{"id":1234,"date":"2003-10-27T23:00:00","date_gmt":"2003-10-27T23:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/globetrotters.co.uk\/newsletter\/2003\/10\/27\/travels-from-dar-es-salaam-by-beckystickland\/"},"modified":"2023-12-10T11:34:43","modified_gmt":"2023-12-10T11:34:43","slug":"travels-from-dar-es-salaam-by-beckystickland","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/globetrotters.co.uk\/newsletter\/travels-from-dar-es-salaam-by-beckystickland.html","title":{"rendered":"Travels from Dar-es-Salaam by Becky\nStickland"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Becky is a volunteer worker for Trade Aid and is working<br \/>\nin Mikindani, Southern Tanzania. This story is a true<br \/>\naccount of how she experienced a narrow escape and could<br \/>\nhave been seriously injured in a bus accident travelling<br \/>\nfrom Dar-es-Salaam to Mtwara in southern Tanzania &ndash;<br \/>\nbe warned!<\/p>\n<p>The bus looked typically African; old, battered, dirty<br \/>\nand rusting, with more luggage on top than was probably<br \/>\nsafe and as my brand new Chinese bike was strapped onto the<br \/>\nback I sensed then that this was going to be an interesting<br \/>\ntrip.<\/p>\n<p>I was privileged with a seat by the door where I got to<br \/>\nenjoy the flirtations of the bus boys, who always loiter in<br \/>\nthe doorway, climbing on top of the roof and jumping on and<br \/>\noff the bus at random intervals. For 12 hours we lumbered,<br \/>\ncreaked and bumped our way along and when the road<br \/>\nparticularly rutted we&rsquo;d suddenly lunge and tilt<br \/>\nprecariously in one direction and then realign ourselves as<br \/>\nthe bus swung the other way I scanned the looks on the<br \/>\nfaces of the other passengers to search whether I needed to<br \/>\nbe fearful and not an eyelid was raised. One passenger<br \/>\ncaught my look of concern as we swayed onwards and I felt<br \/>\nembarrassed that he&rsquo;d witnessed the fear of a<br \/>\n&lsquo;mzungu&rsquo; travelling aboard an African bus. From<br \/>\nthat moment on I decided I had no need for fear as if they<br \/>\nwere happy and this were normal then I should be too!<\/p>\n<p>When darkness fell we stopped off in a small village for<br \/>\na convenience stop. For some reason I will never be able to<br \/>\nunderstand at this stage of the journey I decided to move<br \/>\nand exchanged places with one of the bus boys so that I too<br \/>\ncould stand by the door and join in the degeneracy of the<br \/>\nbus boy humour! &lsquo;No I will not massage your<br \/>\nleg!&rsquo; &lsquo;No I will not marry you!&rsquo; &ndash;<br \/>\nI can&rsquo;t quite understand these men&rsquo;s<br \/>\nwillingness to marry someone they&rsquo;ve never even<br \/>\nspoken to, maybe there&rsquo;s hope for me yet! On the road<br \/>\nonce again it was approaching 8 pm and we were making our<br \/>\nway to the top of a very long, steep hill, travelling very<br \/>\nslowly as the engine roared and strained under our weight.<br \/>\nWe stopped for a second, I assumed to change gear and the<br \/>\nbus slipped backwards, maybe a dodgy handbrake or the<br \/>\ndriver not as proficient as myself at hill starts. A couple<br \/>\nof the bus boys jumped off to help but we continued moving<br \/>\nbackwards down the hill &ndash; I will never understand<br \/>\nwhat caused me to do what I did next and I didn&rsquo;t<br \/>\nknow I&rsquo;d done it until afterwards but some<br \/>\nsuper-instinct inside me alerted me in that instant I had<br \/>\nto get off that bus. A bizarre instinctive force urged me<br \/>\nas I threw myself off the steps of the moving bus.<\/p>\n<p><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"\/\/globetrotters.co.uk\/newsletter\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/pictures\/200310_image001.jpg\" alt=\" \" border=\"0\" align=\"right\">My immediate thoughts<br \/>\nafter landing flat on my face (not very Bond like I&rsquo;m<br \/>\nafraid!) was that I really had proved how idiotic a race we<br \/>\nBrits are! I assumed everyone had watched and would laugh<br \/>\non my cowering return. But it would appear that fate was<br \/>\nwith me that night and I will never doubt my instincts<br \/>\nagain. For as I stood and turned to look round the bus was<br \/>\ncontinuing to move backwards, rapidly gathering speed as it<br \/>\nheaded back down the hill and very obviously out of<br \/>\ncontrol. It all happened incredibly quickly and in the dark<br \/>\nI still am not certain of the chain of events, I just<br \/>\nremember hearing the crunching of the sand under the wheels<br \/>\nas they squeaked backwards and watched in amazement as the<br \/>\nbus bowled backwards gathering speed veering towards the<br \/>\nverge and onto the bank below. It was in that moment that I<br \/>\nknew there was nothing we could do but hope and pray as I<br \/>\nstood paralysed and helpless and watched as it creaked and<br \/>\nwobbled off the road, turned over onto its side and banged<br \/>\nto a halt as it slid down the bank, the brakes screeching<br \/>\nand flying up sparks as it finally came to rest.