Marriotti Hotel has been a good location for us. Our flight out is at 14.55, so we have a good chunk of time to occupy ourselves. Len want to get some 'ethnic' shirts for his boys in Brighton, so it's time to head for the markets. Dar es Salaam has a long trading history - at one time disreputably for slaves. Of all the cities I've visited here in Africa it most feels like India. But then, Mumbai is the next place to the east.
As ever, Jacob knows where to go, and we park right in the middle of Kariako market. In the bright sun this bustling colourful district is a picture. We weave in and out of the stalls and note the keen prices. Shopping done, Jacob tries to back out the car. The lady traffic attendant is joined by several traders determined not to have to move their carefully laid-out wares. Once we're on the move, we notice it's just a crawl. Steven advises it's best to head out of town to make sure we get to check-in in good time.
We stop for a stroll around another cluster of shops, then unload in the Airport carpark There's a TS20,000 fine if you straddle the white lines. JNIA has the air of a run-down East Midlands railway station. I ask Rukundo a question that's been on my mind for two years: whether he'd ever seen getting currency from an ATM. He gives me an ambiguous answer, suggesting it was the sheer amount of cash (TS1.3M or thereabouts) that startled him.
We give big hugs all round to Steven, Jacob and Ps Luvanda. I feel a certain contentment that we've made some good progress for the Kingdom of God.
It's just an hour to Nairobi, and the plane isn't even half full. In classic African aviation style, they leave when they're ready, not when scheduled; in this case a good ten minutes early. We're wondering if Gregory and I will get a chance to see the Kitwe party - arriving about the same - in the Transfer lounge. But we're separated onto different shuttle buses and have to say our farewells to Rukundo and Len on the airstrip.
Our lift is waiting, so I quickly change £50 for Kenya shillings and we head for Nairobi's evening rush-hour crawl. They've been smartening the place up. Even the un-made-up road passing Gregory's house in Uthiru, part of Kabete, is due to be tarmac'd. Judith's glad to see Gregory home, and I'm introduced to the rest of the household. There's Oscar, their 17-year-old son, whom I didn't recognise from two years ago. Then Macleen and her two girls Annabelle and Brianna, and finally Helen. Clearly, there's not enough space for me, too, but we're going to eat before I need to worry about this.
Citizen television is giving a lot of coverage to the University Lecturers' strike, and it's nice not to be beseiged with Nigerian soaps that dominate elsewhere, and seem entirely to consist of husbands and wives falling out even though they go to church. I test out my phone tethering, and it's just about workable.
Gregory has booked me into a new fully-furnished Sundowner apartment block reasonably nearby, down a bumpy un-made-up road. One of a block of eight, it's got a lounge, kitchen and two bedrooms. I could have made my own breakfast! Ruefully, I notice there's no mozzi net and no way I could hang one from the concrete block ceiling. I struggle to sleep, trying to keep my head inside my repellant-impregnated sleeping bag liner. I get up several times to work out if I can get a decent climate without opening windows - meanwhile it rains heavily.
As ever, Jacob knows where to go, and we park right in the middle of Kariako market. In the bright sun this bustling colourful district is a picture. We weave in and out of the stalls and note the keen prices. Shopping done, Jacob tries to back out the car. The lady traffic attendant is joined by several traders determined not to have to move their carefully laid-out wares. Once we're on the move, we notice it's just a crawl. Steven advises it's best to head out of town to make sure we get to check-in in good time.
We stop for a stroll around another cluster of shops, then unload in the Airport carpark There's a TS20,000 fine if you straddle the white lines. JNIA has the air of a run-down East Midlands railway station. I ask Rukundo a question that's been on my mind for two years: whether he'd ever seen getting currency from an ATM. He gives me an ambiguous answer, suggesting it was the sheer amount of cash (TS1.3M or thereabouts) that startled him.
We give big hugs all round to Steven, Jacob and Ps Luvanda. I feel a certain contentment that we've made some good progress for the Kingdom of God.
It's just an hour to Nairobi, and the plane isn't even half full. In classic African aviation style, they leave when they're ready, not when scheduled; in this case a good ten minutes early. We're wondering if Gregory and I will get a chance to see the Kitwe party - arriving about the same - in the Transfer lounge. But we're separated onto different shuttle buses and have to say our farewells to Rukundo and Len on the airstrip.
Our lift is waiting, so I quickly change £50 for Kenya shillings and we head for Nairobi's evening rush-hour crawl. They've been smartening the place up. Even the un-made-up road passing Gregory's house in Uthiru, part of Kabete, is due to be tarmac'd. Judith's glad to see Gregory home, and I'm introduced to the rest of the household. There's Oscar, their 17-year-old son, whom I didn't recognise from two years ago. Then Macleen and her two girls Annabelle and Brianna, and finally Helen. Clearly, there's not enough space for me, too, but we're going to eat before I need to worry about this.
Citizen television is giving a lot of coverage to the University Lecturers' strike, and it's nice not to be beseiged with Nigerian soaps that dominate elsewhere, and seem entirely to consist of husbands and wives falling out even though they go to church. I test out my phone tethering, and it's just about workable.
Gregory has booked me into a new fully-furnished Sundowner apartment block reasonably nearby, down a bumpy un-made-up road. One of a block of eight, it's got a lounge, kitchen and two bedrooms. I could have made my own breakfast! Ruefully, I notice there's no mozzi net and no way I could hang one from the concrete block ceiling. I struggle to sleep, trying to keep my head inside my repellant-impregnated sleeping bag liner. I get up several times to work out if I can get a decent climate without opening windows - meanwhile it rains heavily.
