Mkoma Bay, the lodging
Once in Tanga, we meet our taxi driver who takes us the
remaining stretch to our tented lodge outside of Pengani.
Tanga itself is what you would expect from a smaller African
city, eerily reminiscent of my time in Morocco as a Peace Corps Volunteer. This
is the last port town you will find before the Kenyan border. In town itself,
you will find the railroad tracks, which indicate the town’s importance to the
rest of the country. The thing I notice the most are bicycles, hundreds of
them. This must be Africa’s answer to Amsterdam. Although Tanga can’t possibly
have more than 300,000 inhabitants, the town stretches considerably inland
before the paved road ends and 4x4’s have a distinct advantage for any vehicles
with any off road ambitions.
The change from four and five story buildings to mud huts happens within a matter of minutes. Here and there you will still see bicycles, although they will be riding a lot slower on the unpaved roads. Our driver in the Landcruiser knocks the vehicle down one gear once he sees that he is no longer sharing the road with vehicles and bicycles but with buffalo, goats, and chickens. There are still police stops, although they seem to be only vaguely interested in our car once they see it is carrying mzungus, or a group of dull white people.
We pass a couple of dining houses in the sticks. I call them dining houses because they are little more than what I’ve grown accustomed to in Dar—a couple of tables under a thin wooden roof with non-matching chairs. Finally, there’s the sign taking us to the Mkoma Bay Tented Lodge. A few more turns, and voila, we are there.
The change from four and five story buildings to mud huts happens within a matter of minutes. Here and there you will still see bicycles, although they will be riding a lot slower on the unpaved roads. Our driver in the Landcruiser knocks the vehicle down one gear once he sees that he is no longer sharing the road with vehicles and bicycles but with buffalo, goats, and chickens. There are still police stops, although they seem to be only vaguely interested in our car once they see it is carrying mzungus, or a group of dull white people.
We pass a couple of dining houses in the sticks. I call them dining houses because they are little more than what I’ve grown accustomed to in Dar—a couple of tables under a thin wooden roof with non-matching chairs. Finally, there’s the sign taking us to the Mkoma Bay Tented Lodge. A few more turns, and voila, we are there.
The owners of the Mkoma Bay Tented Lodge are Ulrich and Lisa
Lind, folks we have known since our Peace Corps days in Morocco. Lisa was none
other than the section head of education in Rabat, where Liebi and I were both
volunteers. In short, she was our supervisor. And a damn good one, I might add.
We last saw her in Jordan over seven years ago, and we knew she was going to be
in these parts. What we didn’t count on was that we would meet so soon. Ulrich
is Lisa’s Danish husband, and the only person I have ever met to have been born
in Greenland. Like Lisa, he has been around the world and speaks pretty
decent Swahili by now.
Lisa and Ulrich chose the place well, we quickly find out. I
would estimate that the resort stretches out over 15 acres or so all the way to
the beach that is as beautiful as it is secluded. There must be a dozen or so
thatched tents (ours is pictured above), their roofs rising high into and above the canopy of trees
scattered throughout the grounds. The place is tasteful without being too
pompous. At the office, there’s a photo of Lisa smiling and shaking Tanzanian
President Kikwete’s hand.
Once we pack out, it’s off to the pool for the boys. I have
no such ambitions. I grab my book, find the next recliner overlooking the
beach, and relax. The breeze coming in from the bay is absolutely divine and
perfectly complements the 90 degree heat outside. Outside, there are a couple
of little dhows, old Tanzanian
sailboats, on the horizon. There is not a soul in sight except for a couple of
fishermen dragging their net in from the water. For once, I actually wish I
could paint. This is a picture that is almost too pretty for any camera.
There is not much time left before sunset, as the rising
tide also indicates. Best to make our time count now while we can.
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