Kingdom Hall

Mom thinks this title is in bad taste, just so you know.
I started this post and didn't finish it so it is a bit out of order.

At Sakeji the most we ever had in our class was 8. As it happened there were 4 boys and 4 girls. After about the 7th grade we were only 4, 2 boys and 2 girls. Elizabeth I have no idea what happened to. Desiree was, last I know, in Kampala but I was unable to reach her. She seems to not be on facebook much and may be out of the city or on furlough. I you read this Desiree...hi. Robert Kingdom is living in Zambia and farming (his father came to Zambia as a volunteer and stayed on farming). Coming from Tanzania I was not sure whether I would be welcome. Andrew, who farms near him and was in Jason's grade, is on facebook (Rob would rather 5 real friends than 200 facebook friends and I'm afraid he may have a point) had said he would check but had not gotten back to me.

I stayed at the Mkushi city council guest house when I got into town since it was midnight. I had been to see both Andrew and Rob on my '05 visit. They both live some ways out of town. During colonial times foreign farmers were limited by law in where they could farm-the Mkushi area was one area. I knew that Andrew was involved in a church that reached out to white farmers. The challenge Sunday was finding that church. I asked at an Anglican church and they thought that the church was at Chengelo School which is on Andrew's dad's farm. The farm is 20km back north and 7km off the main road. I got a bus from town to the main road. I had been waiting for sometime with no one going that way when a pickup pulled into the gas station, with a young white lady in the back. Hey, if they gave her a ride there is hope for me. Turns out she was peace corp and meeting someone there. They were with the power company and going right by the school. Hop in. Thank you Lord. It was the wrong church but Andrew's parents were there. We had actually stayed at their house in '87 but they know our whole family in any case. One phone call later I had a warm welcome to stay with Robert. Thank you Lord.

Last time I visited the Kingdoms were building their house and Amy was pregnant. The house is a pay as you go affair and Sean will be 6 in December. The house was built without the benefit of an architect. Amy would be the first to admit that the kitchen is too big and the living space is too. The house was built basically as two houses connected in the kitchen area. Each wing is the same with 3 bedrooms and a bathroom. There are still things to be done to the house but apart form there being perhaps too much space it's comfortable. The roof is metal and especially at night quite noisy as seed pods from trees pop open and fall onto it. The Saturday they went out and left me at home alone is when I really noticed it most.

Besides Sean they also have twin boys Hugh and James who are 4. The boys were not as interested in books as my small relatives-something I attribute to Asha leading the interest in. The Kingdom boys', after a day of shyness, main interest seemed to be piling on me and using me as a trampoline. A favorite trick was to go sliding over the arm of a chair whilst kicking me about the ears and insisting that I pull them back up. I'm not complaining-just saying. My favorite trick on the other hand was, if I was carrying them, to toss them headlong over my shoulder and down my back. I never could seem to get them past my neck.

Robert grows wheat in the dry season and soy during the wet season. The wheat is grown under center pivot sprinklers that came from Nebraska. Most of the day is filled up with worry and not much else for most of the growing season. Mkushi has the coldest weather of anywhere I have been on this trip (I slept under 4 blankets). Some mornings there was frost on the ground when we went out. Rob has a very specific dollar amount for what it might cost if the frost is too hard when the wheat is pollinating. He also knows how much birds in the wheat cost him as well as how much is damaged by the tractor spraying various things on the crop. If a field is doing well and the price is up there comes a price point where it makes sense to get a crop duster rather than doing it with the tractor. So far they have made a good living farming but it does not keep Rob from various worries. It also allows Rob to be a stay at home dad while Amy works as a vet.

One morning there was a crop duster at sunrise. Anyone who know me at all knows that I have a slightly more than passing interest in flying. Rob is out ahead of me on this count. He has 5 hours of flight instruction and was spending the days studying for the written test. Needless to say we got on like a house on fire. At first I thought the crop duster was one of his flying friends taunting him but he roused me from bed (remember it was cold) and we watched till he was done with the field. So the moral of this story is if you want to be a great host when I visit-arrange for a crop duster. 

The Johnny Appleseed of Bibles

Naturally when I thought of this title I had to do a bit of research on Johnny Appleseed. Comparing my Dad with Johnny does hold up to a point. Both men are dedicated to God. Both have product to sell. Both will sell on credit and are not too concerned if they don't get paid, neither are too concerned about profits. Neither care too much about the latest fashion, although Dad doesn't wear rags like Johnny.

