The monkey, the mama and the mad, mad driver

A day trip to the Jozani national park to see the collobus monkey involved another exciting trip on the daladala. First of all find the bus, then check that it’s going where you want. Not all daladalas go where they say they’re going. If they have a full load of passengers for part of the journey, don’t expect them to take you all the way. Check first. For us, it was a forty minute journey through some beautiful, tropical countryside.

Twenty-three of us squashed into the back of this truck on wooden benches and with a roof, just high enough to bash your head three times as you kneel/walk your way down to the far corner. People are friendly. It’s a good job, though, as you couldn’t get any closer without committing an offence. We were squeezed out at the park entrance and registered with the ranger and guide.

Jozani national park is a protected site, a tropical rainforest of 5000 hectares and home to the almost extinct collobus monkey. The monkey, once almost rendered extinct, mistakenly, on the orders of a former British Consul and expert on Zanzibari fauna, has a reddish brown coat and uniquely has only four fingers on its hands. It eats leaves, unripened fruit and, when necessary, charcoal to allow its digestive system to handle toxins. It is, we are told, not aggressive, not curious and provided one does not go too close, quite harmless.

“Just take a photo of that one sleeping, Mike”, said Caroline

No sooner had she said it, than an adolescent male, too curious to see us, fell from the tree above us and landed on Mike’s face. The guide, as well as us, responded in the way one would expect. We all bellowed with laughter. Blood was pouring from his nose, but we only stopped laughing briefly to pass him a tissue.

The way home had the same number of passengers, but this time the passengers were predominantly women.Perhaps this explains why we were so much more squashed. When I thought we were completely full, absolutely no more room, one more, very large woman levered her backside between me and my neighbour. This was a miracle in itself, because I would have sworn that there was no space there; and yet her enormous behind eventually found its way to the wooden bench. The combination of the bumpy road, the heat, and the ample folds of the woman next to me, soon rocked me to sleep. I woke to the sound of boys banging the side of the truck,

“Mia moja na tanu ya fungu”. That’s about 4p for about six mangoes. Passengers filled their boots and their bags.

Our journey continued. One moment of tension was when we were stopped by the police. This happens a lot and I’ve yet to work out what they are looking for. It must be al-quaida terrorists, because it’s certainly not unroadworthy, overcrowded, speeding vehicles, because they would be far too busy. Our conductor looked nervous. I felt nervous and I’d done nothing wrong, yet.

Our journey continued. Suddenly we were thrown to one side. At least other passengers were. I was just enveloped all the more deeply into the soft flesh of the woman next to me. A rival bus had cut us off and we were retaliating. There followed a dangerous game of cat and mouse all the way into Stonetown, the driver weaving his way in and out of parked trucks, past bicycles and in and out of the centre of the road. The bus behind chased, swerved and pressed up against us so close that the conductor was rather less cocky than he had been. He spent the rest of the journey looking sheepishly over his shoulder, as the rival bus threatened to crush his legs.

When we alighted in Stonetown, it seemed rude not to say good-bye. I felt I knew my fellow passengers so well.