Scorpion sting, Bike Safari and More dust

Baobab at Sunset

Scorpion sting, Bike Safari and More dust
Today I was stung by a scorpion. We had arrived late at our campsite and I was erecting the tent and pulling out sleeping bags in the dark while Ilda prepared supper. At first I thought that it was a bee sting but the rapid spread and intensity of the pain was staggering. Further exploration of the bags revealed the culprit and to my horror I noted that he was of the “small pincers bad sting” variety and by now I was beginning to feel slightly unwell! My pulse rate was picking up, the knife-like pain had reached up to my axilla and I had this vague sensation of impending doom! While Ilda rushed off to check with our hosts what medical facilities were available and, perhaps antivenom (none!), I did what any ER doc would do, got prepared for the worst. I really was not sure as to what to expect so figured that I might as well prepare for the worst. Besides, we had been carting the medical kit around for months, so we might as well use it. I threw down a couple of antihistamines, some Panado and Codeine and, seeing as I had a beer in my hand, partook of this and used the cool bottle to locally ease the pain. With Margot’s help, I managed to insert an iv cannula into my right cubital fossa and taped this in place. Then we drew up adrenaline and had iv promethazine and hydrocortisone ready too. Margot recorded what I had taken and I instructed her and Ilda what, and how to give, any further drugs I may need. Fellow campers came with their tales of woe which did little to ease my anxiety and by now I had developed a reasonable tremor and had finished my beer. More campers arrived with Vodka which seemed to work wonders, not locally but orally. After an hour or so my symptoms abated and with vodka and Cinnarazine on board enjoyed a blissful and pain free nights sleep.

After our fleecing in the Crater we decided to lie low and set up at Paradise camp not far from the eastern shores of a very low Lake Manyara. We had briefly and unknowingly, visited Tarengere national park in a vain effort to find camping and I have this amusing memory of Ilda and the girls riding on the back of the Pathfinder yelling about being attacked by Tsetse flies while I drove virtually headlong into a large herd of elephant, prompting a rapid retreat! Paradise Camp was quiet and relaxing and we achieved a bit of school. We went on a fascinating visit to the huts of the local Manyate tribe and were gob smacked at how primitive they were. Low basic mud huts, no water or latrine and apathetic, filthy children literally swarming with flies who kicked around in the dirt, dust and litter. And yet amongst this we found a loving mother, immaculate and suckling her 3 month old son who, in the tiny confines of her clean hut, offered us pap with milk butter and valuable fresh milk to drink. She demonstrated her exquisite marriage skirt made from softened calf hide and intricate beadwork and tolerated our simplistic ‘wazungu’ questions with humour. We left small gifts and a little money and bade farewell just as her herdsman husband returned with his scruffy herd, followed by a pall of dust and the setting sun.

Our host managed to scrounge a couple of Masai bicycles for the day and we set off with the girls’ pillion. The going was tough with missing pedals, wonky seats, soft, bald tyres and sandy and thorny tracks. We rode in the vague direction of the Lake and enjoyed lots of Zebra, Gnu and Impala before stopping off at a local Lodge to witness how the other half travel. Ice cold face flannels, iced tea and a swimming pool were somehow appealing.

I’m not quite sure what made us head due south and avoid Dar-a-Salaam and the exotic island of Zanzibar, but I think it was a combination of being fed up with the give-me-de-money frantic tourist hotspots, a knowledge that we will enjoy beaches in Mozambique, visas with only a few more days on them and a road on the map that looked ok! The roller-blade smooth tarmac soon ended, not far beyond the turnoff to the Crater and we were back on red, talcum dusty tracks that rattled our teeth and shook the door rubbers from their mountings. I cursed for about 200km but the ordeal was partially sweetened by dramatic countryside and views, virtual isolation and a superb lunch which included roasted minute birds, which were either quail or chicks, and a delicious stew of ox tongue, we think, and Ugali (pap). Dodoma is in the plum centre of Tanzania and we loved the place. A strong Islamic influence with turrets everywhere (and a call to prayer at 04.00!), bustling little street-side shops, good food, an immaculate hotel and a relative lack of traffic and tourists made for a great stop. The reason for the isolation became apparent the next morning as we bucked onto the rough dirt track heading south, even before the city limits had been reached. We were in Baobab country and saw kopjes completely covered in them and mammoth trees along the roadside. What initially appeared to be some primitive pagan ritual turned out to be locals thrashing their sorghum and we enthusiastically got involved beating along with them, with long clubs, to the rhythm of their beautiful voices. Our thirst was quenched with a taste of Sorghum beer which wasn’t too bad and we bade farewell to shouts of encouragement.

The dirt ended, the dust settled, we washed, we ate…then I got stung. Our days in Tanzania are numbered and we look excitedly at the map of Malawi and Mozambique beyond.

Margot reading

Zara washing dishes...5 Rands worth!
Child at window

Flies on child

Sandy and Zara on Masai bike- Lake Manyara

Road work on the way to Dodoma...more dust!

Baobab

Road south between Ngorogoro and Dodoma