The comparison does break down from here on out. Johnny sold apple trees to be used to grow apples to make into cider. Dad would prefer you didn't get drunk. The crop Dad is after is spiritual growth in peoples' lives. For a while the Kaonde Bible was out of print. Within the last year they have become available again and Dad has sold somewhere between 1,800-2,000 Bibles through the house here.

A pastor getting more Bibles

That statement is somewhat misleading. A good number of those Bibles have gone with him to various churches where he has TEE (Theological Education by Extension) classes. Often he will leave Bibles and other Christian literature with either the pastor, an elder or anyone trustworthy who wants to sell, with payment to be collected after sales.  The typical profit for these rural salesmen is about a buck per Bible and Dad makes nothing. Not only does he take out Bibles but some of these guys stop by if they happen to come into town (while he's working at grading students papers) to settle accounts and get more literature. The vast majority of Bibles sold have in fact been sold by other people.

Every year our denomination here has a big district wide conference that starts on Thursday and ends Sunday afternoon. Because most people don't have cars, the churches are built within walking distance so that there may be a church every 10 miles.(That's not what I would consider walking distance but still) So once a year people from all the churches in the district will come to one location and have a time of worship and fellowship. The meetings are held in the dry season once the crop is in, and there is no chance of rain. They build a large enclosure out of elephant grass and each person is responsible for their seating. Hymnals are like Bibles in that you bring your own. At least the one we went to last weekend, outside of the sanctuary enclosure is a courtyard and then small grass rooms that make the walls surrounding the court yard, where people sleep. Each church has a room for men and women and each church supplies their own food.

The main church meeting

The elder in the area where we went asked Dad to bring literature so we sold books off planks set up behind the truck. It was only the second time he had ever done that. All the small books that the Zambian Church prints were a buck or less but, in the rural area we were in it was enough that people had to think about it before buying. We were selling titles like Preparing youth programs, Teaching with power and Leadership in your local church. The books are made in the same way as the CBC phone directory and run about 55 pages. Most were for sale in Kaonde and English. One older lady was looking for one that was out of print to give someone-she had read all we had. Not to worry, Mom led a ladies Bible study and they wanted her notes.

The cooking area with sleeping rooms behind

That has become a book in two languages that is in the proof reading stage with a second in development. I also got to meet the local chief who was an elder in the Solwezi English service church before becoming chief. He was wearing cowboy boots and it turned out has been to Texas 5 times, I think speaking at a christian college and churches but he didn't say. He said they were his favorite shoes-a really sharp and friendly man. Unfortunately he was gone before I thought to ask to take a picture with him.

Doing it the old fashioned way

When I was but a wee nubbin there were two old missionaries we knew who had come to Zambia "down the Nile". Each of them had been in Zambia 50 years. In the days before commercial air travel missionaries traveled to their field by steam ship. Once you got there you tended to stay. There was none of this 4 year term nonsense we have now (You were dedicated-Harrumph, harrumph). Letters took forever to get out. Zambia was one of the more remote places you could go. Either you came in via South Africa or took a boat to Egypt and came up the Nile river. From the Nile it was a ferry to the south end of lake Victoria and an overland trek to lake Tanganyika. My understanding of those overland treks was that the men would go first thing in the morning on bicycles and in early afternoon would try to shoot some game. After dressing the game they would establish camp, hopefully near water. The women and children would follow in hammocks carried by 2 porters each. The porters would sing cadence that would tell about the path and pass comment on to the persons they carried. By late afternoon the porters would arrive where the men made camp. This whole region is hilly. At some point you cross the spine of Africa and rivers go from flowing north and east to west and then south. Once at lake Tanganyika it was once again water passage to Zambia. Today the boat has been converted from steam to diesel and takes just under 2 days travel which includes a good many stops to take on people. From there once again travel would be by porter.

Dan had taken the ship, as had Micheal Palin in his show Pole to pole, so it seemed like the thing to do since I was in the area.  If you read the link to Wiki then you know how old it is and that it was the basis for, but not really, the ship that was sunk in  the movie Africa Queen. So all in all a piece of living history-not easy to find in Africa-and not to be missed.






The ship only goes to Zambia twice a month although it does apparently go other places like Congo, which are even less advertised. To say it was not well advertised is an understatement. It is not in a real way advertised at all. Oh sure a Zambian website mentions it but it doesn't give anything helpful like the rates or when it sails. For that you have to consult lonely planet and read forums. From the forums I was able to guess that she would sail on the third. I was by no means sure of that and arranged to arrive a week early.

