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With internet Wi-Fi in the bedroom, the shorts and socks which did not dry at all during the night, and the temptation to take a day off to see the match of Italy it was not easy, and possible, to leave at a dignified time the hotel for bored expatriates and yuppie Tanzanians where I was. Moreover the bicycle needed a minimum of maintenance and a wash before starting off. I could not find the Allen screws, and I emptied my panniers which are like the pockets of Eta Beta, and at the end I found them under the saddle. I had to withdraw but at all the ATMs there were queues with more than fifty people, I solved the problem by asking a petrol pump attendant supporter of Balotelli if he could exchange 50 dollars. I pumped the wheels, cleaned the chain and the gear at one of the many bicycles’ mechanics found along the road. Before bidding me farewell the petrol pump attendant told me: “But do you take any medicine to reach London?”
It is Sunday, there are many celebrations in the different churches and it seems to me that here the preachers have the same style of those seen on television, the tone of the TV-barkers, and the conviction that the word of God is better delivered with a hollow and powerful voice.
The gravel starts immediately after the Dodoma airport, the road is even worse than yesterday, the Chinese are building even here but the works are much more behind, in the first stretch there are no trees, hence no shade, but a lot of stones … later you enter a forest and you start going up, people and cars disappear. An animal similar to a weasel first and an antelope later cross my path, they are the first wild animals I spot, monkeys apart which I saw in Zambia, Malawi and Tanzania. A long and sudden downhill takes me to Haneti when it is still light, I decide to stay and try to do more kilometers tomorrow. At the school there is nobody, I find a dignified guest house without light and water, with the usual blue mosquito net and the oil lamps. At the restaurant furnished with the Pepsi Cola plastic chairs, I have to beg the Muslim female owner to serve me ugali (the usual white polenta called nsima in Zambia), I have already understood that when I eat rice the day after I struggle to pedal. While I wash my hands a guy wearing a Inter jersey greets me, we talk about football and Milan, when he realizes that I am Italian, he tells me there is a place where to see the match 50 meters from here! At the restaurant I meet Adam, the village policeman, and two of his friends, one of them is surfing the internet on his mobile looking for statistics on the protagonists of the final. Not bad to be in a place far from everywhere and without electricity! Waiting for the game we kill time talking about Africa, the salaries of policemen which are lower than in Zambia, and about Super Mario of whom they imitate the bodybuilder pose after the goal to Germany.
Adam takes us to the place where the game is shown on his car, it takes us longer to get on and off the old Nissan than to cover the distance to the small movie theatre of Haneti. There are a lot of people around the house, outside there is the petrol generator, hopefully there is enough even in case of extra time I think. Crossed the entrance door I realize that in the ‘hall’ there is no roof, between the benches for adults and the 21” TV about forty children and youngsters are sitting down, you pay 1000 shillings, they discuss of formations and for Italy the most mentioned names are Balotelli, Cassano, Di Natale and Diamanti. At kick off there must be more than 100 people, it is cold, and the almost full moon allows you to see the faces of your neighbors. They also talk about me, the musungu. I am surprised that everybody knows all the names of the football players. Adam told me that here the majority is Muslim, at the match there are followers of Allah who warm up in colorful Masai blankets and Christians with crosses and woolen hats. When Balotelli touches the ball or simply does a movement to free himself of the marker there are screams of approval of the Italy supporters and screams of fear of those supporting Spain. I let a ‘fuck it’ out loud when Italy misses a favorable chance, my neighbor immediately asks what it means … Sport, and football which is the most followed in the world, has a universal language even speaking different languages we understand each other when commenting an action. We all know how the match went, but it remains for me a great evening where sport was lived with the right approach, and where Balotelli, protagonist of this new multicultural Italy, has become Italian Ambassador in Africa.
Dodoma S 6° 17.30’ E 35° 74.19’ – Haneti S 5° 48.616’ E 35° 84.708’
88km