The other week, I had a chance meeting with a group of agricultural experts from Australia at the sprawling and magnificently manicured gardens of the Hillside Hotel, overlooking the panoramic Ruhuji waterfalls in Njombe town.
The Aussies – as people from that part of the world, or Down Under, as it is fondly called, are known – are very sociable. As we enjoyed the local lager beers, their favourite indulgence, they were astonished to learn that I had visited their country not once, but twice.
That is when I reminisced with them about my two sojourns to Australia, the first of which I narrate here today. The second will follow next week.
It was way back on 1 January 1984, when, very early in the morning, my then boss at the Tanzania Tourist Corporation (TTC), Amant Macha, and I landed at Sydney International Airport in Australia. At the time, I was Chief of Public Relations and Advertising, and Macha was the Director of Marketing at the TTC.
We had flown overnight from Narita International Airport in Tokyo, Japan, for an important official engagement in Sydney.
After the usual cumbersome airport procedures, we boarded a taxi from the airport – located some 8 kilometres from Sydney’s city centre – for a short drive to North Sydney, across the iconic Harbour Bridge, overlooking the spectacular Sydney Opera House.
On arrival in North Sydney, we checked into a small Ramada Hotel and, to alleviate our fatigue, took a morning nap.
Around noon, after a refreshing shower, we decided to scout the neighbourhood and perhaps find a local pub where we could sample the famous Aussie beer, Foster’s.
As we turned a street corner, a cream-coloured saloon car screeched to a halt a few metres in front of us. It was driven by a young black man. For a moment, I thought he might have been intrigued by the sight of two black men strolling through an almost entirely white suburb.
But lo and behold – the driver was none other than a former schoolmate of mine, the late Yasin Iddi. We had been together at Mkwawa High School more than 20 years earlier. Yasin had later moved to Australia to study electrical engineering and was now employed by Sydney’s largest power supply company.
He had spotted me from a distance and was curious as to what I was doing there on that New Year’s holiday. Apparently, he had gone out to buy drinks and snacks for a party at his home, which was to bring together several Tanzanians (or “Bongolanders”) and their friends living in the city.
Naturally, we joined in the celebrations that evening at Yasin’s residence. It was one of the most memorable, enjoyable, and jovial New Year functions I have ever attended.
Late that night, we were taken to a unique pub named The Convicts and the Converts. To be precise, the pub was divided into two sections: one for the “Convicts” and the other for the “Converts.”
The Convicts section was reserved for those who consumed a lot of alcohol, ate red meat, and smoked. The Converts section was set aside for vegetarians and teetotallers.
I was intrigued, but later learned that this arrangement had much to do with Australia’s colonial history. The early white settlers were British convicts deported to that land to begin new lives. Behind them came British priests, intent on “saving” the souls of the convicts and bringing them back to the ways of Christ.
Though rooted in history, the Aussies had found creative ways of keeping this story alive, one of which was through the pub. I loved the idea of indulging in beer and roast meats while still honouring that colonial past.