<\/p>\n<p>I approached the vehicle hesitatingly, legs wobbling<br \/>\nbeneath me expecting it to burst into flames. There were no<br \/>\nflames and I&rsquo;m sure there were screams and shouts but<br \/>\nI certainly didn&rsquo;t hear them at first as I just stood<br \/>\nand stared at the wreckage in the moonlight. One by one<br \/>\npeople started emerging out of windows and the victims made<br \/>\ntheir way towards the road. I wanted to help but<br \/>\ncouldn&rsquo;t cope with seeing mangled bodies and people<br \/>\ncrying out in pain knowing full well there was no hospitals<br \/>\nor emergency services within a four hour drive and knowing<br \/>\nthey would have to probably suffer in silence was more than<br \/>\nI could think about. There were women, children of all<br \/>\nages, pregnant women and families. I took the pastoral role<br \/>\nof helping people to the road and holding people as they<br \/>\ncame off the bus &ndash; I doubt my reassurances helped but<br \/>\nI had to do something. People kept on appearing and<br \/>\neventually I saw bags passed out, radios, loaves of bread,<br \/>\nindividual flip flops&hellip;.selfishly I thought about my<br \/>\nluggage and wandered over to have a look and there was my<br \/>\nbag, and the books that I&rsquo;d left at my feet on the<br \/>\nbus, and my football? I started asking whether anyone was<br \/>\nhurt.<\/p>\n<p>Not one person died nor one person was injured which I<br \/>\nstill cannot fathom. For that first twenty minutes we all<br \/>\nwandered around in the dark grabbing those who had sat near<br \/>\nus and hugging each other muttering murmurs of thanks. It<br \/>\nwas 8.30pm in the middle of the forest and hours away from<br \/>\nthe nearest town or help. Within an hour it seemed amazing<br \/>\nto me, that women were settling down their children to<br \/>\nsleep, campfires were lit and people sat talking, laughter<br \/>\nemerged and I couldn&rsquo;t help questioning whether<br \/>\nI&rsquo;d invented the whole accident. The scene was one of<br \/>\ncalm and order? It just pays witness to the hardship and<br \/>\npragmatism of these people as this was all taken calmly in<br \/>\none big stride. We tried to sleep on the dusty road, which<br \/>\nwas uncomfortable but warm by our fire.<\/p>\n<p>Activity recommenced at first light at 5.30am after an<br \/>\nhours sleep, unloading all of the luggage which had been on<br \/>\nthe roof of the bus. Bag by bag, piece by piece,<br \/>\nmattresses, pillows, bags, construction materials were<br \/>\nunloaded &ndash; my huge basket of shopping, intact. I was<br \/>\ntrying to ignore my worries of my bike which had I assumed<br \/>\nbecome mangled amongst the wreckage. However my brand new<br \/>\nbike was wheeled over to me still in one piece with just a<br \/>\nsmall scratch on the shiny bell to tell the tale. I was<br \/>\ncalled in to administer first aid, which involved giving<br \/>\nthe last few painkillers I could find, binding aching<br \/>\njoints and dabbing calamine lotion on anyone who had<br \/>\npain.<\/p>\n<p>We eventually left the roadside 18 hours later at 3pm<br \/>\nthe following afternoon, the remaining 40 of the passengers<br \/>\ncrammed in with all our luggage on the back of an open<br \/>\ntruck. When I alighted in Mikindani at midnight I was<br \/>\ngrateful to see the sandy track leading to my home and I<br \/>\npushed my new bike and its contents to the safety of Base<br \/>\nHouse.<\/p>\n<p>Although I was able to find humour in the fact that I<br \/>\nhad rolled from a moving bus and the fact that there really<br \/>\nis no transport comparable to that of the African Bus<br \/>\nJourney &ndash; it took a number of days to absorb what had<br \/>\nhappened. Only yesterday a bus from Dar-es-Salaam, on the<br \/>\nsame road, overturned and 18 people died on the spot.<br \/>\nEveryone here has a tale to tell relating to either family<br \/>\nor friends who have been involved in a road accident. Lucky<br \/>\ndoes not begin to describe the out come of this<br \/>\naccident.<\/p>\n<p>For more information on the work carried out by Trade<br \/>\nAid in Tanzania, see their website <b><a href=\"https:\/\/mikindani.com\/\">www.mikindani.com<\/a><\/b><\/p>\n<hr \/>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>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&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"css_class_manager_body_classes":"","css_class_manager_use_in_post_loop":false},"categories":[2,3],"tags":[64],"class_list":["post-1234","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-archive","category-main-article","tag-october-2003"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Travels from Dar-es-Salaam by Becky Stickland - eNewsletter<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/globetrotters.co.uk\/newsletter\/travels-from-dar-es-salaam-by-beckystickland.html\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Travels from Dar-es-Salaam by Becky Stickland - eNewsletter\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Becky is a volunteer worker for Trade Aid and is working in Mikindani, Southern Tanzania. 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