Seeing Tanzania during pandemic made it more than an adventure

 Article and Photos by Tony Mangia 

There weren’t too many countries in the world accepting visitors when I made a concerted effort to escape from my COVID-19 cocoon at home this past spring. Then, after languishing on my own throughout the summer, a September window of opportunity to get away from the isolation arose, and I broke out my cobwebbed passport and made plans for Tanzania.

My previous plans for an overseas expedition in April were dashed — like so many others were — when flight limitations, the fear of contacting and, possibly, spreading COVID or finding myself stranded in a foreign quarantine ward were, for lack of a better phrase, at a fever pitch.

So, during the summer months, I watched as coronavirus cases spiked and subsided around the globe, even wondering if I would ever be able to travel overseas again without all the excess baggage a person would now need to bring along — namely COVID plus all of the concerns, and even guilt, associated with it. 

In all honesty, traveling with the pandemic scare only added to my sense of adventure and the urgency to leave.

Meanwhile, I waited patiently, somberly gazing at my computer screen, reliving photos of my past faraway journeys and researching all I could about the virus, until I contacted a doctor friend (an infectious disease specialist) who assured me it was okay to travel, but stick to the standard precautions like masks, hand-cleaning and social distancing. As simple as those well publicized safeguards were, her professional reassurance and tone went a long way in helping to make my decision. So, after months of anxious, self-imposed seclusion at home and, after Tanzania re-opened its borders, my mid-September take-off couldn’t come soon enough.

And it would be worth every bit of the precautionary frustration and health advisory red tape just to break free of my tiny quarantine bubble.

My September-October itinerary would include a two-week animal welfare volunteering stint in Arusha sandwiched between a seven-day climb up Mt. Kilimanjaro and four-day safari in Serengeti National Park.

Looking back, I don’t know what was a crazier idea — going to Tanzania and attempting a world-class climb of Mt. Kilimanjaro or just going to Tanzania during a world-wide pandemic in the first place?

But also, in retrospect, the global virus — which had basically kept us all locked up at home — was a catalyst fueling a desire to challenge myself and take more risks, especially anywhere far away.

And what better way to isolate and break the boredom of self-quarantine than making a solo climb on the deserted trails of a lone mountain? 

Talk about taking social distancing to an extreme. 

It would be my first time in Tanzania, so it goes without saying that the climb up Kilimanjaro would be a new accomplishment. I did a safari in Kenya a few years ago, but, even so, whenever you have a chance to see the wildlife of Africa up close, you do it.

And the volunteer program, well … who knew what to expect dealing with that?

I did get a seasonal flu shot in advance and, after being informed I would be physically handling many different animal breeds in the volunteer program, I considered getting a rabies pre-exposure immunization, as well. But that injection’s timeline — three shots spread out over 28 days — didn’t fit my schedule or my macho sense of immortality. So that inoculation was, quite irrationally, ignored.

So, despite that bit of recklessness, the trip was on. I packed the normal essentials plus those hard-to-find-over-there extras: headlamp, batteries and baby wipes. Then I added some new first-time carry-ons — including about a dozen face masks, rubber gloves and a half-dozen, pocket-sized bottles of hand sanitizer — to what I usually pack in my luggage.

A few maddening domestic flight changes by the airline (Departure from Dallas, then Chicago, then New York City) in the pre-flight weeks and having the overseas take-off pushed back (from Thursday to Friday) and Tanzanian airport rerouted (Dar es Salaam Airport was restricted because of COVID) to Kilimanjaro International only days before takeoff turned my whole departure into a convoluted logistical mess.  And when I finally got to the Tampa check-in starting point, an agent then asked for my “negative COVID test.” 

Of course, I hadn’t gotten one. 

Homestay Volunteering Is A Great Way To See A Foreign Country

Article and photos by Tony Mangia

International volunteering became sort of an annual ritual with me about five years ago after an eye-opening and exciting three weeks teaching English in Kenya. What began as one-time, lending a hand in some small way journey soon became a yearly excursion overseas before turning into the bi-yearly excuse to explore less ventured and vastly more interesting places in the world — with charitable group benefits — it has become for me today.

The act of volunteering has cannily become equal parts self-serving travel support as much as an opportunity to do some sort of good in the world. 

As a photojournalist, I am always looking for the off-the-beaten-path sort of destinations and usually travel in spring or fall when the climates are more bearable and most rainy seasons are dormant. Of course, there aren’t the mobs of tourists and college students in the background of every shot either. Volunteering offers me the chance to get up close and personal with different communities of the world without feeling like one of those tourists.  And besides the satisfaction of helping other people out — and occasionally their fellow Hominidae (Working on an orangutan reserve in Malaysia) — it is also a great way to get acclimated to a less developed country — namely its culture, food, language and customs — with the help, support and guidance of a local volunteer team and the families you get to stay with. A one or two week crash course, so to speak. There is nothing more intimidating or a feeling of helplessness than being dropped off blindly into an environment way different that our western world without a clue. Just getting used to foregoing the creature conveniences we usually take for granted — simple amenities like hot water, air conditioning and sit-down toilets — can take some getting used to. Those squat toilets may be more natural and beneficial to your system (so they say), but not when your bad knees scream at every bend like mine do. Still don’t know why they don’t put handlebars around that hole in the ground. While most homestay experiences may take you out of your comfort zone for a spell, they also offer adventurous travelers a bartering-type opportunity to help others in exchange for getting a helping hand in return.

