Nyanza. 16th Septemeber 2025.

The ride to the border was easy enough and, once more, both countries shared the same building. Getting out of Rwanda was very quick and, best of all, nobody checked for those outstanding traffic fines. I was happy.
Getting into Tanzania took slightly longer and left my pocket $50 lighter. They asked for proof of Yellow Fever vaccination and were happy to accept my sixteen year old certificate. I was slightly nervous because when I first got it, back in 2009, it had to be renewed every ten years. But when I went back to do that they told me it was now for life.
There was a Forex and an ATM in the building so I was able to exchange my Rwandan Francs for Tanzanian Shillings and also draw more out from the ATM. Approx 3,300 to the GBP.
I’d read in the WhatsApp group that there would be someone in the car park happy to supply a SIM card and so it proved. It was all official and cost £15 for 26GB. Perfect.
“What were your plans for Tanzania, Geoff?”, I hear you ask. Well, at that point I didn’t really have any. My only objective was to get a reasonable distance away from the border and find a hotel.
One day, that road from the border will be really great. But on this day it was a horror story. They were building a new road but the old one ran alongside it and was as rough as guts, filled with trucks and coaches. A stony, rutted, dusty, fume laden nightmare. But what can a poor boy do? Just get on with it, is the answer. So I did.

Late in the afternoon I came to a town where I found a hotel, away from the dust and the grinding gears, with a cheap trucker café close by. Food. Bed. Rest. Welcome to Tanzania.
One of the problems with Tanzania is that there aren’t very many big towns and cities to go and explore. There’s lots of national parks though, but exploring them on a motorbike isn’t very easy. Much the same as the other African countries I’d visited. So I headed towards he town of Arusha which is a commonly used jumping off point for trips to the Serengeti NP and also to Mount Kilimanjaro. There are other parks in that area too.
But also the bike needed a service. Usefully, I managed to identify a bike shop en route where the pictures on Google maps made it look like it could do a job for me.
I pulled up outside the shop on the dirt forecourt and told one of the guys I needed an oil change. I’d hardly got off the bike before he was leaning underneath, aiming for the sump plug with a spanner. I got him to stop because I needed to know what oil they had in stock.
What I could see was very ordinary oil which didn’t meet the specifications my bike needed. But within a few minutes another guy had found a couple of litres that had those magic letters, JASO MA2 stamped on the side.

I gave them a new oil filter, the new brake pads I wanted them to fit and showed them that I had a foam air filter that needed washing in soap and water, not petrol. Then I stood back and let them get on with it. I could see they knew what they were doing. By the time they’d finished it was after 2pm so I decided to find a hotel rather than move on. The price of the oil was low as was the  labour. I was happy.
When you stay in cheap hotels that are clearly aimed more at local people than travellers, you never know what breakfast will be. You get what you’re given. I got a piece of chicken in broth, with a potato and a chapati. Plus tea, with no milk of course. After that I headed out of town.
I had originally planned to head up to a town called Mwanza, on the shores of Lake Victoria. But I changed my mind and decided to go to a much larger town called Arusha. It’s a significant place in modern Tanzanian history and is near to some national parks. So to that end I headed to Nzega.
A good road, apart from the last 30kms, which was all dirt. In a village near to Ngeza a guy spoke to me when I’d stopped to check the route. He was obviously Muslim and asked me whether I was Christian or Muslim. He seemed very puzzled when I said “neither”. But I didn’t have time for a philosophical discussion so I left him bemused.

I hadn’t intended to stop there but I needed an ATM. I found one and drew out some cash but there’s a limit of 400,000/-  About £120. I was heading to another ATM when I saw a car/bike wash. The bike was absolutely rotten with mud and dust so I got it cleaned up nicely. I didn’t take the panniers off as they were in just as bad a state as the bike. The lad did a good job, although I suspect I was charged a ‘tourist price’.
I was a little bit uncertain as to whether the guy who sold me the SIM card had really given me the 26GB he claimed to have, so I found a Vodacom shop and got my data checked. It was quite painless and the young woman was able to assure me he’d been honest.
I found a cup of coffee while I decided whether to move on or stay as it was now 3pm. The decision was to stay. The first place I tried wanted 100k. far too much. But I found a far cheaper one, with the help of a local guy, that was very good. Hot water and a restaurant with a bar. Just right.
After a few days of slow travelling, including a two day stopover at a place called Babita, I reached Arusha. The land I rode across was much drier. Lots of people, including men, were wearing native dress, Massai style. The main activity roadside seemed to be cattle and goat herding. I saw some very poor accommodation alongside the road. Shacks made from plastic tarpaulins etc. But not very much of that.

