Fareed invited us to his home in Ramallah for Iftaar with his family, took us for a tour of the city and shared his wisdom and thoughts with us at a time when we most needed a reality check.
We met Fareed after South African Ebrahim Patellia, who followed our Facebook page made an electronic introduction and suggested a meet up. Fareed’s relationship with South Africa is a personal and special one that began when he befriended South African Anna Weekes while protesting the build of the Apartheid Wall about 15 years ago.
The connection with SA is also a result of the similarity between the Apartheid regime in SA and the Israeli occupation in Palestine with their similar practices and infrastructure. We delighted in Fareed’s stories of activism, friendship and sacrifice all of which would probably make a spectacular book.
In between mouthfuls of delicious traditional food, we lamented just some of the multi layered complexities of the Palestinian landscape and Fareed obliged all our simple questions. For example in Jerusalem while life went on uninterrupted during our stay, and while we foreigners continue to experience what we believe to be our most spiritually uplifting Ramadhan, the (temporarily) safe walls of the old city closes off the contrast of life that is West Bank, Gaza and the Palestinian administered territories. We were reminded that just a few kilometres away are some of the poorest neighbourhoods and camps where people are living the harsh realities of the occupation and war on Palestine.
Before Iftaar, we drove to a checkpoint and got a glimpse of the intricate designs of checkpoints, the life it closes in, the level of minute control it is used for and how amidst all of this, Israeli settlement roads are designed to bypass all the eyesore.
We took a walk through the bustling city centre which reminded us of an upmarket tourist town not very different from Cape Town, with its boutique cafe’s and branded shopping. Ramallah he noted, like Jerusalem is home to a growing middle class. It is part of the multi faceted dynamics of a population under occupation. One where the middle class are being engaged in the economic system in way that leaves a distinct gap between them and the majority of the people more harshly impacted.
We know all too well how Israeli strategy has for decades isolated Gazan’s from the rest of the world by controlling borders, imposing sanctions and reigning terror. This isolation however has a more cruel consequence of isolating people within a population creating internal divisions and nuances that have long term impacts and are much more difficult to address.
Fareed’s direct no nonsense approach shed light on issues that others may not have shared quite so candidly. While we had the luxury of theorising the lack of distinction between the Zionist state and the civilian Jew amongst many Palestinians, we could not fathom the daily humiliation and torture, the face of which people have come to identify as simply the “yahuds” (Jews).
We walked through the vegetable market and noticed how the small trader often has no choice but to be part of the agricultural system whose produce originates from the occupier. We talked about the nature of BDS and how Palestinians unequivocally support the international campaign, but internally it is much more tricky. While the boycott is a priority for Palestinians it is not easy to distinguish Israeli products from Israeli products inside occupied territories. The subsistence farmer needs all the support they can get. Fareed runs a campaign where he markets their goods online.
We visited the mausoleum of Yasser Arafat and spoke about the dwindling resistance of young activists, and the weakening of mobilisation. We talked about the role of social media and electronic resistance and joked about the “we have no 3G in Palestine” billboard campaign during Obama’s visit in 2010 (http://wallwritings.me/2013/03/20/we-have-no-3-g-in-palestine/).
When the evening reached it’s end and we felt somewhat despondent about the situation, Fareed reminded us that despite the sense of burnout in the air, Palestinian people have a tremendous spirit and will never give up. There is an inherent irony in the growing middle class in areas like Ramallah, that despite heavy taxes and high interest rates, these communities are a sign of life, a sign of people not willing to simply give in and move out and on to other countries.
With support the people will continue and will be reinvigorated. Fareed summarised the most impactful kind of help the people needed from the international community and particularly South Africans as BVD i.e. Boycott Israel, Visit Palestine, and engage in Demonstrations in our countries back home.
On day thirty four of our travels, we started to make our way towards the much anticipated Tanzanian National Parks. We ate a traditional lunch at Bhaajia along the side of the main road in Arusha, bought some airtime and drove towards the Ngorongoro National Park.
