I still had to pack as I had put it off and put it off so I had a quick breakfast and said goodbye to the volunteers who were off to work. I was excited as always to get underway and even more so to enter that elusive Tanzania and make the most of some decent roads for once. Seeing as I thought the roads would be better, I took a bit longer to leave and made sure I had everything packed away where it should be. The contents of my handlebar bag looked strange, like there was something missing, I couldn't put my finger on it so I just carried on packing.
The road from Camp Kenya's Muhaka camp is a thick sandy road of about 3km. I very carefully rolled down it and pushed Nigel some of the way to ensure no morning shockers. It took me about 20 minutes but I had finally reached the hallowed tarmac and was ready to push off towards Tanzania. The road felt great and for the first time since possibly France, Nigel made no noise whatsoever. No rack clicking or spokes tinkling, just the beautiful murmur of rubber rotating quickly over tarmac.
Waaaiiiit! My passport, its normally in my handlebar bag! Where is it? My first thoughts were, stinker, I'm going to have to go back up that horrible sandy road. I then remembered that I took my handlebar bag to the beach and I didn't take my passport so I could've possibly put it another bag if I was being sensible (rare) I checked the other bag, yes! get in! My sensible self gave me a horrible morning scare but the relief of finding it again spurred me on towards the border, nothing is going to stop me leaving Kenya now!
The last 60km of Kenya were very tropical. I could see the plants changing and instead of vast open plains, the road was becoming more enclosed with green shrubbery and palm trees.
I got to the HoroHoro border in reasonable time and was flagged down by a queue of people as I happily cycled by them. It was the Kenyan immigration office and I needed to get my exit stamp. Ok fine, standard procedure, I gave the man my passport and he stamped my visa. Then he stopped and frowned and ran his fingers through the pages of my passport a few times. I thought nothing of it and waited patiently whilst keeping an eye on Nigel and the people around him.
"Where is your entrance stamp? You need to come with me," he said. He took me to an office behind the glass to another man. They were both not impressed at all, "Where is your entrance stamp?" "I'm sorry I don't understand, I crossed the border in Turkana and stayed with some police but they didn't mention anything about an entrance stamp," I replied. "The police don't count, you should know better, you're British, don't play the ignorant man, you should know you must get an entrance stamp." He blasted at me, I couldn't believe it, this man was really serious and now it obviously seems a standard thing to do but I pushed my bike across the border and stayed with police for 7 days, it honestly never crossed my mind back then that I hadn't seen immigration. I was genuine in my apology but the officer's really weren't taking it that way.
One of them patronised me by saying, "look, this is an entrance stamp, and this is an exit stamp" as he punched down on a piece of paper. "I completely understand you sir but I'm very sorry there was no immigration, I'm cycling across Africa and all I want to do is get to Tanzania." I could see the border, I could smell it! I was annoyed that I hadn't got a stamp but there was no one on the border to get a stamp and even if back then I knew I had to register in Nairobi, my time between entering Kenya and getting to Nairobi was a little eventful!
I was annoyed with the way they were talking to me but this was no time to play the, "it's not my fault you haven't got an immigration office at that border crossing and your security is pants" card. I was in pleading mode 100%. "I'm very sorry sir, I'm just cycling through and helping out charities as I go..." I tried to explain how I had got into the country but who in their right mind would believe me and my story if they didn't know who I was?!
Everywhere you go you get an entry and exit stamp don't you? Yeah you do but that's typically in an airport or ferry terminal. Not everyone pushes their bike across a border and then looks out for the first immigration office amidst the gun fighting between two rival tribes!
I almost broke down. I knew the repercussions of this would be bad, I had been in Kenya illegally for 2 months. The man I was pleading with wasn't having it, "I must play by the rules, I don't have the authority to let you go" I couldn't believe it, talk about day ruined. I closed my eyes and prayed, that's all I could do. When I opened my eyes again, the man was sat staring at me. I stared back in silence at him for a good 10-15 seconds. It was a "moment" I didn't know if was good or bad but it was definately something.
