Dar es Salaam, “lugar de paz” en Árabe. Calor húmedo, olor dulce a putrefacción, el polvo que cubre el asfalto sobre el índigo del Océano en las playas públicas y los mercados de pescado, voces africanas, India, europeas, chinas a veces, en una ciudad volcada hacia Oriente, casi siempre dando la espalda a la inmensa masa continental africana tras ella.
Llevamos cuatro días encerrados en una habitación. Los muros desconchados de las paredes son iguales a las fachadas pintadas de amarillo deslucido del barrio de nuestro hotel, centro de mochileros de la ciudad, toda una escena sacada de Corto Maltés, con sus marineros de miradas huidizas, sus prostitutas drogadas, the ever-present police obese corrupt and the whole series of characters unimaginable. And still waiting for the train does not go ....
With its sailors of fleeting glances, sus prostitutas drogadas, the ever present corrupt police obese
Almost no trains in Africa. The colonial idea of ??riding over the plains in a steam train meets today with corruption, management worthy of a Marx Brothers movie, lack of maintenance and real need. The train to Mombasa, Karen Blixen astride the platform welcoming their farm road Africa, is simply a reflection of another era. Only in South Africa continue to circulate large old express. Except one ......
In the seventies of the last century, during the Cold War, a curious project saw the light, promulgated by China eager to extend its influence. Katanga and diamonds, Rhodesia and gold, a treasure in capitalist hands in a region still untouched. A new colonial dream perhaps. And it was the current Zambia Copper which led Mao to promote railway between the Tanzanian coast and the interior, through almost 2000 kilometers of forests, mountains, lakes, in a geography glossed by Livingstone and sanctuaries across as Selous.
And it was the current Zambia Copper which led Mao to promote railway between the Tanzanian coast and the interior
That project, the TAZARA, the Uhuru Train, Freedom Train, still going on today, with difficulty and always with the threat of its disappearance, in one of the most spectacular trips travelers can imagine.
Fifth and final day at least appears in train station. Two rickety machines, air cars, hard seats, but absolutely vital, filled with the cacophony of colors, aromas of coconut, fruit, greasy and sweat , screams, crying, songs and laughter, full at the end of the Real Africa. And, After nearly five hours of "paperwork", we went through the suburbs of Dar towards the Bundu, inside, to the Central African copper.
A small open compartment with bunk beds and a window without glass, first class. Once we left the coast, the landscape changes. Some baobab lonely path of the plateau that rises into the continent. That afternoon we crossed Selous, the largest reserve in Africa. Tribute to a famous hunter, one of these names emerging from adventure books, hunting scenes in black and white, salakot and khaki clothing. Just last week we swam very close to the lonely grave of Hunter, nothing of ostentation. Only in the middle of a plate Bundu cost us quite a find. Another example of the hidden Africa still waiting to be rediscovered, with a surprise around every corner.
We noticed a clumsy shadow entering the compartment and trying to push him out of his bunk
The first night my traveling companion did not sleep well. Shortly after leaving, noticed a clumsy shadow entering the compartment and trying to push him out of his bunk. A stowaway, without a ticket, that asks us to let him sleep while slowly going my partner snuggling him out of his bunk. Both sides, one with a blue monkey work, another inelegant underwear, dark, shouting and wailing, serial whole scene. The issue ends with a giant who accompanies the stowaway yells something and ejected by the door latch. And back to sleep the night under the African stifling noise of the rails and stations where the train stops, with occasional head poking out the window, two eyes like two bright white lights in the darkness of the car.
The convoy stops are eternal and give us time to tour wagons. The next to ours is like a refugee camp, people cooking in the ground, extended a couple of tarps under which a few months creature slumbers among the tremendous din of his mother talking loudly and radio with music blaring non stop ringing. A party atmosphere, familiarity, that does not stop when we, sometimes indiscreetly asking permission to photograph them. At each stop the aisles of the cars are filled with vendors; sugarcane, impossible juices in plastic bags, seeds, fried dough ...... A city street that disintegrates when the train, without notice, slowly begins to move, and again the monotonous rattle of the tracks and the eternal landscape, plane, we travel, Sleep leads to.
It's like a refugee camp, people cooking in the ground, extended a couple of tarps under which a few months creature slumbers
On the third night we crossed the border. Customs officers checked us in a boring. Another break in the night. Passports wanted to race, seals marked, Welcome sleeping smiles to Zambia.
We greatly delay. The company has no money to pay the fuel rail and every three or four hours we stop while negotiating or arranging some matter. We started to cross with abandoned wagons loaded with copper ingots, stopped beside the tracks. Nobody watches them and sometimes give the impression of dead animals abandoned, rusting over time. Copper prices mark the Zambian economy and the pace of Tazara. Without a competitive price maybe offsets not keep the train red and gold leaves on the tracks in anticipation of a rise in a bag from another world. As before, Africa today almost always decided far from the lives of those who live.
We started to cross with abandoned wagons loaded with copper ingots, stopped beside the tracks
Four days after leaving Dar we Kapiri Moshi, "Season of copper". Little more than a roof surrounded sidings. At one point the train of life overflows which has hosted. The platform fills and empties like a flood, racing towards the next transport, no goodbyes. In just fifteen minutes just an old uniform, responsible for giving the departures and arrivals, is sitting on a box of bananas as two white rub their eyes surprised. After 2000 km almost seems to have been a dream that is only the test machine and wagons solitary. One more of the travel dreams left in Africa, Travel with a capital, like some dream about an old Atlas for many years and.