We stopped along the way at lake Manyara National Park where we thought we would camp but the prices were too high. This part of the country with prices in dollars are discouraging to road travellers from the continent. A kind tour operator at the office overheard our conversation and suggested that we drive further to try out Haven nature camp-site. There were many viewpoints of Lake Manyara which we enjoyed along the way.
When we reached Haven Nature, light drizzle turned to heavy rain and the camp-site area rapidly changed to thick soggy mud making it impossible to camp. We had to stay in one of the lodges tented camps instead but enjoyed a restful sleep in our first tented camp.
The next day was spent sorting out administration fees and park permits in the small town of Karatu where we camped the night. We always seem to find ourselves in interesting places during interesting times. Tanzanian elections were under way and the streets were filled with young people from various political groups.
On the way to the camp site, as we took the turn a young man motioned a sign with his hand as if pointing a gun to the head while giving us an angry stare down. Naturally, this caused much stress and a night of restless sleep in the tent ensued. This is never good when you have a day of rough off road driving ahead.
At the gate of the Ngorongoro, we realised just what a tourist attraction this place was. The parking lot was buzzing with over confident tour operators clearly all on a mission and being dutifully followed by their tourists. We went to the toilets at the gate which felt like the bathrooms at a big concert. It rained most of the way but we barely noticed the rain amidst the incredibly magnificent views.
It was like we had entered an enchanted unearthly world. Thick lush green forests opened the way to a view to the crater. Without a word of exaggeration this was possibly the most beautiful sight we had ever witnessed. A vast and indescribable ‘hole’ in the earth with the most lush vegetation, hills and animals all compacted into one spot. A world within a world and we were looking in.
Many tourists came to the viewpoint and left and we still stood there taking our time since we had not purchased the expensive permit to drive into the crater. We were transiting to the Serengeti so we made the most of this view. A man rushed to the railing and excitedly looked out into the crater and then looked towards us asking: “have you spotted anything?” . We were confused about what we were meant to spot and only later realised that people seem to be in a constant mad panic racing against each other to spot wildlife. We wondered if he had ‘spotted’ the magnificent view in front.
A kind lady offered to take a picture of us with our camera. We stood in the rain like that for a while and in that time the view changed from a clear magnificent postcard panorama to a clouded contrast shot of a zoomed point. We eventually pushed ourselves out of this area to drive onward.
The road and terrain changed rapidly, sometimes winding green hills and sometimes flat yellow land as far as the eye can see. Every now and then in the distance you will spot a bright red dot, a Masai in traditional attire. We came across many red dots up close along the road until I plucked up the courage to stop and ask three of them if we could take their picture. One was not at all happy and made sure we knew this. The others acceded and I clicked quickly, eyes closed as I take all my pictures. Closed eyes and hoping for the best, hoping that the one guys anger would get captured. We paid all three as agreed and that seemed to be a consolation.
Animals are everywhere and in abundance which makes the “spotting” phenomenon even funnier because it is so unnecessary. There was no need to do the standard stop and wait in silence as one would in other parks. The animals came willingly very close to road. We stopped in the rain to reduce our tyre pressure as the road became treacherously corrugated.
I desperately needed to pee and was ready to do a bush style. I meticulously planned it in the car and then cautiously got off. The traffic was deceptively heavy as dozens of tour vehicles passed by. I stood there in the rain watching them, and they passed by smiling. These were ‘knowing’ smiles I thought and carried on standing there in the dirt road, rain pouring down istinja bottle in hand gazing longingly at what would be the only bush for the next hundred kilometres. Of all the reasons I had collected over the years to hate living in the proverbial man’s world, the practicality of this reason drenched me to the bone. I recalled the hundreds of times on the road I had seen drivers casually jump off and relieve themselves. I stood there looking at the smiles of the passers by, heard their giggles in my head and gave up, abruptly abandoning my master plan.
We stopped to photograph the Giraffes as well!
