Note: I am experiencing some technical issues with Blogspot. That's why it's taken me so long. I have (sorta) resolved them, but not completely. That's why the background to the type is a little "off"! Cheers, Malcolm
Persona non grata? "No thanks"
The African adventure that fellow journalist and good friend Andy Moor and I had undertaken did have purpose – seeking out stories with the hope of selling them to any publications that would have them. The adventurous part of our travels tended to overwhelm that, by choice, aided and abetted by all the wonder Africa provided at every turn.
In Dar es Salaam, our
goal was an interview with Mozambique freedom fighter Eduardo Mondlane
(“mond-LAH-nay), a former Syracuse University professor in exile and the leader
of FRELIMO, the militant organization leading the fight against Portugal’s
heavy brand of colonialism.
On Feb. 3, 1969, just
before our arrival, a letter bomb exploded at FRELIMO headquarters in Dar es
Salaam, killing Mondlane. While not happy with the news because of our
sympathies with his cause, it did make the story more valuable – to us and
publications around the world.
My “runs’ having settled
into a gentle walk, we began work.
One of the first people
we sought out was James Thurber – not THE James Thurber, but a former Wall
Street Journal reporter who was head of the USIA in Tanzania and who went on to
a long and distinguished career in the State Department.
On our first visit, and
those that followed, Jim was welcoming and affable. He proved to be a valuable
resource, providing help at every turn.
Our enthusiasm for the
story was soon snuffed out. We got word from the embassy (through Jim, I
recall) that the Tanzanian government had objected to our efforts. Diplomatic
tensions were high because the prevailing theory was that Portugal had been
responsible. (As it turned out, it was in inside job, a faction opposed to
Mondlane’s approach).
If we continued, we were
told that one of three outcomes would be the likely result:
We’d be kicked out of
the country and deemed “persona non gratis,” never allowed to return. (“But we
like Tanzania and want to see more”).
We’d wind up in a
Tanzanian jail (“Uh, no thanks! The food sucks, we hear”), then expelled.
Or, this being Africa,
we might just disappear (“Uh, a BIG no to that, thank you!”)
Or choice #4: Pick
another story to pursue.
At the time, Tanzania
was ignored, often vilified, by much of the West, especially by U.S.
politicians and policies, because of its embrace of so-called “African
socialism.” The Big S scared the hell out of ‘em. Their ignorance of the
reasons and what that really meant opened the door to the Soviet Union and
China. African socialism, in the broad sense, was merely an attempt to shed the
yoke of colonialism by returning to core African values – you were obliged to
work together, neighbor helping neighbor, in all activities. This philosophy,
too, helped keep you from getting eaten by a lion. It's why many Africans, men
and women, walk arm in arm or hand in hand. Larger the group, warier the lions.
(That’s true, by the way.)
So, a political door was
opened that let the Soviet Union and China walk in, something those aghast at
The Big S would come to hate even more.
We decided to do a story
that would illuminate that. “The Hell Run” was it.
Zambia, Tanzania’s
land-locked neighbor, was (and is) the one of the world’s largest producers of
copper. The most efficient way to get its copper to the world market was
through South Africa, a bitter pill, to say the least, given its deep-rooted
racist policies. In colonialism’s collapse, new Africa did all it could to
isolate South Africa.
The only alternative was to send the copper by truck to Dar es
Salaam along what would come to be named the TanZam highway, a treacherous
two-lane, mostly gravel, road dubbed then, I recall, “The Hell Road.” Accidents
— many fatal – were frequent along the 500-mile tortuous route down through the
mountains from the Zambian border to Dar es Salaam.
Tanzania and Zambia
asked the West to build a railroad. The capitalist West demurred, citing the
expense and arguing it would never be profitable. They agreed, instead, to
build what it said would be a good, safe road.
China, interested in
making inroads, said it would gladly build a railway.
So, on parallel routes,
the U.S. and other Western countries began their competition – new road vs.
railway.
That’s was our story,
and one that apparently would not involve getting us kicked out of the country,
find us in a Tanzanian prison, or worse.
To do that, though, we
needed to get to Mbeya, 500 miles away and almost 6,000 feet up on the Zambia
border where a U.S. construction firm, our focus, was building a major part of
the new roadway as the Chinese toiled nearby.
We readied our thumbs
and sought help from Jim and his art department. (He had one; it was the
information service, after all.) Could he make us a sign in Swahili telling
folks where we wanted to go?
“Sure,” he said.
Shortly, a letter-sized sign, in heavy stock, appeared with big block lettering
that simply proclaimed:
TUNAKWENDA
MBEYA
Translation: “We
are going to Mbeya.”
We made our way to the
highway outside Dar es Salaam and held up our sign. Almost immediately, we
heard:
“We are going to Mbeya!”
Another adventure
begins, one that led all the way to London.
