Burundi

Burundi was really just a necessary transit country; see the southern source of the Nile, and enjoy a last night of civilization in Bujumbura before the long grind ahead. Chose the excellent Shammah hotel (just up from Havana nightclub and across from Aroma cafe, the two landmarks everybody always gives for the city); again 45 USD but enclosed behind high gates so the vehicle is well-secure for the night in a town with a less-than stellar reputation for safety after dark – which none of the other options appeared to do. Hot and mozzy, but friendly staff, free breakfast and in-room wifi. It’s late now, and hectic on the streets, so I retire to my room instead for a beer dinner and early night.

Setting off early enough for what should be an easy cross of the border and fully fueled given that western Tanzania will be very remote and with little chance of re-supply I set off following the shore of Lake Tanganyika – so close I could have chucked almonds from my snack bag into the waters – until reaching the point where Burton and Speke parted company (and positions and opinions on the true source of the Nile) and being directed to turn left and put the lake to my back (shown as Nyanza Lac on the road atlas). This is where it all went very odd and I’m glad I ran into a guy in Malawi who’d done the same route with the same issues as at the time I thought I’d maybe lost it a bit ...

The atlas clearly shows the road turning east to Mabanda, then south down a lesser or dirt track to Mugina for the border crossing. Simple. However, three things confound the apparent simplicity: 1), the old Afrikanner in Jinja had warned me on their route north Immigration was at Makamba, not Mugina; and as I can see while puzzling over my atlas Makamba is both a town well north of Mabanda, as well as the region both are situated in; 2) the route, though straightforward on the map is not at all, on the ground, as it seems it should be; and, 3) T4A went mad.

As soon as I’ve turned east the route goes from dead flat along the shore to a series of incredibly steep climbs and switch-backs up ever higher into the hills; the road often slashed open with very deep and aggressive potholes that mean I need come to a complete halt to proceed as gently as possible through them before trying to get back up to speed on 12-14% inclines ... And it just doesn’t seem to make sense to go from shoreline, for a border located at the same level, via this ridiculous and gruelling ascent. To where? And why?? Finally reaching the top I spot a sign announcing I’m in Mabanda (though you’d never know it as there’s nobody and nothing much of anything about) so that should be right. But not according to T4A.

The map as shown on the gps has since starting out been a clear, straight line from Bujumburi to Jakobsen’s Camp, my destination, across the border in Kigoma. Which makes sense as all points (Buji, border and Kigoma) are located on the shores of the lake. Now however, as it is directing me 66 kilometers north (to, I suspect, Makamba town) the route shows as a figure 6 – straight down from Bujum, arc up to Makamba and continue in a left roll until back on the shores of Lake Tanganyika at Mutambara. And repeat. Forever as far as it’s concerned apparently ... Any move to transgress off the shown route – which is all clear and new tar as far as the eye can see from Mabanda and with no clear alternate choice to be had – is met with repeated entreaties to “move to highlighted route” and/or the hated ‘recalculatings’ ... From experience I know that sometimes T4A can be baffled by switchbacks and lose its bearing from them so I back and forth through Mabanda a few times before a very appreciative audience of local kids who are finding this all very amusing without result before pulling to the side for a serious review of the situation. There is NO sign, no clue to be had at all, as to where this now-possibly-mythical right turn to the border is at if Mabanda is indeed the ‘turn south’ junction – and T4A wants me in Makamba, 66 km’s north: what does it know that I cannot see ...???

Finally, I (again) throw technology out the window and go for straight map and compass: I know I have to turn south, so by god I will forge a way south whether there be one to be clearly had or not (but I’ll be damned if I’m heading 66 k’s north to prove an idiot follows computer software not his own common sense and map ...). Back and forth I go again through ‘town’ seeking the magic portal: where the hell is the possibly I’m now guessing tiny from lack of traffic dirt route south to the border?? Finally I hammer my way up a terribly broken and very narrow path surrounded by incredulous stares of the locals seated on their stoops – never a good sign that you are in fact making a ‘normal’ move – before coming out at a colection of huts selling the usual unnecessary goods as found everywhere across Africa of top-up cards, soda pops and smokes (but no food).

Still no sign, nor does anybody care as I progress by, so I’m a few hundred metres down a bang-about broken road before a young fella in police blues overtakes me on his moto and flags me down. I have crossed the border I am informed. But I cannot possibly have crossed the border, the border is in Mugina some 20+ km’s south still. No, he is insistent, I have crossed the border and I must return with him. Now I am well and truly baffled (my ability to simply process that Mabanda is now the border and no longer Mugina well gone by now ...). Up we head, more banging about, to a top-up shop, where he mimes I must get my passport stamped. Where I ask? Gesturing vaguely he indicates either the soda or smokes seller apparently. “Ou est la frontier?” I try, with grand Gallic shrug and exaggerated facial gymnastics to convey my bafflement. A sigh in return and he leads me to the edge of the shop to show a low-slung building, well-hidden behind shrubbery and without a sign or even hand-lettering on the sides to indicate it is anything of import. I am, he does not lie, at the border ...

Once back underway, stamped and enthusiastically greeted by all, it’s 20+ k’s down a steep and terrible track before levelling out at (yet another) UN refugee camp, this one quite abandoned, and the decaying building that once housed the border officials – complete with broken control pole and bent flag post. A few more kilometres of the same banging about, albeit on level ground now, and with a sense of wonder that never loses its impact there emerges a stretch of tar from where nothing but ruts and corrugations previously existed and I’m up out of it and into western Tanzania.