We continued to drive towards the Serengeti, the road being treacherous for two reasons. Tour operator drivers present the main hazard and are some of the worst drivers we have encountered flashing and hooting all other cars out the way. Even when out the way means you are now heading down a cliff. Speed limits are extremely necessary given the road conditions which can change dramatically within a few kilometres. Roads are narrow, uneven and rocky, sometimes winding up and down and sometimes climbing steeply, and most of the way you can add slippery corrugation and potholes to this. Speed limits are simply ignored despite and in spite of the regular sign posts along the way.
The second reason is the constant corrugation. This is not the mild lets jerk your head around till you fall asleep kind of corrugation. This is the “African massage” kind, where violent vibrations result in your ribs saying hello to your pelvis and every other type of vile introduction of body part to body part. The type of corrugation where you hear things rattle, break and snap and get that sneaky diesel smell burn in your nostrils, but know that you have to just keep going and motor on lest your stopping means you are unable to continue again.
The drive was made all the more worthwhile once we saw the glorious gates of the Serengeti in the late afternoon sun. Seeing the look on the faces of tour operator vehicle drivers when they noticed me getting off the drivers side of our car was priceless. The meek looking little girl kept up to them undeterred by their terror antics.
We got our Serengeti permits and enjoyed a conversation with the guards at the gate. We took a walk up to the Naabi Hill viewpoint which was our first view of the Serengeti.
If there was any space left, it filled our souls with awe, so much so that we (and by ‘we’ I really mean Farhaan) completely forgot about the hundreds of purple headed lizards that surrounded us up the path and at the lookout.
On the road towards the public camp-site , we observed how in just a few kilometres of crossing over from one area to the next, we were offered completely different sights. The Serengeti plains glowed in the late afternoon sun and animals hopped around us happily. There was a remarkable silence in the air that brought every picture we ever saw of that moment and gave it life. We passed many herds of buck, giraffe, antelope and many different birds and vultures until we reached our camp.
We set up camp amidst sounds of lions, baboons and hippo’s in the air. We dragged ourselves exhaustedly in the dark towards the kitchen common area which consisted of a large hall type protected cage or barracks. We did not want to think of the reason for such a set up.
As we tried to begin preparing our own supper, the chef of one of the larger tour groups insisted that we abandon our efforts, relax and allow him to treat us to supper. What a treat it was as we nibbled on a starter of popcorn, sipped on hot soup and bread and ended with a delicious main of vegetable curry and rice. We went to bed fully satiated, not being able to take in more but being given more anyway. We dozed off to sounds of lions and hyena and giggled at the improbability of getting ‘half bitten’ by a scorpion. I was convinced otherwise.
On Day 37, sans breakfast we set out towards the Namanga gate after taking route advice from one of the tour operators based at our camp. Farhaan’s instinct was on full steam and we took a road off the main road where we spotted a few hyena on the side of road.
It then led onto an unused service road which climbed up a hill that became progressively steeper and rockier making it rather tricky to navigate. At one point Farhaan got off the car to survey the road ahead and the car started to stagger backwards even with the car in gear and hand-brake engaged. I had to jump over and hit the breaks to stop it from rolling. We continued until we reached an opening to a viewpoint and stopped to take pictures of the beauty which the difficult drive was rewarded with.
On the drive back down the hill we found ourselves alone right in from of a herd of migrating wildebeest. We switched off the engine and hearts pounding we watched and listened in silence up close as they passed by in straight lines rhythmically beating their hooves and intermittently calling out to groups at the back. It was dreamlike and in a daze we continued towards the main road again.
Again, we were almost run over a few more times by wild tour guide drivers. Ironically a few minutes later we passed by a freshly turned over vehicle on the side of the road.
We spent the afternoon at the hippo pools watching hundreds of them bathing and congregating. We met a Czech and Slovak couple who were also over-landing (www.onoffroads.com).
We reached the exit to the Serengeti National Park shortly after spotting a dead zebra lying in one of the springs on the side of the road.