I tend to travel solo so I can take all the photos I want without anyone looking at their watch or hear the restless tapping of another person’s foot hinting at moving on. Getting the right photographic light can sometimes take a lot of time and patience— a toleration mostly only serious photographers know or care about. After finishing your daily chores as a volunteer, it’s easy to wander off on your own, even though most volunteer organizations stress keeping a close relationship within the groups —  such as dinners and activities together — to build camaraderie. I still choose the lone wolf approach whenever possible. The whole group together principle is more of a protective measure than an actual Kumbaya existence, but in the company of other volunteers, I’ve found that these organizations offer more than just a friendly, welcoming comfort zone for the lonely traveler in a foreign land, they offer security. And those on a budget can take advantage of that hospitality by saving money on tours, flights and accommodations once you get to their country. For example, when I volunteered in Kenya, the $1500 three-day safari I saw on my computer in the U.S. before I left actually cost me about $400 in Kenya because Beatrice, the woman whose family I home-stayed with in Nairobi, had connections to better deals. I recommend researching the tours and adventures beforehand, so you know how to clarify what you are looking to your volunteer hosts once you arrive. Sometimes language and technological issues (Limited internet, phone etc.) make it a little harder in some places, so the more information you bring with you, the better.

So there I was last May, touching down in Kathmandu after a pleasant, but tiresome 30 hour air journey from JFK — with a late-night layover in Dubai where I had the last real Western mean I would enjoy for a while — a quite delicious, McArabia Chicken (sliced chicken, tahini, lettuce, tomato and onions on pita) sandwich at the terminal McDonalds. My biggest challenge after the volunteer group sent a cab to meet me at Dubai International Airport? Figuring out how to adjust my watch nine hours and forty-five minutes ahead to local time. I couldn’t, so I spent the next three weeks just deducting two hours from the hands on the watch and noting if it was night or day. The younger volunteers on my trips are always amazed I don’t have a smart phone and that I can go weeks without taking selfies, scrolling social media and ignoring all the Internet noise that comes with it. The first time they see a Luddite like me still using a flip phone and notice I can’t even change the time on it, they really crack up.

Kathmandu, the capitol and largest city in Nepal, might be the dustiest place I’ve ever been in and that includes earthy cities such as Nairobi, Kandy in Sri Lanka and Myawaddy in Myanmar — all during their dry seasons. Through my taxi window, I observed the small storms of dirt particles lifted up by motor vehicles mix with the unending buzzing of scooters and motorcycles blowing puffs of exhaust into a throat choking nightmare. The durable Royal Enrights seem to be the choice of motorcycle here, as they are in India and many southeast Asian countries and it isn’t uncommon to see a family of five straddling one together. My taxi driver told me the number of motorized bikes on the streets of Kathmandu increased from 8,000 ten years ago, to over 80,000 teeming the streets now. He wasn’t happy about it either.

The only creatures that don’t seem to worry about the two-wheeled menaces zipping around town are the sacred cows you see grazing smack in the middle of any thoroughfare, leisurely chomping on the grains and fruit that people lay in front of them as offerings.

Face masks are almost a necessity and sold everywhere and it’s not uncommon customized or personalized ones adorn faces like fashion accessories. The tannish clouds of dirt still can’t hide the brilliant colors adorning everything from Nepalese clothing to brightly painted buildings. It must be maddening to the old women constantly wiping the ever-swirling dust off their tables of exotic looking foods (Which I wouldn’t chance eating) and interesting knick-knacks with tattered straw brooms only to see the fine granules of earth coat everything again minutes later. The ever-present powdery brown nuisance tainting everything takes some time getting used to. Did I mention face masks?

After a 45-minute minute ride from the airport, my driver dropped me off at the Kathmandu Peace House guest house the volunteer group set me up to stay for the first few days of my journey. Peace House is a popular name for these inexpensive hostel-type accommodations, so make sure you get the proper name and address before arriving or you’ll go crazy looking for it. I opted to pay extra ($6US per night) for single room privacy and comfort for a few days before the two-weeks of dorm-like, communal accommodations most volunteer trips utilize.

I was tired and dirty from the flight, but couldn’t wait to get out and about Kathmandu, so that shower could wait. I wandered the narrow streets in the tourist section of Kathmandu known as Thamel with camera in hand probably overusing the greeting namaste to everyone I met or took a picture of. It took a little time to get used to the narrow or nonexistent sidewalks, the heartbreaking street beggars and free-wheeling traffic, but it definitely got my photographic creative juices churning. Strangely, the first thing I noticed through all of the merchandise and gear pertaining to Mount Everest or the trinkets and t-shirts adorned with the omnipresent Buddha Eyes (Two alluring peepers, usually with a touch of eye shadow, symbolizing the wisdom and all-seeing ability of the Buddha) was the number of dreadlock hair styles on the Westerners. This place must be the White Guys with Dreads capital of the world. I counted about a dozen the first few hours I was there, probably more than I’ve seen in a lifetime in New York City — and that includes trendy Williamsburg.

I was cautious where to eat, and scouted around before I snacked down on my first (of many more to follow) meal of dal bhat, a Nepal staple usually consisting of white rice, lentil soup, chutney vegetables and roti flatbread at a place called the Mint Cafe, the coziest looking restaurant I could find. It was delicious, filling and only cost about 450 rupee, or about $4.50US. Little did I know at the time that dal bhat would basically be lunch and dinner for nearly two weeks while on homestay with my volunteer family, but — for now — this regional dish  was different and delectable.

Throughout the dusty streets of Kathmandu are plenty of temples to explore and ancient Buddhist stupas or Hindu shrines splattered with colorful flowers and melted candles to photograph. Hindus make up about 80% of the Nepalese population, but Buddhist symbolism seems to be everywhere. I’m guessing because Buddhism holds that Buddha was born in Nepal and is rooted in Nepal’s history. I worked out my airline-cramped legs wandering through the narrow streets, hopping out of the way of scooters and curiously peeking down alleys, into open-air barber and butcher shops; while passing the numerous lines of pedicabs and female street vendors selling fruits or fragrant spices.