Me, Martin, George

During the week stay I met two of the other four passengers, George* and Kathy, who were not traveling as part of a couple. Angel met George the morning of departure and we had brunch together, and finally Martin I met on ship and we shared a cabin. Angel and George were traveling on a tight budget and opted to travel third class and slept on the deck or, in George's case, in the life boat the second night.  The ship was due to sail at 4pm. I was packed and out of my room by 10. I did spend time on the Internet and there was that brunch which, truth be told we stretched into lunch. Still Kigoma is a small town and I'd been there a week so I boarded the ship with hardly any afternoon used up.

third class

The ship had a small main deck with a raised fore deck (my nautical jargon is only slightly better than George's and his mother tongue is German-sorry Travis if you read this) from which stairs led up to the first class deck aft. On the first class deck were our rooms, a good sized dining room and bar and a lounge area. Above the first class deck was the control room...?bridge? with the captain's, mate's, and helms men's rooms as well as super first class. The lifeboats and a small lounge were also up there as well as the smoke stacks. Second class had their rooms under first class on the main deck and third class slept in the halls outside. Third class also had the open deck and that raised fore deck I mentioned previously. Third class' bathroom as well as a small room was under the fore deck. The crew allowed women with small children and the other European foreigners up on the first class deck.


The only Americans were myself and two snow bums from Vail on vacation. European teachers on summer break and volunteers for non-profits were the other light skinned foreigners. The first class passengers were allowed to board early. George and Angel were allowed to board because everyone assumed they were first class. Being white (Mzungu).


They sell it as first class but in reality it is second or third class accommodations. The mattresses are covered in rubber and have a sheet that is barley bigger than it. The sheet tends to end up mostly off. When thinking about the mattress recall to mind a gym mat and you will come pretty close, only a gym mat may be thicker. There were no top sheet, blanket or towel supplied. I slept in my clothes. The bathroom(6) head was communal with the men on the starboard and women port.(<==huh Trav, ship words) At no point during the journey did the bathroom head ever appear clean. The toilets are the squat variety but are at sitting height with little head room to stand and nowhere dry to put your paper (bring your own). The showers are cold and slimy and with nowhere to put anything. How you can have two engines which are water cooled and not have hot water is beyond me. Just saying. I used my dirty shirt as a towel. The one saving grace is the toilets are flushed by lake water, which is utterly clean and runs constantly.

the competent fish loaders

During the night we made numerous stops, during the third I woke. It was at about 3:30. We put off two Dutch couples whom I never met. We also put off and took on numerous Tanzanians as well as a cargo of beans. We rested at anchor about half a mile from shore and were met by boats that come out from small beach communities. Each boat competed for passengers and the whole thing was quite a fiasco. The ship had four places where passengers could be loaded, two of which could also handle cargo. One little boat came up once there was only one boat left unloading cargo. Instead of going to any of the other places on the ship it squeezed in between. Now instead of the crane being able to reach they had to pull the beans out at an angle and ripped a big hole in the corner. Shouting Cursing all round (these were sailors after all) I'm sure. The whole thing set us back fifteen minutes no doubt...TIA. This was pretty much SOP on every stop but one, in which the loaders were competent. From here on the beans were replaced with 2" dried fish.

In the morning I was allowed into the bridge as we were leaving some stop or other. There is nothing very complex about this ship but they have three people running it. No doubt at some level there are things to be aware of but all in all it looked like a 'make work' situation to me. One thing I did learn was that we were keeping about 1 1/2 miles from the eastern (Tanzanian) shore. The tour did liven up a small part of the day between breakfast and lunch. Throughout the day I hung out with mainly George, Martin or Kathy. We usually sat with one or another of the teacher couples and specialized on long meals. It was rather serene watching the hills pass (the Coloradans agreed to call them mountains only if it came to climbing them since they were very steep). The view for the person on the other side of the table of the lake passing was also pleasant but somewhat less interesting.

Mpulungu seemed to be a very bustling town for being so far from anywhere. It has a good (relatively) blacktop road and buses to places you would want to go. The bus leaves at 11am since they want to be on the busy roads at night where it is presumably safer (which I doubt). We separated into various lodging places based on our perceived budgets and willingness to rough it. Strange as it is to say the hotels all seemed to have a problem with running water. How you manage that next to one of the biggest lakes around well...TIA. By unhappy coincidence I got a different bus from the others since mine left earlier and they wanted to get to Lusaka later than 4am. I got to Mkushi at midnight. The staff at the council (city owned) guest house in Mkushi were drunk.  After I checked in I inquired about a church. The supervisor changed the subject by asking me to buy him a beer. It was interesting to watch him try to do the mental footwork necessary to convince me he only wanted a tonic water once his brain caught up. The bathroom (8 sort of) had only hot water and no sink.