I went through some busy towns and they seemed to have discovered rumble strips and speed humps, albeit nothing too fierce.
I nearly got taken out by a donkey at one point. There was a cart being pulled by a couple of them and this one was on the other side of the road and decided to wander across it. I almost knocked his head off!
While in Babita I rode down to see the Kondoa Irangi Rock Paintings and that was a massive fail. Google had the wrong location. I turned down a dirt road and had some old geezer of a goat herd shouting at me. I went on down the road, couldn’t find anything and turned back. He shouted at me again!
Because I was short of petrol I went further on down the main road looking for a petrol station. There wasn’t one but I saw a sign for the rock paintings. I turned down a dirt road where I thought the sign was directing me and that turned out to be a really awful road with a surface that had big lumps of stone sticking out of it.
I went back and someone pointed out a building to me. That was the contact point for the rock paintings. The idea was that I paid them the entry fee then I’d follow a guide along that stony road, for 8 kms to get to where the paintings were. Nope!
There was no way in this world that I was going along that road for 8kms. OK, it might have improved but how could I know that? Even the persuasive powers of the nice young woman in the office wasn’t going to work. I told her I might come back next day then left.

On the way back a bus driver almost killed me. He was overtaking a truck on a blind bend. The truck driver flashed his lights to warn me but I’d seen him anyway and got onto the shoulder just in time. Wherever I go it’s almost always the bus drivers that want to take me out!
I’d booked a place in Arusha but simply could not find it. I wasn’t sure if it was in the main road or a parallel alleyway at the back. Riding and walking around revealed nothing. I had found a coffee shop so I indulged myself while I decided what to do. I couldn’t contact the owner as my phone wouldn’t make calls.
I had one more ride around, with no luck. I was parked tryng to figure it out when a guy approached and said hello and did I remember him? It turned out he worked at the border and was the guy who stamped my passport. What a coincidence. He was in Arusha to visit his family.
He helped me try to find the place and got another friend involved too. Then I had the idea of getting him to ring the apartment. We got hold of the guy and he said the apartment wasn’t available because of electrical problems.
He offered me another one and told my new friend, Alfred, where it was – 10 to 15 minutes away. Initially I said yes but then I changed my mind and asked Alfred to ring him back and tell him. I asked him to make sure he cancelled the booking so that I wasn’t charged for the cancellation.
Alfred said he knew of other hotels so we started walking down to where they were. It was taking a while so we got a taxi bike in the end.

It was 55k (£16) per night at the third place we tried. Good enough. I left my backpack in the room and we got the same bike to take us back to where I’d left mine. That cost me 10k, which I thought was a lot, and I gave 10k to Alfred as a thank you. Then he went and spoiled the good feelings I had for him by asking for money for his mother’s medical treatment. I said no, of course. It was such an obvious request for money for himself. He asked for 100k, then dropped it to 50k, then down to 30k. Bloody ridiculous. (10,000/- is £3.)
A couple of weeks before this I’d discovered that the collapsible, fold flat cup I carry in my backpack had begun to leak. I needed something to replace it with. Arusha is a launch point for several national parks, where travellers often camp. So I wasn’t too surprised to find a few outdoor/camping shops on Google.
Next morning I set to walk to the one that looked most likely. But on the way I stopped off at the Arusha Declaration Museum. Just nearby there’s a big pole with a symbol on the top, in the middle of the roundabout, commemorating the event.

The Arusha Declaration was President Nyere’s launching of a plan, in February 1967, to bring socialism and self reliance to Tanzania. It lasted about ten years but ultimately failed. The museum was opened on the 10th anniversary.
There was a very good display about Tanzania (Tanganyika) before and during colonisation. It was part of German East Africa until WW1, after which the Brits took over. There was lots to read and some good photos too.

It was a long walk up to the camping shop and they didn’t have a cup anyway. So I located another one, down past the hotel. The route took me by yesterday’s coffee shop so I called in to fortify myself for the 30 minute walk.
The other shop was supposed to be located down an alleyway off the main road but I couldn’t see it. However, there was a small market and one of the stalls sold plastic goods. On there was a plastic cup and, wondrously, a small funnel. An excellent find. I’d lost the one I used to have so I was happy to get a replacement.
I’d promised the young couple with the boat in Uganda that I’d send some money to help support their school project in their village. I passed a bank that had a Western Union desk and managed , after lots of rigmarole and fussing, to send them some dollars.

Another item I needed was a USB charger to go on the bike. The previous one had got rain in it. I walked to the bike shop I’d identified on Google. At the bike shop – guess what? He had a USB charger. It’s designed to be wired into the Chinese Kinglion bikes they sell but it would do.
He spoke good English and we had a great chat. He told me the price of the bike – 2,750,000. £820. That’s a hell of a lot of bike for that money. 150cc, with footboards for the rear passenger(s). He said the Boda Boda boys will buy one, often with cash, then slowly build up a rental fleet. And, as in Uganda, they all earn good money.

