the silver padlocks are at different heights and hard to open. When ours eventually does we're met with a very discouraging sight, and begin to negotiate:

- Shingapi? (How much?)

- Pipteen sousand!

- But it's five thousand a room

- There three you... one, two, three (head nodding on each count)

- Yes but we want one room

- OK, make ten

- We can only do five

- OK, just add two, make seven

- Only five, if not we leave

- OK is fine

The room is a three metre turquoise cube with chip marks all over the walls, the roof is mouldy with water marks everywhere. There is a window guarded by matching burglar bars, something very rare in Africa. Silky purple curtains hang from a thread and flap through the missing window pain. It overlooks  a pool table where games of 'five ball' with made up rules are hotly contested till the early hours of the morning.

As we put our stuff down, a beer bottle belonging to the previous guest is slyly picked up as if it was never there. The floor is littered with burnt matches and flattened cigarette butts. The bed itself is still unmade from the night before, it's crinkled sheets covered by the standard blue mosquito net used all over Tanzania. In the corner is a white plastic chair and a blue lantern. The only other accessories are two wooden planks with four hooks in each for hanging clothes on. Sitting down on the spongey mattress my relaxation is short lived as my pants feel suddenly damp. Jumping up I smell beneath me; stale beer! We flip the bed knowing even “pive sousand" is a rip off.

The places we stay part 2: Rummy tummy

Lying, all three of us, on our flipped mattress we take turns running to the 'long-drop' toilet in between countless games of rummy - sickness has hit us hard at Lake Tanganyika. It all started when we arrived in Kipanga village where we planned on buying a wooden fishing boat the locals use to paddle further up the lake.

After a two hour starlit 'taxi ferry' to Kipanga we swear to never reach a place in the dark again. Although the trip itself is something I will never forget for the way the shocked locals warmly embraced us and our travel method, the area is so rural that there are literally no lights and you find yourself struggling to see even a metre ahead. Needless to say finding a place to stay is no easier, until the one “engris” speaker in the village is summoned to talk with us. The different translations and versions of our story make it feel like a kids game of 'broken down telephones' until we are eventually offered an empty room in a resturant amidst the confusion.

Although touched by the generous act of hospitality, I find myself sceptical as I know a spare room in Africa is something hard to come by. As we approach the entrance I can see through the door into a spotless white room and repremand myself for my own 'scepticality'. As I enter I change back to the 'old me' and immediately congratulate myself on my 'knowledge' of Africa. The room holds the most intense smell of fish my nostrils have ever encountered. Looking down on the floor I can see one or two small shrivelled up 'kapenta' (tiny fish) and realise we have been given the drying room to sleep in.

Finally knowing what Jonah must have felt like in the whales belly I settle down thinking that if he survived so will I. As I fall asleep my stomach rumbles and I pass it off as hunger or an effect of the terrible smell that hangs over the room so intensely. Midway through the night I am woken by the sound of the tent zip opening and assume robs has given in to the pull of his bladder. Lying in the dark, my own stomach still going crazy, I hear the distant sound of vomiting and fall back to sleep knowing I better cash in as my turn will be up soon.

In the morning we put on a brave face trying to look as grateful and unruffled as possible. We sit in the shade as close to the 'long drop' as possible and graciously deal with the audience of about thirty children and twenty adults fascinated by our every move.

Despite initially being met with tears and an about turn, the children's confidence has grown with time and the circle of little bodies draws closer and closer. I see one boy in the corner of my eye that seems especially intreuged by the three 'mzungus' in his village. As if drawn by an uncontrolable desire, I watch him reach out his hand to quickly touch my knee. After a successful first landing he gently places his hand on my knee again and sheepishly smiles at me.

My smile back signals his success and cues the tiny mob to follow suit. Even in our depreciated state, the beauty of such a moment does not go unappreciated. Nevertheless, our fears of infecting this crowd of innocent children causes us to retreat to the safety of our turquoise sauna.  

Some pics of healthier times at the lake