I first set foot in Europe some 47 years ago this month — in 1979, to be precise. To make it even more remarkable, it was wintertime, bitterly cold and freezing at that. It is a long story.
At the time, I was in the employ of the government-owned newspapers, the Daily News and Sunday News, which I had joined two years earlier after college.
One morning, my then Managing Editor, Ulli Mwambulukutu, summoned me to his office and directed me to report to the office of the Minister of Information at the Azikiwe Building along Maktaba Street.
Thinking it was just another routine news assignment, I collected my notebook and pen and walked to the Minister’s office, then run by the late Hon. Joseph Rwegasira.
“Are you Danford from the Daily News?” asked the Minister’s Secretary. When I confirmed that I was, she handed me some forms and instructed me to go into the Ministry’s library and fill them in immediately.
To my astonishment, they were scholarship forms from what was then East Germany — or in its mother tongue, the Deutsche Demokratische Republik (DDR) — for a nine-month Diploma course in Journalism at the Berlin International Institute of Journalism. I was overwhelmed, to say the least.
To cut a long story short, a month later five young journalists from Bongoland — Salva Rweyemamu and the late Joshua Mufungo from the ruling party’s Uhuru na Mzalendo newspapers; Hassan Mitawi from Zanzibar TV; Said Nguba from Radio Tanzania; and yours truly — found ourselves boarding an Aeroflot flight from Dar es Salaam to East Berlin via Moscow.
After what felt like an eternity, we finally landed at Sheremetyevo International Airport in Moscow. It was around midnight.
Clad in our Dar es Salaam tropical attire, we were woefully ill-prepared for the wintry weather there. To make matters worse, our connecting flight to Berlin was scheduled for the following day.
We therefore had to spend the night at the airport, whose heating system was, to say the least, ineffective. We were left shivering to the bone as the piercing cold seemed to seep into our very marrow. With no alternative, we huddled together in one corner of the departure lounge, sharing the little warmth our bodies could generate.
It goes without saying that my maiden taste of Europe included what I would easily describe as the worst night of my life.
The following day, we flew to East Berlin, landing at Schönefeld International Airport, where our hosts were utterly shocked to see us still dressed in tropical clothing.
Instead of driving us straight to our college in Friedrichshagen, in the suburbs of Berlin, they hurried us to the nearest clothing store, where we were introduced to proper winter attire — heavy coats, gloves, boots, thick socks and balaclavas. We were to pay for the clothing later, once we began receiving our monthly allowances.
…More on college life next week.