As we exited, we hoped to find a camp site near by as the tyre pressure was very low and could not be corrected in the heavy rains and mud we were driving. We turned off the main road after exiting the park to follow a camp-site on our GPS. We ended up getting horribly stuck in clay like mud. Farhaan was awesome in getting the max tracks under the tyres. Two locals helped us out. Many other passers by came and watched and so it was that we played our first game of stuck in the mud on this journey. “Silly mzungu’s” is what they probably thought.
We continued to the main road and stopped at the very first camp-site we spotted called Serengeti Stopover. It was dark and dreary looking with many hazy eyed drinkers at the pub. That night I washed dishes in the dark after having used the scariest toilet ever. I was startled by two heavily armed guards walking towards me which we later learned were hired policeman for our security. Brown sludgy water emerging from the taps in the toilet and now this, it just felt like too much. At three that morning, I got up startled and insisted we pack up the tent. Just as we clicked the last clip into place, it began pouring down. Now my instinct was in full gear we joked!
Had we researched the route before leaving, we would most definitely have had a much less interesting day but also unbeknown to us we were on a mission. A mission to deliver a Qur’an.
We had arrived the previous night in the Tanzanian capital city of Dodoma and spent the night in a refurbished budget hotel called Nala Centurion Hotel. Our next destination was Arusha in the north. It was about 10 am and the GPS calculated a 5 hour drive so we thought we should do some sightseeing before we leave.
We checked out from the hotel and went to the Ismaili Mosque in Dodoma town and also paid a visit to the Dodoma Cathedral which, as we were informed by locals, is the only building that is a replica of the dome of the rock – Jerusalem. We then duly followed our T4A map out of Arusha and not even 5 kms out of town, the road turned to gravel.
Expecting it to turn to beautiful tar road soon, we carried on driving but no tar appeared. We decided to drop tyre pressure and carry on hoping to reach tar. After an hour of driving and not even covering 30 kms, we realised we were in for a rough ride.
Most of the dirt road was along and criss crossing the new road being built. Subsequent research confirmed that the road has been under construction since 2009!
It was very bumpy in most places and badly corrugated in many other places but wherever we got a chance to drive on the freshly flattened surface in preparation for tarring we happily floored it.
The road (or lack there of) then climbed suddenly up a mountain pass and we found ourselves driving through pristine little quiet villages at the top of the mountain where old men sat under trees in deep discussion, families gathered at the road side laughing and talking, young kids ran along the roads playing and young men and women worked the fields. The air was crisp and fresh and our lungs got a good break from the dust we had been inhaling the whole day.
We drove through one of these mountain villages called Bereka waving at the old and young inhabitants (as we did in most villages). As we passed the last few mud houses of Bereka a man on a motorcycle coming the opposite way waved us down and greeted us “Assalam u Alaikum” and we responded “Wa’alaykum Assalam” and he continued “Kayfa Halukum” (how are you?) and we responded “Alhamdulillah” (All praises are to God Almighty).
On hearing this he got very happy, told us to wait and parked his bike in the shallow ditch on the edge of the now damp gravel road. He came up to us and asked our names (in Arabic) and where we were from. He was very happy to hear that we were South African. In broken English he explained that Bereka is his village and welcomed us to both Bereka and Tanzania. He told us his name – Sa’eed bin something bin something bin something and carried on for a about 5 generations … from Yemen.
It was about 6 pm, we were getting worried about remaining daylight and were already discussing how we would approach setting up camp in one of these villages. We asked Sa’eed if he knew about the road conditions to Arusha. “The road is fresh after about 15 kms” he said to us in his broken English. He said it would take us 2 hours to get to Arusha. We were happy to hear this. We said to him that we had seen many Muslims in his village – he looked a little confused – we wondered why. He then said to us “Will you help me to give some books, some Kitabs”. We asked, “Who is it for and what books?” He said, “for me, I need a kitab… a mushaf”, we confirmed, “Qur’an?” he said “yes”. We looked at each other thinking the same thing.
