Using a wheelchair has never mixed well with what I imagined of Africa—dirty streets, mosquitoes, sweltering heat. In December 2007, it was time to face my fear of the great continent with a visit to Tanzania.
Our jeep sped noisily along the smooth black strip, bright-yellow lines marking our way west to Ngorngoro Crater and the Serengeti. We passed a lone Masaii, striding purposefully, stick in hand, tall and elegant in his bright red tartan and dramatic against the dusty brown and burnt green landscape. The sky yawned wide. The panorama caught my breath.
I’d always felt intimidated by Africa. I expected sticky heat, hungry mosquitoes, and poverty hard to face. I thought of the added wheelchair challenge of negotiating muddy streets, inaccessible budget accommodation, and squat toilets.
A good friend had spent two years in an out-of-the-way region of Tanzania, working as a volunteer on a community health project with the Masaii. Lorna invited me to go with her on a visit to fit some solar panels in a remote health centre located a few hundred miles south of Kilimanjaro, where few tourists venture.
Never one to turn down an adventure or a challenge, I felt it was time to overcome my fear of Africa.
Our plane descended steeply between the summits of Kilimanjaro and Mt Meru, the dark night swallowing us into the plains below. No matter how difficult it would be to cope with Africa on wheels, it was only for two weeks. I’d brought various contraptions with me—a portable deck chair and an inflatable toilet seat—hopefully to make going to the toilet, the worst of challenges for most paralysed people, easier.
We were greeted with big white smiles and brightly dressed women, with fashionable shelf bottoms and melon-breasted figures. “Large is a sign of wealth.” Lorna explained to me. We were met by Lorna’s friends and bustled into a mini-van for a drive to the town of Moshi, through the earthy smells and noisy insects of night-time Africa.
The near-perfect volcanic cone of Kimilmajaro dominates the town of Moshi, its long easy-graded slopes rising from the plains to its ice-cream summit. Its more rugged sister, Mt Meru, towers over the town of Arusha, an hour’s drive from Moshi, and the capital of the region. A few hand-bikers have even attempted to tackle the rocky slopes of Kili, on ‘One-Off’ mountain bikes (see http://www.oneoffhandcycle.com/ , http://www.pushinghigher.com/ and http://www.uhuruascent.com/ ).
I found Tanzania a great surprise—from the luxury of safari camps and lodges to the simplicity of Masaii villages, it was never that difficult to get around. In the towns, the kerbs of course are giant, built to cope with the deluge of monsoon rains, but the streets are clean and litter-free. All the budget hostels we stayed in were accessible, on one level, and offered toilet sitters, not squatters. The locals were always willing and helpful whenever the terrain got tough. We also took bikes, and my hand-bike was the perfect knobbly-wheeled companion for exploring further, venturing along various dirt roads and getting a fix of exercise whenever we could bear the heat.
We met a Masaii in a wheelchair, in the wilds, beneath a lone tree. He’d been run down by a wildebeest. Fear or pre-conceived ideas won’t stop me from travelling anywhere again.
Additional Information:
The Green Hostel, Moshi. Easily accessible by wheelchair and can be booked on hostel websites, e.g., http://www.hostelworld.com/ or http://www.hostelsweb.com/
Sunny Adventure Safaris, Arusha. Mid-range budget, very accommodating and helpful for lifts in and out of safari vehicles, though no specially adapted / accessible vehicles, http://www.sunnyadventures.co.tz/ sunnyadventures@habari.co.tz.
