Having said that this train ride was one of the most relaxing experiences of my whole Africa trip, I probably need to exclude the first night from this statement: The train stopped at several stations throughout the night and each time, the breaks were shrieking, the lights went on, and there was a lot of noise in the corridor and outside on the platforms. Sometimes, people would open the door to our compartment because they were mistaken about their carriage number, and each time the train took off again, the engine made a lot of noise and I had to hold on to my bed in order not to fall out of it because of the sudden jerking movements of the train. In addition to these regular stops, we also halted in the middle of nowhere a few times. I didn’t understand what was going on until I realised that there were actually people outside in the darkness who tried to sell things through the windows. While Melanie and I were more annoyed about the interruptions, Dorothy and Gertrud would jump up a couple of times to buy big sacks of rice, huge banana plants, tons of potatoes and fruits from the dealers outside. It took me quite a while to understand that these purchases were actually part of their “shopping tours” to Tanzania. Apparently, a lot of goods were cheaper here than in Zambia. Slowly our compartment filled with all sorts of groceries and their respective smells. After a while I tried hard not to be disturbed in my sleep anymore but luckily, I was awake and quick enough to shout at the boy who jumped up our open window to grab whatever he could steal from the table inside our compartment while everybody else was negotiating deals through the windows on the other side of the train. After that, we kept the window shut for the rest of the night.

The next day was entirely spent on the train. I woke up around 8:30 am and remember that I was quite knocked out after last night. Breakfast was served inside the compartment (a first class privilege) and just like the food in the train restaurant, it wasn’t outstanding. I spent most of the morning reading in bed and then went over to another carriage to visit Frank, the Dutch guy I met at the train station yesterday. He shared his compartment with a local student and Richard, an American Economist who was doing some research in Tanzania. All of them got off the train at Mbeya, where we arrived shortly past noon. Mbeya is the capital of southern Tanzania and was our last stop before crossing the border to Zambia sometime in the afternoon. I went back to the train restaurant for lunch and spent the afternoon reading, looking out of the window and chatting with my fellow passengers.

Overall, we got along well altogether but certain comments by Gertrud sometimes made me wonder whether her friendliness was genuine. She kept emphasising that she was married and already had three or four children at my age and that I must be really rich to be able to afford such a trip. At her age and with five children she said it was too late to realise her dreams and I couldn’t help thinking that she sounded envious. I tried to explain that I had worked hard to be able to pay for this journey but she kept insisting that we (white) Europeans were really rich and lucky. On the other hand, I am convinced that she thought something must have been seriously wrong with both Melanie and I, not to be married at our age. For us to be white was another one of her favourite topics. She kept saying that being black was a hindrance in this world and I was surprised to hear that from her because I am sure she was one of the wealthier Africans I met. It was clear that she considered white people superior to her own colour and that we were somehow supposed to feel guilty for that. I guess demonstratively reading religious books didn’t really help her to live a content life or feel comfortable with who she was. Therefore, I had absolutely no idea what to say when she told Melanie and me: “Maybe in your next life you will be black and we will be white” - as if that was a deserved punishment for us and would take her one step closer to Heaven.

This is how time passed by until 9 pm when I decided to go to bed. Expecting another disturbed night, I thought it would be wise to try and catch as much sleep as possible. Indeed, it wasn’t long before the first interruption: around 10:30 pm the Zambian conductor and border officials came to check our tickets, passports and visa. I was happy that I had organised my visa in Dar Es Salaam because Melanie had to purchase hers on the train and they made her pay a small fortune, for not getting her into trouble... This was the first time I ever experienced open threat and blackmailing by African border officials against a traveller. It was quite intimidating because it made me realise how quickly you can find yourself at the mercy of pseudo-powerful people who shamelessly use their authority to their benefit.

Given the fact that I would get off the Tazara in Zambia tomorrow, it was time to say “Good-bye Tanzania!”