The discovery of Merman - the underwater miracle.

Although there is definitely something exotic and exciting about living in Tanzania, weekends in Arusha, as with anywhere, can become repetitive. There are only so many gourmet buffet lunches set amongst willow trees in picturesque plantations one girl can handle. So a few weekends ago, having taken Friday off for some R&R, loosely translated to doing little more than eating cereal from the box and watching Nip Tuck in bed, it was time to shake things up.

With a relatively empty volunteer village I was able to borrow the Land Rover Saturday night, ready for our great Sunday adventure. Unfortunately, when a car is shared by half a dozen people - there can come a time when diesel becomes a problem. A working fuel gauge might be helpful.
Come midnight and I’m driving through a deserted Arusha looking for a hotel that I have no idea how to find other than turning corners relying entirely on instinct. Luckily it worked and by chance I glanced up to the rooftop sign just as I passed it. One quick loop around the roundabout and I’m would have been safe and sound, ready for a rooftop party. Fate would have it I lose all power half way around the roundabout and have to use the sheer force of gravity and some very effective nudging of the steering wheel to very slowly manoeuvre my way around what is usually Arusha’s busiest intersection, turn the corner and come to a stop right outside the reception. Instead of getting myself into a panic about how on earth I’d get myself out of this little pickle, I made a beeline for the cask wine and enjoyed an evening on the rooftop of a hotel managed by a friend of mine. Fortunately I ran into Stefan – a colleague of Adam’s at school, his partner Winnie and a mutual friend Evans, who gallantly drove me the petrol station and convinced them to give me some fuel in an old oil bottle. Having somehow managed to get the fuel in the tank without a funnel we abandoned the rooftop and headed to Empire, a local reggae bar that is quickly replacing Mona Pub as Saturday night ritual.
By the next morning Evans was developing a genuine fear that he’d have to spend 4 hours in my car getting to the middle of nowhere, and I have to admit I wasn’t so comfortable about it either. But off we went, Adam, Stefan and Winnie in the Land Rover and everyone else in the comfort and security of Loretta’s Suzuki.
An hour of perpetual speed bumps, frantic Dala Dala drivers, donkeys with little respect for freeways and a squeaky power steering we turned off the main road and, remarkably, chose the correct dirt path through the middle of the desert. I quickly developed a love for 4WDing and would say I’m actually quite a natural, well at least there were no punctured tyres or injured livestock – just how comfortable Adam and Stefan were in the back I’m not sure.
The rest of the trip was like a virtual tour of every tourist book dedicated to portraying Massai villages as sparse and beautiful, scattered with Boabab trees, mud huts and tall elegant people colourfully wrapped in Shukas guiding donkeys across a dusty plane. Had I not been concentrating on not upending the world’s noisiest vehicle I would have called it serene. More than once I remembered how it felt to spend a relaxing Sunday morning down at the boatshed only to be interrupted by some wanker on a jetski. And i’m fairly certain I didn’t smile and wave at those tourists – let alone give them directions at every fork in the road. So, thanks to the selfless generosity of many a roaming Massai, we made it to Maji Moto (literally translates to Water Hot).

If I was going to need some encouraging to get back in the car before we got there – it was going to take some serious powers of persuasion to make me leave now. And water there was; a spectacular natural spring of the clearest water under a canopy of massive trees whose roots joined together to create a natural plunge pool. Luckily, hot it was not. Exactly why it’s known as a hot spring I don’t know, and quite frankly I couldn’t have cared less. We were in the middle of the desert in scorching heat and a cool spring was just what we needed.



The group of squealing children and their painfully encouraging parents– always a big hit with me – didn’t hang around for long and the oasis became our own private playground.
Another added advantage of the water temperature meant I could finally test my waterproof camera – yes I did RTFM and Hot Springs are a big no-no.




Put together a brand new camera and the clearest fresh water imaginable and what other possible outcome could you expect than the discovery of Arusha’s very own Merman. Aka Stefan. Inspired by Adam’s underwater pose, the tattooed German spent the next half an hour insisting he master the art of being at one with the water. Unfortunately the battery ran out before we progressed beyond a pose that looked more like an Ethiopian synchronised
swimming bronze medallist than an underwater phenomenon.

Where the drive in resembled a travel guide, the moment an unmarked police ute pulled up and heavily armed plain clothed officers descended felt decidedly similar to some not so pleasant African civil war horror movies I’ve seen. Needless to say there was no gunfire or hostage situations and after a half an hour inspection they jumped back aboard and left us in peace. Well relative peace given that some local guys had taken up prime perving possie in one of the trees.
Turns out the fear of the car breaking down after sunset in the middle of this spectacular but seriously isolated paradise was enough to get me moving. The sunset itself was just enough to make the ride home outdo any great outdoors travel brochures.
In the past two weeks I’ve planned at least half a dozen return trips – so I’ll make it known that if you decide to come visit, this little piece of paradise will undoubtedly take up a series portion of your photo gallery.