One of my closest long-time friends is Daudi Kheri, now a respected financial guru in Dar es Salaam. I first met him at the then famous Mkwawa High School in Iringa in the early 1970s. Our friendship was cemented on the hockey field. I was a strong defence player in a game while he was a goalkeeper. But that is a story for another day.
We later joined university together at the institution popularly nicknamed “Manzese College” – the University of Dar es Salaam. Naturally, we parted ways after graduation, though we kept in touch, albeit infrequently.
The other day, after reading one of my articles about travels around the world, Kheri called. He was more interested in my misadventures and wondered why I had not yet written about my trip to Kigoma, his hometown. After all, I had narrated the experience to him before. Being a close friend, I now faithfully share the episode – one you may also enjoy.
It was the late 1970s. At the time, I was a young reporter with the government-owned Daily and Sunday News. One morning, my editor, Ulli Mwambulukutu, summoned me to his office and informed me that I had been assigned to cover the national Peasants’ Day celebrations in Kigoma.
I was reluctant and hinted as much. True to form, boss Mwambulukutu remained silent. But the following morning I was shocked to receive a memo spelling it out clearly: it was either Kigoma or no job. Naturally, I relented. A day or two later, I boarded an Air Tanzania Fokker Friendship flight to Kigoma via Tabora.
I had never been to Kigoma before. On arrival, I was almost stranded at the small airport as there was no public transport to town. The town itself was not even visible hidden behind a steep hill. Fortunately, someone from the Regional Commissioner’s office noticed my predicament and offered me a lift. I was to stay at the Railway Hotel but the officer strongly advised against it. Instead, he recommended the centrally located Lake Tanganyika Hotel managed by the well-known Maneno family.
After checking in, I crossed the street to the famous Kigodeco pub. There I had my first cultural shock. A maid ushered me in and asked, in an unfamiliar Lingala-influenced Swahili, “Unatoshee nini?” (What are you going to take?). Confused, I exchanged a few words with her until she realised, from my accent, that I was not from Kigoma. She then called out to the patrons: “Eee bandugu, mukuje mumuone huyu patrol kutoka fashi ya Tanganyika!” (Come and meet this fellow from Tanganyika).
This was baffling – I had assumed Kigomans were as Tanganyikan as anyone, living right on the shores of Lake Tanganyika itself. In time, though, my Swahili adapted, and I blended into the community.
I soon began touring villages to gather material for the Daily News Peasants’ Day supplement. At one village, after inspecting a vast maize farm, my driver and I grew hungry and asked for food at the only local eatery – a “village project,” as the authorities described it. To our surprise, the only available meal was a single boiled egg, which we shared.
Weeks turned into a month. By then, I had become one of the most recognisable visitors in Kigoma. The stories I filed appeared daily in the Daily News, and my presence was noted wherever I went. Even at the Magereza Pub, where the famous Kibisa Band performed, I would be compelled to sit on stage with the musicians. I had become something of a star.
Peasants’ Day came and went, but I lingered, enjoying Kigoma and its scenic surroundings. I was in no rush to return to Dar es Salaam. Then one afternoon, the staff at the Posts and Telecommunications office – where I regularly sent telex reports – called to say an urgent message had arrived. I was excited, hoping it might be my allowances.
I was wrong. The telex was from my editor. It read curtly: “Mr Danford! You either fly back immediately or you have no job.” The following day, after sampling a few Burundian lagers, I boarded the flight back to Dar es Salaam – tired but with fond memories of my Kigoma sojourn. To this day, I look forward to revisiting that beautiful Lake Tanganyika town.