*'Names are changed to protect the innocent' is the usual line here. They're merely misspelled because I'm telling this story and didn't necessarily get all the details. Don't like it, tell your own story. There were no innocents or, we all were depending on your point of view.

Charcoal

In an earlier post I showed a picture of a restaurant in Nairobi with a couple charcoal stoves. Because of the high cost of electricity and the fact that it is often out, cooking on charcoal is very common. Charcoal has several advantages over cooking with wood. One of the most obvious is that it is easy to transport. It also does not smoke up the room. I haven't really heard any statistics on mortality figures caused by cooking on wood fires but breathing wood smoke all day can't be good for you in the long run. Food can be prepared on a very small charcoal fire so it would also seem more efficient. In Nairobi, the stoves were ceramic lined which no doubt added to their efficiency. In Kigoma, tailors were using clothing irons that had charcoal in them to heat them. You certainly couldn't do that with firewood. Termites also don't like charcoal so it can be stored for years without being destroyed.

The big, and I mean big down side is that forests are being felled to make charcoal. Charcoal is made by covering wood with dirt and burning it with very little oxygen. There is probably more to it than that but that is nub of it. It is really simple technology. The resulting charcoal looks like the branch that it was before it started. I'm not sure how briquettes are made but small pieces of charcoal don't burn well so it is a technology that maybe needs looking into. Making charcoal is one simple easy cash stream available to your average African living in a rural area.


When I was young Zambia had endless forests. Today Africa's forests are still extensive but are vanishing. A favorite culprit of western activists would be slash and burn agriculture. The real culprit is actually charcoal production. Nowhere in Kenya or Uganda outside of government protected area were there natural forests. Every so often there would be a few trees in a valley or in an inaccessible place. The only trees that have survived are the ones which are no good for either lumber or charcoal. That is not to say there were no trees, there were just ones planted by people. It was not till around midday on my second day in Tanzania that I began to see bush trees forests. As I traveled further in Tanzania the forests which were no more than young trees got to be middle aged looking. Not till well south in Tanzania did the forests appear to be unmolested. Part of the reason I was not seeing old forests no doubt was that trees near major roads are easier to bring to market. In more remote areas there are just fewer people and less incentive to try harvesting wood.

In the north part of Zambia the soil is very poor and people don't farm the land for more than three years before moving to a new area in a true slash and burn model. While the soil rests the trees come back somewhat but are then burned with the hope the ash will add nutrients to the soil. As we came south I saw for the first time truly old forests. I know as I get closer to major population centers the trees will thin.

The fact is at least in this part of Africa we have enough land for food but not enough fuel to cook it. A mature tree takes 80 years to get that way. If young trees are burned before they have a chance to seed then the land will be a open plain. What is the solution? Well, there are non-profits encouraging more efficient stoves. There are police road blocks that ensure that police always have tea and sugar money (bribes). I'm sure that there are no end of speeches about the problem. The easy solution would be to wire up the whole place and install nuclear plants. I just don't see that happening. If things go wrong with that solution the whole world would suffer, where as if Africa ruins her forests or land because she wants to eat then that's too bad.
I'm sorry that this has been such a depressing blog but seeing these problems and knowing there are no easy solutions is hard on me. I could put up pictures but it would just be landscape. Nothing is depressing me like this so anything to follow can't be as down. See ya then.

Write your own punch lines.



A shop in Mpulungu.

The label on a flask of tea at a restaurant.

Big on Small

Note: I have a few 1/2 baked blogs I'm working on. I'm at my childhood friend Robert's house. He has 3 young kids the same age as Jason's which make getting things done more 'interesting'. Until then, these words.

One advantage of coming back to Africa after a prolonged time away is a fresh perspective. Some things were the way they were because they were the way they were. Now I wonder why. I have not found the reason why, but I notice things none the less. Part of the way Africans live direct them into certain patterns. One pattern that I notice is a tendency towards small shops.

 During colonial times the many Indians (some from what is now Pakistan since it was all one territory then) came to Africa with encouragement from the British. By the time we got to Zambia most of them owned shops. These days many are moving to England and Canada. In downtown Nairobi those shops are now getting divided with an aisle down the middle and small shops on each side. If it were only happening there I would be inclined to believe that the landlords were pursuing maximum rent. Out in rural areas the shops are small too.

