Tanzania

6th November

After two and a half months of feeling safe and secure, we have been robbed in Dar Es Salaam and the consequences are serious. All 25 tapes of documentary footage have been taken. It goes without saying that these are irreplaceable and invaluable, and represent such an important part of the trip that we are all devastated by the implications. Jonny’s entire time here has been dedicated to not only recording the adventures of the cyclists and the support vehicle, but collecting interviews and information about modern slavery that would contribute enormously to its investigation in East and Southern Africa. We all feel numb and despondent. Along with the tapes in Jonny’s bag went other important possessions including his South African and English passports. Duncan also had his bag taken, with US$500, passport and plane tickets. However, the loss has been greatest for Rob, whose giant rucksack was somehow squeezed out of a forced window. All of his clothes, books, music and equipment for the entire trip were inside, and most distressingly, 20 films of pictures that were taken from the bike, and so capture many special moments away from the support vehicle.

We have understood that cities represent a far more dangerous environment for travellers than small towns and rural areas where have been so welcome, and on a trip like this, in a place like Dar Es Salaam, you expect something like this to happen. But it is a big shock nevertheless.

Our initial reaction is of course to go to the police, and we know that we have to for insurance purposes, but that reaction is tempered when we seek advice. Tourism in Dar has inspired a whole community of unofficial tour guides, money changers, beggars and thieves that survive through cheating, robbing, conning and occasionally helping tourists. Within this seemingly hermetic circle of people everybody knows everybody, and if a tourist is robbed the chances are most of them know who did it and where the goods are. Apparently, if you are willing to spend time and money in search of what you’ve lost, they are recoverable. The documentary tapes and Rob’s films, to name just a couple, are so important to us that we can’t risk them being sold or destroyed, so we have to consider whether or not to delve into Dar Es Salaam’s underworld.

7th November

Today was undoubtedly the most bizarre of the trip. One of Jono’s local contacts from when he visited Dar as an Overland driver has heard something about the theft. Apparently, a boy was seen carrying a blue bag that looked too much like a ‘mzungu’s’ (white man’s) for him to own. When quizzed he claimed it had been stolen from a local’s Land Rover the night before. Our contact could put us in touch with someone who knew this boy. This story certainly sounded contrived, but we recognised it as a hint that if we wanted we could find a way of buying some of our things back. At this point the question of who to trust became almost impossible. People we had never seen or met before were offering help, clearly for a price and as far as we were concerned these men might have been the thieves themselves.

Within an hour news came to us that our tapes were in a post box on the other side of town. Jono went with the Land Rover to investigate and we began to realise that we had no cards up our sleeve or control over the situation. He soon returned, annoyed at what was clearly a distraction. Soon our contact and two other men claimed they could take us to some of our bags and perhaps the tapes. There was only room for Jono and Jonny and the three men, and the rest of us were left waiting again, feeling intimidated and confused. Very soon after they had left another man approached Rob and I claiming to be able to take us in a taxi to the place where the tapes were being kept. We decided to take the chance.

It was after twenty minutes in the taxi that we realised the ridiculousness of what we were doing. We were in the car with an older man who spoke some English and a younger boy who apparently spoke none. When we asked for information about what these people had of ours and what they wanted for it, the older man would ask the boy in Swahili and he would answer, nervously at first, but soon with almost jovial confidence. It became obvious that I was sitting next to the thief who had taken thousands of dollars of clothes, equipment and money from our Land Rover, and who knew where our footage was. We didn’t know how to react or how to feel. It was hilarious and horrible at the same time, and the remarkably relaxed nature of the whole thing made it too surreal for us to be angry.

We came out of the centre of Dar and into the poor townships, where the atmosphere was unfriendly and intimidating. The car stopped and we waited as the thief and his mate disappeared into the smaller streets having promised to find most of our things. They returned with a plastic bag of tapes, and we immediately felt an enormous rush of relief when we saw Jonny’s scrawled notes on their sides, and enough of them to know that they hadn’t kept any. But they had nothing else, and we had originally agreed a price based upon a number of returned items. Moreover, having realised that this was the thief himself, and that he already had hundreds of dollars of our money, it seemed too absurd to hand over more. A criminal, who had stolen our bags, was now standing in front of us demanding money for their return…we felt like the stupidest, most ignorant and gullible tourists in Africa, who were totally powerless to do anything but give in to this brash fraud. We gave him a small amount, a down payment on the return of the rest of our irreplaceable items, and drove on to the next destination where apparently our passports awaited us for another payment. Unsurprisingly, they did not.

8th November

At 12pm on the third day of the ordeal, Rob, Jonny and I were driving through torrential rains of the first day of monsoon season, along the now rivers of Dar Es Salaam’s townships, with the thief and two of his mates chatting and reading FHM in the back seat of the Land Rover, on our way to another ‘buy your own stolen goods back at knock down prices’ sale. It was becoming too bizarre for words, and yet too frustrating to carry on for much longer. At one point the Land Rover couldn’t handle the rain and gave up in the middle of a very busy dual carriage way. To have the criminals kindly push us off the road and inquire about what the problem might be will not be a picture quickly forgotten. When we arrived in the next suburban lake, we took another step into the unreal, as out from the hammering rain emerged a man innocently carrying one of Rob’s missing bags, the one that had contained his camera films. Presuming he was returning it to us for a price, we were even more surprised when he walked passed with a wave and smile. When we approached him had no idea that it was stolen, took out the pink jeans that he had inside and warmly handed it back to us. Unfortunately, everything inside of value was missing, and he had no leads for us to follow from where he had got it from. When the criminals returned to the Land Rover there were more of them, all loudly demanding money for as yet unseen stolen items.

At this point you may well be wondering why we didn’t just go to the police and tell them what we knew. To try and barter with thieves for stolen goods in Dar Es Salaam ghettos seems the height of inanity, and, moreover, immorality. However, our own experiences and what we had heard from various people gave us three reasons to be reluctant to take this route for as long as possible. Firstly, if the police became involved our films and passports would immediately disappear completely out of our reach, meaning no photos and a five day wait for new passports. Secondly, the police would also demand a fee, no doubt of similar size to the thieves. At the time the question of whether to pay crooks or cops seemed more like a question of whether to involve an expensive, violent and unreliable middle-man in a business deal. Thirdly, our first visit to the police had given us very little confidence in their willingness to help. When we explained to them what had happened, the head of police insisted that we had lost these four bags, not had them stolen at all:

“No, but they forced the widow on our Land Rover…”

“You lost your bags.”

“But they were stolen…”

“They were lost.”

“Stolen!”

“LOST!!”

As it became more obvious that we had in fact been robbed, and not just left four bags, one of which is a metre high and weighs 50kgs, on the street, he became more transparent. He claimed that in asserting that we had been victims of theft and not our own negligence, we were giving Dar Es Salaam a bad reputation for crime. This flawless logic eventually conceded to ‘Lost/Stolen’ on the insurance form, surely maintaining Dar’s reputation as only the second most dangerous city in Africa to visit.

10th November

Four days after the theft we have spent a lot of time in a car park or driving aimlessly from place to place, desperate to get back on our bikes and very frustrated. We have back a few bits and pieces in return for very little money, but its time to go to the police with all the information we have. Very bizarrely, the criminals don’t seem to have minded being filmed throughout this whole episode, in fact they become even more brash and criminal when on camera! Consequently, we not only know their names and where they hang out, but also have them on film, discussing a price for the return of stolen goods. We have very little faith that the police will get anything back, but having had our loss rubbed in our faces for three days, we will be very glad to pass the issue on to someone else and cycle away from our ill-fated time here.