Ode to Tanzanian Transportation

If you've ever had the unique pleasure of taking public transportation in Africa, you will appreciate this first (and so far only) attempt at poetry, based upon the most horrific 10-hour bus ride I ever experienced.

For journeys to places remote and afar

            Lushoto, Iringa, Dodoma and Dar

It's a motor coach or passenger bus you will need

But there's anguish and suffering ahead so take heed

If you see "express" or "luxury" as part of the name

Beware for it's just part of an elaborate game

They doth protest too much, here's a word to the wise

Be prepared in advance know their tricks and their lies

If the coach is "express" it means a stop every minute

If the bus is a "luxury" there’re three hundred passengers in it

There is no timetable, the prices they refuse to relate

Your ability to haggle will settle the rate

If they tell you the bus will leave straightaway

You'll sit there for hours they don't mind the delay

If they promise the bus will arrive at seven

You have just as much chance you'll turn up in heaven

If the bench will fit two they'll squeeze in some more

And suddenly your seat is now perfect for four 

It's the typical journey I've described thus far

But the trip I took yesterday was pure misery from Dar

I sat next to a man in business attire 

I had no notion, no clue my situation was dire

It struck without warning like a nighttime criminal

This was nothing imagined, not close to subliminal

My senses assaulted I needed to heave

Oh my God this man reeks, I just want to leave

With unwashed body, his whiff steadily wafted

Against my will and my wishes my lungs continually quaffed it

For relief my head hung out the window for hours

My body contorted, my mind filled with sorrows

I stewed and simmered in the man's sickening smell

Light a candle for me for I'm surely in hell

The Pare Mountains like a blanket folded over the land

The green sisal spiked out o’ the red sand

Snow-capped Kili in the distance behind billowing cloud

Obscured almost hidden as if covered by shroud

But the beautiful scenery graced not my eye

For the only thought in my head was “I hope that I die”

The trip went on and on and into the night

The blackness outside was a mind-numbing sight

They could strap me to the roof, it'd be better up there

At least there'd be stars and the moon and fresh air

The man left at Moshi an hour before my trip ended 

But his presence prolonged, the aroma suspended

And then it was over I had somehow come through

I looked at the world as if it were new

And if I should expire with a blemish on my soul

Whether it's now in my youth or when I'm quite old

I'll go to my death without trepidation or fear

Because I know Dante's hell, it's called luxury here