Sometimes it seems that the shops are small because they are built around the size of the metal roofing sheets. It is as if they said 'Sould we go bigger? Nah, 8 sheets are enough'. Most everyone builds without getting a loan. Merely saying small is all anyone can afford to build with cash seems a weak argument. I've asked a few people and they do say that rising capital is the reason. One guy said that the margins are small and only provide a living for a family but not enough to grow. I could believe that people don't trust employees with the till. Finally the argument that is probably closest to the truth...that if you had a big store you would have lots of relatives wanting money.

In Kigoma there was quiet a charming market that brought the word warrens to mind. It took up the whole block and was a maze of small shops. It is the main shopping experience in town. These pics are from along the way or in town.

Since writing the bit above I've got Zambia where stores actually seem bigger. Who knows.


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MV Liemba

Today I head out to Zambia via the ferry MV Liemba if all goes to plan. You can read about it here. It will either be a pleasant lake cruise or I will get seasick and be miserable. More details will follow after I get to Zambia. Don't expect to hear from me till at least late(midday in your case) Sunday or later.

My apologies for not getting pictures not formatted better I'm paying by the minute and Blogger is not cooperating.

Well now. I wrote a long rambling account of my travels and had to format it into oblivion because of viruses. It was unusable as it was because it needed edited in the worst but, preferably the best way.  I know I can't rewrite it as it was so I will give a synapses of the journey for any would-be traveler who may stumble upon it. Informational parts will be in italics and the less travel related bits regular text.

I got it into my head to travel from Kampala to Kigoma without passing through Rwanda and Burundi. Mostly this was because Dan had done it that way and I could find no one who said it could be done my way.

This account will be broken into stages according to where I had to change buses. Monday I intended to leave early with Dan but waited because of early rain.(we would have ridden boda-bodas) I got to the bus stop in Kampala at about 9 am and found a bus about to depart to Mutukula. Once we were clear of the city the trip was a comfortable 3hr journey on fairly good blacktop roads to the boarder.

As I was getting off the bus I inquired about the border exchange rate. Any time you exchange money at a border you know you will be skinned. I just wanted to be skinned at the standard rate. The bus guys didn't know. At the door of the bus a guy attached himself to me as a 'guide' or as I've come to think of now a leach. Why exactly I should need a guide as a practical matter is unclear since the immigration offices were clearly marked. At one point I did actually see him waiving off other money changers but since at that point I wanted to get the paper work done before changing money I didn't care. I never really expected the money guys to give him so much professional courtesy. Neither immigration office was able to give me the official skinning rate so in the end we did business. The official border rate as it turns out is 600/=tz for every 1000/=ug. I got 500/= which worked out to me giving him an extra $13 or so above the approximate 20% boarder skinning. The lesson I take away is I should have not cared about his feelings and bluntly asked about what the rate was and if he didn't like it not have done business with him.

After clearing immigration ($100 for a one year multi-entry visa with visits of no more than 90 days.) I got a Matatu which was crowded with up to 23 persons down to Bukoba on a 2hr asphalt trip. Spice Beach Hotel came recommended and was right on the lake (about $10). The bathroom only gets a 9 rating. The room was comfortable and secure.

In the morning I caught a boda-boda to the bus stop. While we were pulling in one of those guys who hustle you onto buses got it into his head that I was probably going to Kampala. By the time we were stopped 8 (i didn't count but this is my story) guys were surrounding us shouting at their lungs "Kampala this bus...Hey boss just this way...Kampala.....Kampala". I shouted back "Who said anything about wanting to go to Kampala?" but they were too loud to hear me. As I was taking off my helmet (try wearing a communal helmet and not thinking about lice.) one guy at the front on the other side grabbed my bag over the handle bars. Faster than you can read this I was up grabbing it back. Just as I reached for the handle he was lowering it and I came up with a handful of face, mostly eyes. Now everyone chorused that he was a thief. He wasn't, he was opportunistic. At a different bus stop I saw 4 guys fighting over one suitcase, each pulling in separate directions. Once I waved my already purchased ticket in their faces they dissipated like the morning dew.


The lady selling the ticket recommended I go as far as Bwanga and catch a bus from there. Looking back at Google maps it seems there may be better routes but then again maybe not. It was about a 41/2hr journey on good roads.