I asked him how much a cross town journey would be and he reckoned 7,500 to 10,000. So it seems that yesterday’s fare was reasonable after all.
Feeling smug after my successes, I headed back to the hotel then, fortunately before I’d got too far, the smugness disappeared when I realised I’d left my precious mug and funnel in the bank. I made my way back there and even more fortunately the security guy was able to go back in and get them, even though it was closed. Phew!
Arusha wasn’t very far from Mount Kilimajaro and I’d decided I wanted to ride around it, following a road that circled it. But to do it from Arusha would have meant a ride that was going to take too long. So I moved to a town 50kms closer to it and got a hotel there.
I decided to fit the USB charger, which all went well. While I was doing it I decided to check my brake lights. They didn’t work, neither via the front lever nor the rear pedal. Very odd. I thought it must be a bulb or a wiring fault but I didn’t have the time to fix it right then. So when I went out the next day I had no brake lights.
Was that the reason that some young idiot rode up the inside of me just as I was turning left and knocked me off the bike? Or was it because I forgot to indicate? I don’t know because he just sped off, so I couldn’t ask him about it.
A Tuk Tuk driver helped me pick the bike up and I straightened out the mirror etc, feeling very glad that I’d worn my protective gear. My knee and elbow got knocked, but only mildly.

The ride around the mountain was very enjoyable. About 30kms of it was a dirt road, which ran through woods and fields with all different types of crops under cultivation. Everything was lush and green. It was the same situation when I rejoined the asphalt road, but with plenty of villages as well.
I was now closer to the mountain, sitting on my right with its scarf of clouds just below its head. I kept passing up on opportunities to take a photo, thinking there’d be another one soon. But that didn’t happen and eventually the clouds closed in. None of the chances were all that good anyway. But it was a very enjoyable ride and there was a spiritual feeling to be so close to Africa’s giant.

Back at base I checked out the brake light issue and it wasn’t the case that it wasn’t working. I discovered that the light was actually on all the time, explaining why operating the levers did nothing.
What I worked out was that when I’d installed the lowered footrests and new brake lever I hadn’t adjusted the rear pedal properly, meaning that it was pulling down on the switch all the time. The brake light had been on constantly ever since Nairobi, three and a half months earlier. Oh dear! Thankfully, LED bulbs last a very long time and produce no heat.
I’d made a decision to head to Tanzania’s capital, Dar Es Salaam, then go to the Island of Zanzibar. I decided not to bother with going to any of the national parks, a decision I was later to regret. That route took me via the seaside town of Tanga. And the ride to there was a very strange one.
I rode along the R23, which goes to the Kenyan border, until I came to the turn off for Tanga. The road had been pretty busy, despite being a Sunday and I was glad to get off it.
I stopped for fuel and the bike didn’t want to start afterwards. The display was blank when I turned the key. That had happened a few days ago. I rolled the bike off the pump and tried bumping it. That woke it up again and it started.
This was a nice road, albeit with two sections of roadworks. The main feature was the huge numbers of sisal plants being grown in the fields. At first I wondered if they were pineapples, because the base of the plant looked like one. But I had doubts and later learned they were sisal.
There were hills to my left most of the way but on two or three occasions there were warnings of crosswinds and it was quite breezy. At one point I looked to my right and there was nothing on the horizon.

As I went on the dash lights started flashing again, probably related to them not being there in the service station. I came to a big-ish town and looked for a café. When I saw one I stopped to turn round and the engine stalled.
I got the tools out and tightened up the battery terminals. It was only the earth that wasn’t tight and that wasn’t by much.
And then things got to be very strange. Further down the road, on the approach to a roundabout, I came across a queue of stationary traffic. I rode past it, expecting to be stopped, but I was able to go round the roundabout and carry on.
But the road was empty and all entry points onto it had a copper or a soldier preventing traffic from joining the road. But none of them took the slightest bit of notice of me even though it was obvious I shouldn’t have been on the road. One of them even saluted me.
I was passed by some vehicles. A group of four, then of three, then around half a dozen individual ones. All had their 4 ways on or had blue/red lights flashing. And all of them in a hurry.
I saw a group pf people dressed in green, as if at a political rally. There were green flags in some places. People were lining the road too. Something was afoot!
I came in to Tanga and went to the hotel I’d tried to book the previous night. But they were full. He explained all the shenanigans on the road – the president was visiting. I’d guessed as much anyway. It also explained his full hotel. He rang around for me and located a place, but on the way to it I changed my mind.
I went onto booking.com and found a different place, far cheaper than the other one. Slightly further out of town but that didn’t matter. If I was going to be out of town anyway, I might as well do it cheaply.
It was run by a friendly woman. Her English was pretty good and she was chatty. It was gone 6pm when I arrived and she happily cooked me some food. That was just as well because there weren’t any outlets nearby.
Next morning I rode over to see the museum. It cost me 10k, which got me a guide. The building used to be the German governor’s residence and office. Sturdy but simple.