Cut to the story of the Qur’an – On the day we were leaving Johannesburg (from the Turkish Mosque) we kept the Qur’an that Khairunnisa had used since she was in Madressa (Islamic School). We were meant to give it to her mum when we saw her at our farewell. In the emotion and commotion of the event we forgot to give it to her and the Qur’an travelled with us all the way until this day just outside a village called Bereka, high in the Tanzanian mountains where Sa’eed asked us to help him with a Mushaf (the Qur’an in book form).
Back to Bereka – We looked at each other thinking the same thing – Khairunnisa said “I have my Quran, should I give it?” We agreed and handed it over to Sa’eed bin something bin something bin something. He was ecstatic and in broken English and some Kiswahili he invited us to spend the night at his home in the village.
We were so close to Arusha yet our exhaustion tempted us to accept the kind offer. Thoughts of “what would this mans family eat if we arrived home with him”, “does he have space.”, “will he have a toilet?” went through our minds and we politely declined and bid farewell.
After 15 kms a beautiful tar road greeted us and if it wasn’t for our full bladders, hungry stomachs and exhausted bodies, we would have gotten out of the car and kissed the tar. We arrived in rainy Arusha at around 9 pm and promptly started looking for decently priced hotels as there was no way we would manage to camp that night.
The next days research into this road led us to forums where people have described this as one of the worst roads in Tanzania and where one man said he had lost a couple of engines! Our Cruiser did greatly Alhamdulillah! and we felt grateful for not having researched the alternative (and much longer) tar road to Arusha.
Our Sunday farewell was a bit surreal. We had obviously been planning for almost eight years for this day and it had finally arrived. It also felt surreal because for the last two weeks we had been working tirelessly ticking off last minute action items off several lists. This meant that for two weeks prior to this day we were eating junk takeaway meals almost daily, barely sleeping and totally getting on each other’s nerves.
Nervously we gathered and packed the last few things into the vehicle, later realising we had almost forgotten thirty percent of our foodstuff, which would make a big difference later on. We were about an hour late at our own farewell but it was all okay and today our friends and family would forgive any failures.
We chose the Turkish Masjid (Mosque) for its size and centrality, no catering and organizing fuss and symbolically leaving from a Masjid made sense. We both hoped that we had planned it a little better so that there would be a few planned prayer items and maybe a few words from people we had asked far too late and who understandably could not make it. But even in this unplanned chaos of the day, it all turned out okay. It was an emotional day where many of our friends and family gathered for hesitant farewells.
Later that day on a Facebook post, I described the day “It was a send off to be remembered today. Everyone gathered at theNizamiye Masjid in Midrand for an overwhelmingly emotional morning. The two of us are on the road now filled with feelings of intense gratitude for having reached this point. Thank you to all who were present in person and spirit to send us off with prayers and positive energy. The destination does not matter, how far we get and how many countries we cover is irrelevant. This moment matters and the journey has begun. #Alhamdulillah“.
We then drove to the Westdene cemetery to pay respects to Farhaan’s late dad. K read the traditional script from the Qur’an – Surah Yasin and her dad prayed the closing prayer with both our families present. We then made another graveyard visit to Lenasia to pay respects to Farhaan’s late grandfather who had undertaken a similar journey with his family in the 60’s (more here).
At this point K was bursting for the toilet. We soon learned that this would be a consistent problem of our travels that would give us many teary eyed giggles on the way. We stopped at K’s cousins place in Lenasia who was delighted to have us for a few minutes, gifted us some Coo-eeLemon (local carbonated drink) for the road and we were on the way.
Zeerust (close to the border of Botswana) was our first stop and the weather was lovely and overcast all the way. We spent the night at Sha-Henney’s guest house where a strange looking Afrikaans speaking man in a mullet and a tiny pony tail at reception helped us with the booking and also cautioned us against having the breakfast due to “respect for your religion”. We were impressed and obliged.
We were both extremely exhausted and ate some of the pies that were packed for us by family, showered and literally collapsed into bed after Maghreb (evening prayer).