THE SOJOURNER : My Kigoma sojourn in the late 70s and how it almost got me fired

One of my very close long time friends is Daud Kheri. He is presently a financial guru based in Dar es Salaam. I first met him at the then famous Mkwawa High School in the early 70s.

Our friendship was further consolidated in the field hockey sport. I was a great defence player while Kheri was our goalie, in that game, which is mostly popular among the Asian community in Bongoland. Due to our different vocations we soon parted ways after university.

Notwithstanding we continued to keep in touch, though randomly.

Earlier this week Kheri sent me a Whatsup message after reading my last week’s sojourn in Mbeya in the early 1970s, in this third rate column.

And I quote; “Thanx for that piece of your usual rioting misadventures, this time from the now Mbeya city. You may wish to know you have a big fan in Prof Museru of Muhimbili National Hospital. He says he buys that newspaper, among other things, to read your articles. Would be cool to remind us of other misadventures of your assignment to Kigoma for the Nanenane when working with the ...Daily News..”

This message, indeed reminded me of my Kigoma mission in the late 70s when I was a young scribe with the government-owned Daily/Sunday News.

One morning, my Editor, Ulli Mwambulukutu summoned me to his office and told me I was assigned to cover that year’s Peasants Day ‘Nanenane’ commemoration events in Kigoma.

I was not willing to do so and in my youth foolishness emphatically told my boss that I will not go to Kigoma. “Why pick on me?” I demanded to know.

Mwambulukutu in his usual self kept quiet. However, the following day I was shocked to receive a memo telling me in no uncertain terms that it was ‘either Kigoma or no job.’

Naturally, I relented and chose the obvious and that was ‘Kigoma here I come.’

Two days later I was aboard an Air Tanzania Fokker Friendship plane to Kigoma via Tabora.

I had never been to Kigoma before. No wonder on arrival I was almost stranded at the small Kigoma Airport since there was no public transport to town. And the town’s location was not even visible from the airport on account of the steep nearby hill.

Someone from the Regional Commissioner’s office noticed my predicament and offered me a lift to town. I told him I was going to stay at the then famous Railway Hotel. He strongly advised me to rethink and stay at the centrally located Lake View Hotel run by the famous Maneno family.

I checked in at the recommended hotel and soon after walked across the street into the then famous Kigodeco Pub.

That is when I got my first shock as I was ushered in in almost Lingala-Swahili. “Patro. Unatoshee nini.” They asked me as to what I would drink.

I was naturally taken aback. After a few exchange of words they realised, from my Swahili tone, I was not from there. “Eeh bandugu kuya muone huyu patro kutoka fasi ya Tanganyika,” they exclaimed.

Now that was strange. I thought the Kigomans were more Tanganyikan than anyone else. After all they are on the shores of Lake Tanganyika itself.

However, in due course my Swahili slowly got localised and I smoothly merged into the ‘bakulutu’ community.

Soon, I was touring several remote villages to collect material for my feature articles. The Daily News was preparing a special Nanenane supplement.

I recall at one village after a warm welcome and a tour of the nearby vast maize farm, I and my driver felt hungry. However, the village restaurant, which was one of the village revered projects, had only one boiled egg. Needless to say we shared the single egg.

Weeks turned into a month. And I became more popular. Remember the feature articles I wrote were now a daily fixture in the Daily News.

On the occasions that I patronised the Magereza Club, where the famous Kibisa Band played, I would be seated at the band stage, as I was a ‘Patro.’

The Nanenane came and passed. And I was having a wonderful time in Kigoma. I was in no hurry to return to Dar and my work station.

One afternoon, however, staff of the Posts office, where I used to telex my stories, called me saying there was a message from my Dar office. I was delighted thinking, perhaps, they had sent me my allowances.

No. It was not that. The message was from my Editor. It was short and to the point. “You either return immediately or you have no job”, it stated.

No wonder, the following day, and after imbibing a few Burundi lagers, I was again aboard an ATC flight to Dar.

I still look forward to the day I will revisit that lake metropolis again.