If you want to feel like you're living in a Wes Anderson film, take a long bus ride in rural Africa. It is a diorama of human life that changes at every stop. Serving professionals and pop-up merchants, farmers and school children, elders and local drunks, the bus is a social institution that treats anyone who can pay the fare equally (barring the collective shaming of the local drunk).
I spent nearly four hours on the "Florida Express" from Iringa Town to Mapogoro, Tanzania, yesterday. In that time, we passed out of urban streets humming with Bjajis (tuk tuks), lorries, autos, and motorcycles that threaded chaotically around huge potholes in the tarmac. The highway became a country road where quaint villages rose on the horizon. And finally, we transitioned to dozens of kilometers of unpaved road.
As the signs of affluence and city life fell away, the road rose and fell over gentle ridges, valleys, and dry streambeds. Baobab trees and verdant lines of crops appeared in the valley bottoms, with dramatic rocky hills silhouetted behind them. Thornscrub and miombo woodland replaced the brightly painted walls, green lawns and brilliant tropical shrubs of Iringa. Maasai herders steered their cattle off the road ahead of the charging bus, and school children in neat uniforms scampered to the embankments to avoid the cloud of noise and dust. For hours, we traversed some of the most gorgeous landscapes in southern Tanzania as we neared Ruaha National Park. I disembarked just before the end of the bus line, where I was met by a Lion Landscapes staff member and driven to my final destination: a field camp in the village of Kitisi.
When I was going through the university's risk management clearance process in preparation for this trip, an official asked me to define what I meant by "field camp." I carefully sketched out a suitably safe, staid description of safari-style accommodations. She responded dismissively, "So basically, you're glamping." I decided not to correct her because, in a sense, she was right. Although this may not be the luxurious experience of puffy duvets and white towels that she was envisioning, the living standards in camp are better than much of the world.
The plumbing-free design of my washroom is water-saving, and the view is superb.
My tent comes equipped with gleaming white fixtures for washing up.
There is really nothing like a steaming hot [bucket] shower in a cool evening breeze.
Tanzania is a welcoming, hospitable place, and camp is no different. I was met with great kindness, a delicious dinner, and a roomy tent with a clean bed and a mosquito net. It is incredibly easy to settle into a simpler routine here, and it makes you wonder whether you really need anything more.
While the facilities in camp are simple, many people around the world don't even have a washroom like this at their home. One-fifth of the world's population still lacks basic sanitation. Yet in the United States, a mid-level bathroom remodel is estimated to run you $25,000 this year. In Tanzania, the government could provide clean water and basic sanitation services for an investment of roughly $16 per person per year. So that bathroom remodel? It is roughly equivalent to a year's worth of services for some 1,560 people. It's a vast disparity in wealth and resource access, and yet we've become so accustomed to this affluence that we consider it a necessity of life to have a toilet that flushes, and fuss over whether we want a rainfall or massage showerhead.
I may be biased, but I think it's a wonderful thing to step away from this bubble of wealth and experience a different way of living. I am amazed at how much more time I have in my day when my routine is stripped down to the essentials. More time for connecting with people, writing, learning a language (although my Kiswahili is still kidogo na mbaya (little and bad)), and for enjoying the spectacular view from my tent. And if you think this is stunning, you really should see the stars at night.
To join me on this journey, you can follow along with new posts in the Field Notes blog on this website or LinkedIn. My work is partially supported by the Center for Human-Carnivore Coexistence and the Salerno Lab. I am actively fundraising for the next phase of my research, and welcome referrals to funders who are interested in supporting work on global challenges including human-wildlife conflict, poverty alleviation, biodiversity conservation, and the impacts of a changing climate on all of these issues.