All the way to Bwanga almost all the virgin forest have been cut and the country is mostly open except for scrub and thorns. The rest is farm land with any other trees being planted by people.  This stretch of road travels by Lake Victoria and occasionally you break through and get a breath taking view of the lake. The road at this point is several hundred feet above the lake. What are peaceful small farms would in Dallas real estate sell by the inch.


From Bwanga was an one hour hop on dirt roads to a place that Google couldn't even find called Lunzewe.

You would think I'd learned but in Lunzewe a leech attached himself to me, he had a ticket sales book. We came out at a 'T' intersection and there didn't seem to be any buses going my way. Apart from the one guy no one really seemed too concerned about me. To this guy it seemed preposterous that someone should think of traveling at this time of day. It was 15 minutes after noon. Finally he said let me make a call. Ah yes, this guy is going...this way. What I realize now he did was set up that they would let him sell me the ticket for 15,000/= on a trip that sold for 10,000/=. The one comfort in the situation was I was not the only one he did this to. I checked...yep definite signs of dampness persisting behind ears.

The one good thing that guy did was insist that I get a front seat. This bus driver and conductor were in a class by themselves. I never did get an exact count but if I had to guess I'd say we had at least 26 people in the van. Anything above 23 and someone is basically standing hunched over leaning on the back of a seat. There is only ever 3 in the front. We managed to run out of gas twice. The first time we got 1/2 a gallon from a passing motorcycle. At the next wide spot in the road we were able to purchase probably 1 1/2 gallons from someone selling it in old water bottles. Then we ran out again and finally someone came with about a gallon. I'm not even sure how they got it, someone just rode up on a bicycle with it. Finally we got to a gas station and filled up. We were also always stopping to pick up or drop someone. This is to be expected. We picked up these 5 soldiers at the road to their camp. About a mile down the road was a swamp at the bottom of a steep hill. A large group of cadets were washing themselves and the clothes they were wearing in the open water either side of the road. Because the guys were on the road too and the guys we had picked up were talking out windows to them we were moving at a crawl. All of a sudden one guy jumps out and started yelling at a cadet who was in the all together.....I assume for not strategically holding his hands and offending the sensibilities of our lady riders. Everyone in the bus enjoyed seeing the poor chap run off into the swamp, it is after all a long and boring journey and we have to get our entertainment where we can.


Out of Lunzewe for a short time the road was tar but they are still working on it and from there on is all dirt to Kibondo where I spent the night at Pongezi Guest House. The bathrooms here were not self contained and I'd rate 6 and if I'd been willing to wait could have had warmed water but it was late and I was tired. The rooms are clean but spartan located off a central courtyard. The power comes on at 7pm and is not on in the morning although they leave a lantern burning in the courtyard by the bathroom door.

Kusulu is another 3 hours away over dirt roads that in part deterioate from their standard washboard rough to somewhat worse. During the rains I don't doubt bits can be nasty.

The last leg is into Kigoma where we were once again on a big bus which makes washboarding slightly more comfortable. The final bit from Monyovu is blacktop.

boda-boda

Boda-boda

The story told is that there are border crossings where passengers are required to walk between immigration offices while the bus with their luggage drives. These offices are a small ways apart and enterprising young men hired out first bicycles and now motorcycles to give rides between offices. There are of course some who say this is nonsense and that motorcycles are called boda-bodas because that is what they sound make.  Either way a motorcycle for hire in Kenya, Uganda or Tanzania is called boda-boda.

It used to be growing up that there were all sorts of different types of bikes according to whatever had struck the whim of the missionary who imported them. Honda trail 90 and later 110 were popular in certain circles and had about the utility and style of a Vespa. Others chose more robust dirt bikes. Either way they were fairly uncommon. Today most of those bikes have been worn out and have been replaced in volume with Chinese bikes with 125cc engines.  With such small displacement they are fairly enigmatic compared to most street bikes in the states which you would not want to take on the interstate with less than 750cc. There are different brand names on these bikes and come with different configurations of seat/luggage rack but to my all look pretty much the same. At about $1000-1300, they are affordable to a great many Africans.

Pundits talk no end of the need for democracy and rule of law. No doubt these are important but these humble machines are doing much to bring freedom and opportunity to Africa.  Everybody would love to afford a car. These provide a stepping stone up from a bicycle. Yesterday the guy giving me a ride said you could drive one to Dar Es Salaam on 2 tanks of gas which would be as cheap as bus fare. You wouldn't of course because of all the fool bus and truck drivers running you off the road, but you could.

Rain is the down side.