Sometimes backpacking feels a little bit like gambling. I arrive to a new place and I never really know what’s going to be in store for me. Who will I meet? What will I do? Where will it lead me next? I rarely research a new destination beforehand besides the basic things I need to know for safety. I just toss myself in, full heartedly. Sometimes, when I’m least expecting it, I have what I like to call a ‘Golden Backpacker Day’. These are days when I think “THIS is why I’m doing what I’m doing”. The excitement of the unknown combined with beautiful places and wonderful people. I had a one of my best golden backpacker days in the small village of Lushoto, Tanzania.
I got word of this farm that takes backpackers tucked away in the Usambaras mountains, 10 hours east of Arusha, about halfway to the coast of Tanzania. This was my first experience with public transportation in Tanzania. I got on a bus that will take me all the way to the little mountain village of Lushoto. Lushoto was recommended to me from a sweet Austrian couple I met on my safari, they said it’s a good way to get away from the city and see what the village life is like. At this point I was ready to leave the tourism that comes with Mt Kilimanjaro and the Serengeti. This bus was filled to the brim with people and their things. Just when you think there is no possible way they can add another person everyone shifts and there is always room for one more. It was a bumpy ride, the breaks squeezed, it was hot and I was the only white person on the bus. This is always interesting experience because it’s so obvious that I’m not from here. I get a lot of strange looks, mostly smiles, and few people actually asked me why I didn’t just hire a driver for this journey like the other “munzungos” (the foreigners, specifically white ones). I prefer this way, I can see the landscape change vs getting a $200 half-hour flight and I can experience a glimpse of local life rather than sitting alone in the backseat of a taxi. The most entertaining part of this ride was that every 20 minutes or so we would make stop to add even more people and a dozen or so street sellers race into and around the bus for the two minutes we are stopped. They work very hard and quickly to persuade people to buy anything from a bottle of Coca-Cola to live chickens and perfume. They have a very short window of time to do business before the bus takes off and I was honestly quite impressed by these sales men and women.
I always keep an AirTag in my backpack. For this journey my backpack was stowed away under the bus and about an hour after one of our frequent stops I got a notification on my phone that the AirTag on my backpack was no longer with me. I began to panic and was hating myself for keeping my passport in my backpack and not on my body for this journey. I had a terrible feeling my bag was stolen out of the bus while we were stopped but at this point we were an hour in the opposite direction. Even if I asked the driver to turn this bus full of families around for me the odds of getting my bag back were slim. All I could do was pray that this was just a glitch with the AirTag. My anxiety about this only got worse as we continued east to the point where I expressed my concern to the person sitting next to me, who luckily spoke English. He kept saying “Hakuna Matata, Hakuna Matata, don’t worry, you’re in Tanzania the people are good here they wouldn’t steal a bag off the bus”. The only thing I could do at this point was believe him.
(Yes, Hakuna Matata is an actual Swahili phrase that is used very often by Tanzanian people. It wasn’t made up in the Lion King but does translate to “don’t worry”)
We get to Lushoto, the first thing I do is check for my bag. Yep, there it was under the bus where I left it. The nice man that helped me calm down during the ride arranged a motorcycle lift for me to the farm and gave me some of the passion fruits he was traveling with. I was upset that I would even question these kind people in the first place.
I arrive to Irente Farms, got settled into the bunkhouse next to the pig pen that I ended up being the only one sleeping in (only a little spooky at night, 7/10 spook level). The farm produces their own cheeses, jams, coffee and bread. I ate sooooo good here.
I was really alone though, and sometimes when I’m all alone it’s hard to motivate myself to get out of my safe little bunk and engage with the world. I motivated myself with a short hike down the mountain to a waterfall. It’s about 5 miles total, and will take me through the village in Lushoto, which is great because I wanted to see more of the village life in Tanzania. I got up, had my fresh coffee and breakfast and hit the road. First walking through the small village the surrounds the farm.
I was using google maps to lead me until a young girl, wearing a full hijab (I couldn’t even see her eyes) crossed the street to walk with me. Tanzania has both a large Christian and Muslim population. We chatted for awhile, her English was limited but good enough to understand each other. We exchanged names, Zenab is hers. She lifted her face covering to smile at me. She asked where I was going and I told her the waterfall. She said she knows a short cut through her village, asked me if I’d join her and I can meet her family. I said why not. Zenab took me off the main road and up a big hill, her village is only accessible by foot. We reached this bright green hut with many women and children outside washing clothes, food and each other. These are Zenab’s sisters, sister in-laws, cousins, nieces and nephews. The greeted me with high fives and the kids gave me hugs. They welcomed me inside and made me a cup of tea. Zenab spoke more English than any of them but I played with the kids and communicated to the women with hand gestures and Zenab’s translation.
We said goodbye to Zenab’s family with more high fives and hugs. Zenab and I made our way down to the waterfall. We were skipping and laughing now, both equally excited about this little adventure together. I guess there is normally a fee for tourists to enter the waterfall but the way she took me was free.
At this point I hadn’t seen another munzungo in this area. We arrived to the waterfall and I noticed another woman, looked like a backpacker herself, sitting on a bench with two small children from the village sharing bananas. We waved to each other and I went down into the water. Zenab wanted to try to use my camera, I taught her the basic operations and she spent the next hour taking photos of the waterfall and nature while I chatted with the woman mentioned, Samantha.
Here is a shot from Zenab!!! She’s a natural.
Samantha is 50 years old from South Africa and has been solo backpacking East africa for the past 7 months. She’s witty and full of stories. She spent her 20s solo traveling until she “fell pregnant” at 26. She raised her daughter, named India, until this past year and began her solo adventure again. She plans to take a motorcycle through Vietnam next.
We combined forces, Samantha and her little tour guides with Zenab and I, and hike to the top of the waterfall. The children guide us and tell us to be careful when it’s slippery. One little boy offers some of the crumbs from his little bag of peanuts. These kids don’t have much; one outfit, one pair of shoes (maybe) a blanket to sleep on and a spoon to eat with. Most families here don’t even have electricity and need to carry in water everyday. But they’re more generous and genuinely happy than most adults in the west, in my opinion. They have community and are connected to nature. A lot can be learned here.
Samantha and I said goodbye to our tour guides, I parted ways with Zenab, she said “nakupenda dada” which means “I love you sister” and I said it back. Another kind soul I will never forget. Then Sam and I made our way down to the small city, actually city isn’t even the right word… township? Of Lushoto and found ourselves drinking cold beers in this hidden cafe tucked away from the main road. We spent the next four hours sharing travel stories. Samantha and I share the same taste for adventure and I loved hearing her stories about when she was young and wild in India, Nepal, Israel and Europe. She gave me great advice and told me to learn from her mistakes. A chameleon climbed down right next to us, the owner of the cafe came to help us hold it and he said it only changes colors when it feels threatened. It rested on us and stayed it’s same natural green and brown shades.
The sun began to set. I had a bus arranged to Dar Es Salaam for my ferry to Zanzibar the next day. Samantha and I were staying across the mountain from each other. We walked to the motorcycle “bodaboda” guys and helped eachother negotiate a fair price to our separate destinations. We hugged goodbye and wished one another the best and to never stop traveling. My bodaboda took me back up the mountain as the sun set. The people in the villages sang in evening prayer as we passed by. The moment was stunning. Maybe it was just the wind but I felt tears fall down my cheeks. Just this morning I couldn’t have predicted such a beautiful day. Everything felt right in my world and I slept like a baby. It was my last night on the mainland of Africa, for now.
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