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I have the arms of Mr. Muscle, but not its smell. In this stage the arms were tried to the limit! The road, a part from the first 15 km, has everything a cyclist would not want to find, a confused orgy of sand, rocks, wet soil which lurks itself between the mud guard and the wheel, ‘cemented waves’ caused by tracked vehicles, pieces of rock emerging from the road surface, deviations and counter deviations to avoid the road the Chinese are building to Dodoma the political capital of Tanzania. Even the most immovable cellulite would run from any big bottom which tries this route. The road tends to be on a downhill, and having to brake to go down at 20km/h where you could have gone down at triple the speed was making it all more frustrating.
On the road I met a heterogeneous mix of people, Chinese, Masai and Tanzanians speaking a bit of Italian. With the Masai and the Chinese the communication problems are the same, neither speak English, the only difference is that the Masai are more pleasant, other than taller, blacker and more elegant. The Masai women I met today were wearing tones of blue and purple, white and yellow necklaces, with white sandals and the ears with big holes but no earrings. Towards the evening the road was several times invaded by herds guarded by Masai men, dressed in the typical red dress, stick and dagger, but very far from the stereotyped Masai found in the hotels for musungus. A family of four generations of women wanted to take me for lunch at their village, they did not want me to photograph them because in the camera there is something magic! The older had the fine face of a good witch. Who speaks Italian has learnt it from the missionaries, they do not speak English but know Italian geography …
Even this morning I did not manage to start off when I would have wanted, at the guest house of the Neema Craft Centre in Iringa, a very interesting project for deaf and disable people which ranges from the production of handicrafts to physiotherapy passing through an excellent restaurant, breakfast was not ready and I have learnt that I cannot start without eating otherwise I hit a crisis after 20 km. Because of this I arrived with the dark which with the moon light and the white roads had its charm. But tomorrow I want to reach Dodoma with the sun still high.
More or less from the hundredth kilometer to ten before the end I was accompanied by Ali, a Muslim who told me not to worry because our father Adam is the same for us and for them, before bidding each other farewell he pointed a light in the distance from the dam of Mtera, built by Italians in the Seventies, and told me ‘God Bless’, without specifying which God he was referring to. It is nice to proceed with somebody, and having a light to follow. When I ask if there is a guest house or a hotel they only point me those they think would be acceptable for a white person, today I am in a guest house of which I do not know the name for 3$ in Mtera, the village risen around the dam and the biggest hydroelectric station in Tanzania. These Tanzanian guest houses have a dignity of their own they are quite clean and all have mosquito nets and light.
Tomorrow another 140 km up and down the gravel orgy!
Iringa S 7°77.00’ E 35°69.00’ – Mtera Dam S 7° 13.66’ E 35°98.77’
122 km