Becky is a volunteer worker for Trade Aid and is working
in Mikindani, Southern Tanzania. This story is a true
account of how she experienced a narrow escape and could
have been seriously injured in a bus accident travelling
from Dar-es-Salaam to Mtwara in southern Tanzania –
be warned!
The bus looked typically African; old, battered, dirty
and rusting, with more luggage on top than was probably
safe and as my brand new Chinese bike was strapped onto the
back I sensed then that this was going to be an interesting
trip.
I was privileged with a seat by the door where I got to
enjoy the flirtations of the bus boys, who always loiter in
the doorway, climbing on top of the roof and jumping on and
off the bus at random intervals. For 12 hours we lumbered,
creaked and bumped our way along and when the road
particularly rutted we’d suddenly lunge and tilt
precariously in one direction and then realign ourselves as
the bus swung the other way I scanned the looks on the
faces of the other passengers to search whether I needed to
be fearful and not an eyelid was raised. One passenger
caught my look of concern as we swayed onwards and I felt
embarrassed that he’d witnessed the fear of a
‘mzungu’ travelling aboard an African bus. From
that moment on I decided I had no need for fear as if they
were happy and this were normal then I should be too!
When darkness fell we stopped off in a small village for
a convenience stop. For some reason I will never be able to
understand at this stage of the journey I decided to move
and exchanged places with one of the bus boys so that I too
could stand by the door and join in the degeneracy of the
bus boy humour! ‘No I will not massage your
leg!’ ‘No I will not marry you!’ –
I can’t quite understand these men’s
willingness to marry someone they’ve never even
spoken to, maybe there’s hope for me yet! On the road
once again it was approaching 8 pm and we were making our
way to the top of a very long, steep hill, travelling very
slowly as the engine roared and strained under our weight.
We stopped for a second, I assumed to change gear and the
bus slipped backwards, maybe a dodgy handbrake or the
driver not as proficient as myself at hill starts. A couple
of the bus boys jumped off to help but we continued moving
backwards down the hill – I will never understand
what caused me to do what I did next and I didn’t
know I’d done it until afterwards but some
super-instinct inside me alerted me in that instant I had
to get off that bus. A bizarre instinctive force urged me
as I threw myself off the steps of the moving bus.
My immediate thoughts
after landing flat on my face (not very Bond like I’m
afraid!) was that I really had proved how idiotic a race we
Brits are! I assumed everyone had watched and would laugh
on my cowering return. But it would appear that fate was
with me that night and I will never doubt my instincts
again. For as I stood and turned to look round the bus was
continuing to move backwards, rapidly gathering speed as it
headed back down the hill and very obviously out of
control. It all happened incredibly quickly and in the dark
I still am not certain of the chain of events, I just
remember hearing the crunching of the sand under the wheels
as they squeaked backwards and watched in amazement as the
bus bowled backwards gathering speed veering towards the
verge and onto the bank below. It was in that moment that I
knew there was nothing we could do but hope and pray as I
stood paralysed and helpless and watched as it creaked and
wobbled off the road, turned over onto its side and banged
to a halt as it slid down the bank, the brakes screeching
and flying up sparks as it finally came to rest.
I approached the vehicle hesitatingly, legs wobbling
beneath me expecting it to burst into flames. There were no
flames and I’m sure there were screams and shouts but
I certainly didn’t hear them at first as I just stood
and stared at the wreckage in the moonlight. One by one
people started emerging out of windows and the victims made
their way towards the road. I wanted to help but
couldn’t cope with seeing mangled bodies and people
crying out in pain knowing full well there was no hospitals
or emergency services within a four hour drive and knowing
they would have to probably suffer in silence was more than
I could think about. There were women, children of all
ages, pregnant women and families. I took the pastoral role
of helping people to the road and holding people as they
came off the bus – I doubt my reassurances helped but
I had to do something. People kept on appearing and
eventually I saw bags passed out, radios, loaves of bread,
individual flip flops….selfishly I thought about my
luggage and wandered over to have a look and there was my
bag, and the books that I’d left at my feet on the
bus, and my football? I started asking whether anyone was
hurt.
Not one person died nor one person was injured which I
still cannot fathom. For that first twenty minutes we all
wandered around in the dark grabbing those who had sat near
us and hugging each other muttering murmurs of thanks. It
was 8.30pm in the middle of the forest and hours away from
the nearest town or help. Within an hour it seemed amazing
to me, that women were settling down their children to
sleep, campfires were lit and people sat talking, laughter
emerged and I couldn’t help questioning whether
I’d invented the whole accident. The scene was one of
calm and order? It just pays witness to the hardship and
pragmatism of these people as this was all taken calmly in
one big stride. We tried to sleep on the dusty road, which
was uncomfortable but warm by our fire.
Activity recommenced at first light at 5.30am after an
hours sleep, unloading all of the luggage which had been on
the roof of the bus. Bag by bag, piece by piece,
mattresses, pillows, bags, construction materials were
unloaded – my huge basket of shopping, intact. I was
trying to ignore my worries of my bike which had I assumed
become mangled amongst the wreckage. However my brand new
bike was wheeled over to me still in one piece with just a
small scratch on the shiny bell to tell the tale. I was
called in to administer first aid, which involved giving
the last few painkillers I could find, binding aching
joints and dabbing calamine lotion on anyone who had
pain.
We eventually left the roadside 18 hours later at 3pm
the following afternoon, the remaining 40 of the passengers
crammed in with all our luggage on the back of an open
truck. When I alighted in Mikindani at midnight I was
grateful to see the sandy track leading to my home and I
pushed my new bike and its contents to the safety of Base
House.
Although I was able to find humour in the fact that I
had rolled from a moving bus and the fact that there really
is no transport comparable to that of the African Bus
Journey – it took a number of days to absorb what had
happened. Only yesterday a bus from Dar-es-Salaam, on the
same road, overturned and 18 people died on the spot.
Everyone here has a tale to tell relating to either family
or friends who have been involved in a road accident. Lucky
does not begin to describe the out come of this
accident.
For more information on the work carried out by Trade
Aid in Tanzania, see their website www.mikindani.com
My immediate thoughts
after landing flat on my face (not very Bond like I’m
afraid!) was that I really had proved how idiotic a race we
Brits are! I assumed everyone had watched and would laugh
on my cowering return. But it would appear that fate was
with me that night and I will never doubt my instincts
again. For as I stood and turned to look round the bus was
continuing to move backwards, rapidly gathering speed as it
headed back down the hill and very obviously out of
control. It all happened incredibly quickly and in the dark
I still am not certain of the chain of events, I just
remember hearing the crunching of the sand under the wheels
as they squeaked backwards and watched in amazement as the
bus bowled backwards gathering speed veering towards the
verge and onto the bank below. It was in that moment that I
knew there was nothing we could do but hope and pray as I
stood paralysed and helpless and watched as it creaked and
wobbled off the road, turned over onto its side and banged
to a halt as it slid down the bank, the brakes screeching
and flying up sparks as it finally came to rest.