It was there I came to realise that the plants I’d thought were pineapples are actually sisal. It had been a huge industry in Tanzania since the late 19th century. It was started by a German who brought some shoots over from Mexico. Enough of them survived to start things off.
I’d already looked at most of the photos downstairs, which explained about how the sisal was turned into fibres from the leaves of the plant. Also the cottage industry of collecting seaweed. The guide showed me around upstairs, the displays being mostly about the buildings that the Germans had built and their design. The key features were verandas and balconies. He took me up into the lookout tower, facing out over the ocean. It was an interesting visit.

Then I tried to go to see the old German Hospital but wasn’t able to get there. All the roads going that way were blocked, presumably for the President’s visit.
I went and found a coffee shop but that was closed. However, there was a proper supermarket nearby so I pleased to be able to buy some fruit.
Defeated, I headed back to base via a very back roads route and had coffee and biscuits.

When I left next morning and got to the junction with the main road there was a copper there but he allowed me to turn right. But as I rode along there were people at every junction again, blocking traffic. I assumed the President would be heading back the same way later.
A couple of guys tried to get me to stop but I ignored them. But eventually one guy did it like he meant it so I pulled in. I asked him how long and he said 30 minutes and that the President had now left Tanga.
It turned out to be more like 20 minutes before a convoy of about 50 vehicles came past. One of them was green and I’m sure that Big Mamma was sitting in it.
As soon as it went past we were allowed to go. Trucks were pulling out of various places and getting in the way. I came to a roundabout where I turned left and there was a 2km queue of vehicles coming the other way.
I was following a car and we were getting held up by buses and some trucks coming past the queue on our side of the road. Selfish idiots.
The journey was OK after that. I stopped for petrol and coffee at about 1pm. I also had a Snickers. Heaven knows how old it was as the chocolate was quite crumbly, although the heat may have affected that.
A coachload of people arrived and I was impressed by how geared up the restaurant was for this, with lots of BBQ stuff available. I went to the loo and was amazed to see two rows of about 20 urinals. Very geared up! It was obviously a regular stop for the coaches.

It was straight forward riding until about 25km from the city. There were some hold ups and slow traffic, but a lot of it was due to road works. They seem to be building a fast track bus route up the middle of the road.
I found the place I’d booked easily enough and it was pretty good. The young woman who greeted me had pretty poor English and didn’t know how to take payment by card. She said to leave it until later. But it also meant I wasn’t able to ask about leaving the bike there. Booking had mentioned secure parking and I hoped to leave the bike while I went to Zanzibar. Vehicles weren’t allowed on the ferry.
I went to a BBQ restaurant, just around the corner, for tea. Chicken on a skewer with chips. They had some ice creams in a freezer so I had one of those too, the first for a very long time. All of it good and cheap.
After a very nice breakfast I saw the boss man to pay my bill, with an extra $1 because I used my card. I asked him about leaving my bike. No problem, but $2 per day. I didn’t have a problem with that. Then I went out for a ride.

The first place was the Askari Monument. Just a statue in the middle of the roundabout. It seems these guys fought with Britain during WW1, in the Carrier Corps.
Then I went to KKKT Azania Front Cathedral, a Lutheran church built in the late 19 century. Inside there was a nice altar to photo, but that was all. Two women were kneeling down in front of it, praying and chanting. I sat for a while.

Then the Kanisa Kuu Mt. Yosefu, a Catholic cathedral. A very nice looking building but it was closed.

I wanted to buy my ferry ticket for Zanzibar so I followed Google to the ferry terminal. But it was the wrong one. This ferry only crossed the inlet. I passed the fish market on the way, with its mega powerful stink.
When I got to the right place it was crowded with people but a guy helped me park next to the kerb. I went to the ticket office and bought a return ticket, and had to pay $5 extra to use my card. The return date was on the 10th but the guy said I could come back any time before then. Good enough.
A guy that was hanging around put his hi-vis waistcoat on and showed me where I needed to board. When I went back to the bike it was 2k to the ‘bike guard’ and 1k to the helper. I exchanged a grin with another guy standing near by at the nonsense of it all.
One thing I noticed in the city was that they already have a fast track bus lane, well used by the bikes, including me.
The next morning I made my way to the ferry. The events that followed will be along soon.