Saturday, October 24, 2009

Tanzania (part 2)

I survived the bus ride ok. It was run by a fancy hotel and they only sold as many tickets as they had seats and it didn't stop to pick up anything extra. It was also an outrageous $25, about twice as much as a standard African bus fare of the same length. At the Border I was conned out of $100. The story is terribly embarrassing and I still can't believe how stupid I was. I blame it all on the fever. To get through the border you have to first declare your exit from Kenya on the Kenyan side of the border. You then Cross the border and declare your entry to Tanzania on the Tanzanian side of the border, purchasing a visa there if you don't already have one. I am not familiar with this method of border crossing as I have almost always entered countries from airports. At this particular border, as I have come to understand fairly standard in Africa, there are no signs directing travelers, nor do the official immigration buildings stick out in any noticeable way from the rest of the buildings in the border town. You just have to know where to go or be with someone who does. My fever had not improved any since that morning and I was slow to get through the line on the Kenyan side. When I finally made it through and came out of the building I didn't recognize our bus and couldn't find anyone I remembered being on it with me. A conman obviously spying my confused countenance and probably sensing my weakness came up to me and told me to follow him as he was from my bus. I knew of course that he was not from my bus and corrected him on the name of the company to assert the point. He impatiently responded that they were all owned by the same company and that I didn't understand. I knew of course that he was full of shit and that he was probably up to something but I couldn't really see any other alternative and was worried about missing my bus so in my weakened, borderline delusional, mental state I followed him like a goat being led to the dinner pot.

He led me up to a man wearing a red beret. In retrospect the man appeared very insecure and uncomfortable. The man leading me asked me if I needed a visa, to which I replied yes, because I did. He told me to give the man wearing the beret my passport. I was reluctant. "Show him your passport!" the man demanded. I looked around for any sign of unbiased assistance and while we were drawing the attention of some of the people around us, they all proved to be of the same seedy character as the two men that were now confronting me. I handed the man in the beret my passport, which he took, looked at, and then proceeded to place some Tanzanian currency within the pages and hand me back my passport. This did not strike me as a bona fid visa processing operation and I objected more resolutely, positive now that these guys were not the people I was supposed to be dealing with. However my objection was met with even more insistent hostility. "He is an official!" cried the man who conned me through the border, "you must pay him!" This phrase immediately evoked in me a memory of someone, maybe Tracy Evans or someone else likewise experienced, telling me that often the police in Africa went around without a uniform and that the temptation to resist these inconspicuous authorities often resulted in jail time or the payment of expensive bribes. By this time I was surrounded by men yelling at me and beginning to shove me and trying to grab my passport and wallet. The man in the red beret just stood there looking at me expectantly, but not saying a word. I'm sure that had I not had a fever I could have read in his eyes that he knew he was doing something dishonest that he didn't really believe he could get away with and that I should not be listening to all the voices surrounding me. However as it was I had very limited access to my mental faculties, I could see no people coming to my aid, and thus no hope for being rescued from my fear of offending a corrupt official and getting into trouble that I could not afford. I gave them a $100 bill. The man in the red beret gave me a few more bills and they told me I could go. As I was walking away, rather exasperated, my bus drove up and my bus driver proceeded to tell me with due agitation how mistaken I was to have given them anything. I got in the vehicle and glanced back just in time to see the man in the red beret outwardly exulting with unrepressed exuberance and glee at his great fortune. I, of course, was incensed, mostly with myself. I was guided to the actual immigration office and paid another $100 for an actual visa. I got back in the bus and then realized that I had left my ipod in my bed at the hostel that morning.

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