He got up and knocked on his boss' door. The boss looked at my passport, "Christopher, this is a very serious offence, you have been in Kenya illegally since Christmas Eve." "I know sir I'm truly sorry, all I'm doing is cycling across your country and visiting charities as I go, I didn't mean in any way to enter illegally, I stayed with some police at the border and I thought etc etc" my pleading continued until I could tell by his face that he wasn't having any of it. "So what happens now?" I looked up at him and in my head I had conceded, another story to tell the Grandkids I thought. (If I'm able to have Grandkids after what they'll do to me!) "Well we will have to arrest you and take you back to our Headquarters for interrogation in Mombasa or possibly Nairobi"
I was gutted, my schedule is seriously screwed now I thought. I sat at the desk, dropped my head and put my hands together again...and prayed. I have prayed lots of times this ride, mainly giving thanks for protection, health and a working Nigel, never to save me from Kenyan handcuffs. I heard the sound of a stamp, lifted my head and opened one eye, the boss was writing something in my passport. "Because I have taken sympathy for your situation I have decided to let you go this time, this was very serious though so don't let it happen again" he said.
I said "thankyou" and apologised about 5 times. The whole situation lasted a good 40 minutes so this wasn't a place I wanted to hang around anymore in so I got my passport and made a straight line for the exit. As I cycled towards Tanzania I could've cried with relief. Almost immediately, the words from Malin came into my head. She said previously that "I'm born with a golden hair on my bum" The English equivalent (things always go right for me or lucky git) has also been used in the past with regards to my life but today I praised God for whatever changed that man's actions from sticking cuffs on me to sticking ink in my passport! They probably didn't want to transport a smelly Hobo in their van across country so I should be thanking Beirdre, but either way, that Golden hair was looking down on me.
I got to the Tanzanian office still scared to look back just incase the Kenyans changed their mind. I immediately hit it off with the worker there and we talked about football for a while as he ran my payment and form through the computer. We exchanged emails and within 10 minutes I was LEGALLY in Tanzania!
The border is called HoroHoro border and I almost had a HorrorHorror. I cycled away into Tanzania with so much emotion and relief it was definately the best I've felt entering any country on this trip so far. Country number 18 and to make things even better, the road was wide, empty, tarmacked and there was a cycle section just for me. I can thank the kind people of America for the road and its beautiful cycle section as there were signs telling me all about it throughout the rest of my ride. I can also thank the people of Tanzania for the some of the best greetings I have received during my ride so far. "Good morning sir, how are you?" That was from a kid! Their greetings were genuine and they waited for a reply instead of just asking the question and walking off. Their bright white smiles would cheer up anyone having a bad day and what's more, there wasn't a call of "mazungo" to be heard!
I still had a very long way left to cycle and I had no money either. I knew my destination of Tanga would have an ATM but that was still a good 70km away so as always, I just had to suck it up and get there with 2.5 litres of water and no food. The weather turned tropical pretty quickly along with the surroundings and the houses. I could've easily been in the Caribbean judging by the materials used to build the villages. It was great, despite the heat, I loved cycling on a nice road through villages that look so remote and so time did go by relatively quickly.
The last 10 miles were a bit of a struggle and I eventually got to Tanga around 5pm. I had no idea of exchange rate as for some reason I didn't select it on my phone but found out from a German couple that it was around 1600 Tsh to the dollar and they had been searching for good hotel prices and 25,000 was the best they could find. I take pride in finding bargains so I reckon I could've camped for cheaper but the state I was in, I couldn't care too much. Also, if I was going to trust a type of person to find the cheapest place, then after myself, it would be the Germans.
The "inn on the sea" served me well and after parking Nigel up next to the bed, I jumped straight in the shower. It was freezing cold aka Amazing!!! I had cycled just under 7 hours in heat that could make cheese melt. I felt like the human torch and with being pretty dehydrated, I drank some of the shower water, I didn't care. I've never done it before but then again I've never had a day like that before. I had to restrain myself from just standing there and gulping, despite how beautifully cold it was, I wasn't sure if it was safe enough to down! I've done really well with my health issues recently and I would not like Tanzanian shower water to be the cause of the dreaded return of the toilet monster!
I took a walk down to a restaurant to restore my body's energy levels. I had the feeling I was in quite a wealthy area from the amount of white people driving around and the yacht club by the sea. I've been told that if Kenyan's are classed as slow, then Tanzanians are positively stationery. My service confirmed this, so I ended up having my meal outside via phone light despite the sun still being in the sky when I ordered it.
A brisk walk back to my hotel followed possibly the worst Spaghetti Bolognese I've ever had (no sauce) and I finished my eventful day off with watching the A-Team. I don't plan on what happens to me on this ride and I especially don't request anything other than a quick in and out when it comes to borders. Despite what it seems like, I would rather a few days of boring cycling but it seems wherever I go, eventfulness follows. One thing is for sure, from now on, I won't be going anywhere without a stamp!
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