Jane Bryce continues the story of her return recently to Tanzania, where she spent much of her childhood. The first part was in the last issue of TA. She is writing about her return to Moshi.
I’ve walked a long way now, but something is growing in me. I’m certain I’m getting close, that this is the edge of the neighbourhood where I grew up, and if I just keep going, I’ll inevitably get there. I strike off onto a bush path – like any African, I’ll always look for a short cut when the main road is getting long-winded. I’m weaving through the backs of colonial era houses, solid and well built, surrounded by gardens. These are the kind of houses my friends lived in, the houses I visited with my mother, the gardens I played in. I am in suspense, waiting for that particular corner, that special landmark, which will tell me I’ve come home. Then I’m walking down a wide, well paved road with old trees on either side. I know this road. It’s called Kilimanjaro Road, and runs west to east, with the mountain on the left hand side still hidden by cloud, and the Police Training School grounds where we used to see groups of Chinese sitting in a circle when the communists were courting President Nyerere. My road, the road with my house on, branches off this one. It used to be called Rombo Avenue. I know exactly where I am. In another few minutes, I will be there. Continue reading →