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It felt right they didn't succeed to rob me. My own intrepidity had surprised me. I was not to be intimidated and fortunately, I've always been a good runner. Although I acknowledge next time I might not be able to escape.

One Year Africa: Incident in the Bush

Maarten de Boeck
2006-05-01 17:55:40

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I strolled around Gorofani. Mustaffa, Singo and Mzee Haya were nowhere to be found, neither on the place I left them, nor anywhere else. I could guess they were in one of the numerous pombe* sheds, drinking with the money Singo had earned from the tourists. Soon I realized it didn't make sense to keep on looking for them. I decided to return on my own.
Not so far from home, I heard someone calling me. I turned around and saw two young men coming towards me. I assumed they just wanted to have a chat.
Both of them were dressed plainly, a T-shirt and shorts. One of them had a kind of Rasta hair dress. He was broad-shouldered, in his hand he held a big knife. He appeared to be the one doing the talking. The other boy was a lean fellow.

'Unatoka wapi?' he uttered in a grim tone of voice. 'Where are you coming from?'
The tone in his voice immediately disabused me of the idea these blokes only wanted a nice chat. I tried to explain that I lived with Mustaffa's family in the bush and that I was underway to their camp. 'Mustaffa nani?!' 'Who's Mustaffa?!' he snarled.

The situation turned grimmer by the minute. 'Pesa, pesa, money, money!?' he shouted, flickering with his knife. Both of them had picked up fist-sized rocks from the ground, threatening. A mingling of fear and indignation mastered me. Adrenaline rushed through my veins. He shouted to me. I shouted to him. My voice swelled in anger. Anger swelled into a rage. I didn't want to give in. I could have given the small amount of money I had with me, but my anger was stronger than my rational thought. In any travel book is written it is foolhardy to resist in such situations, but in the heat of the moment that logic vanished.

Then he whistled on his fingers. ...