William of the Pare Mountains

There are no hotels or lodges in the Southern Paré Mountains of Tanzania making the adventure here all the more memorable. The Paré is not a tourist destination, and relatively unknown making the adventure all the more sweet for those willing to spend time traveling to find this hidden jewel.

Having worked on Serengeti safaris climbed Mt Kilimanjaro and traveled several times to Zanzibar I relished the adventure of past safaris but was left wanting the need for Africa proper, the African experience never quite sated. I wanted to experience adventure proper, to experience as much of the true Tanzania as possible. It was time to visit somewhere where there were few, or better still, no tourists, where I would experience the real culture of Africa.

My chance came unfortunately under tragic circumstances - finally an opportunity to journey deep into the Southern Pare Mountains. Although it would have been better if this experience had never presented itself. The circumstances causing this journey began a month before in Northern Tanzania.

It all started in a small village in Northern Tanzania -named Ngulelo on the misty slopes of Mount Meru. My near neighbors had befriended me, along with their eight-year-old son, William. My Christian name was unpronounceable for many Tanzanian's and as my surname was Williamson I became known in the village as William. This sharing of a name with young William forged a bond of kinship between us.

Williams Father had never been able to afford a marriage but was now in a financial position that enabled him to marry the mother of young William. The date of the wedding was set. Unfortunately the morning of the wedding William was bitten on his face by a dog. He almost lost his eye - he missed the wedding.

Weddings in Tanzania normally take the whole afternoon and evening. Usually, on these and other community events, William would sit next to me and we would talk and meet people, laughing and crying along with the community. At each gathering young William would share the adventures he had experienced since the last community event - typically the last time we had spent time together.

I missed William at his parents wedding. I sat alone and the empty seat I kept for William remained vacant as his wounds were treated at the hospital. The following day some of the village elders thought the dog might have rabbis and William should be treated. However the father of the boy said categorically that the dog was healthy. William's father was asked again and again to take William for treatment. William did not go for the shots that may have saved his life as the cost was deemed unnecessary.

William died very quickly. I was not present at his death, so quickly did it occur. Early one morning I met Mama Gifti in the viallage she is the wife of a Village elder - it was unusual for her to be out so early. She stopped me and asked if I heard that William had been admitted into hospital earlier in the week.

It was then it hit me that Mama Gifti was in traditional dress, a Kanga. The Khanga is made up of two matching pieces of printed fabric; one tied around the waist, the other used as a shawl. This traditional piece of attire was not usually worn by Mama Gifti. This could only mean one thing as the Kanga is also worn by all women at funerals. The khanga preferred attire to greet death.

William was dead.

Mama Gifti told me that as William lay on the hospital bed about to die and his mother wept. William comforted his mother telling her pleases not to cry. 'Yes', he told her, 'soon I will die but I go to a better place'. William died soon after these words. The day he died was his eighth birthday.

The men had split into two parties. The Elders and some of the men had gone to pay the hospital bill and make arrangements to pick up the body. Others had gone in search of William's father who had gone missing, distraught that William had died. Blaming himself, he had fled from home to be alone.

I went straight to see the mother of William – she was with the women of the village - distraught and unable to see me I was given a parcel and dispatched to the Hospital. One of the village elders and I met in the hospital mortuary; we chose and paid for a coffin for William. We opened the brown paper parcel. William's mother had given me his suit. The suit William had never worn, the suit for the wedding just a few days before. The Elders went to pay the medical bills and thereby release the body. I watched over the body of William as the mortuary assistant dressed him in his suit and used superglue to first glue his eye lids closed and then his lips.

William's parents asked me to accompany them to the funeral; William would not be buried in Arusha Town but taken "home" to the Paré Mountains.

We left in a couple of battered 25 seater buses, especially hired for this trip. The coffin was in the isle of the bus, and young William's body had begun to smell. We left in the evening at 10 pm. About thirty of us squeezed onto each bus. We raced and rattled through the darkness, out of Ngulelo, through Moshi town, passing Kilimanjaro to our left we turned south. After about four hours of travel, we entered into a very small town named, Somé. Here we left the comfort of the tarmac and traveled for another hour, maybe two, along deep sandy roads that were lit, thankfully, by a full moon.

Eventually we arrived at the base of the mountain range. It was still dark and therefore impossible to negotiate the narrow rocky roads up the side of the mountains. We parked in a one street town. It was so quiet, a new experience, such stillness and quiet. As we stretched our legs our voices echoed and ricocheted about the place and we wakened the locals. A few roadside stalls opened to sell toothbrushes and hot sweet tea. We brushed our teeth out in the open, spiting into the sand. Then sitting on the stone steps of old ramshackle buildings drinking the black sweet spicy tea. We waited for the light of morning.

William's father and mother never left the Bus. They waited in silence

At 6.00am we were off again, a steep assent, up and up and up. The mountains here are breathtakingly beautiful, rolling into the distance, with trees, birds and water everywhere. We took a further ninety minutes to get to the home where we were to burry William. The steep land was terraced and we sat outside a small windowless house under a tree. The whole community had come for the burial. The views were breathtakingly beautiful. We were so high, looking down onto the tops of lesser mountains covered in thick forests and early morning mist. The mountain people were quiet but warm and welcoming, plying us with more spiced tea. The buses had arrived with not only the body and mourners but sacks of rice and supplies to feed the masses after we had buried William. The women became busy preparing the food, the men sat around in silence, broken now and then with murmurs of conversation.

This trip was full of sadness and regret about a young boy’s death. We were all feeling we had not done enough to save him. The grave was on a steep incline close to the house. As the long funeral dew to a close I stood next to the grave and said my goodbyes to a very brave little friend whom I shall never forget. At this point the Pastor paused and asked that the only non-African at the funeral say a few words about William. I started to speak of our friendship but my voice broke and I wept, I could not continue. Every time I speak of this, tears are not far away. Even now, as I write about this event, my eyes fill with tears and my lip it trembles.

One day I plan to return to the Pare Mountains to explore them by myself. To take some time and drink in Africa proper - away from tourist and phony or over-organized cultural visits. I will take some flowers and visit the grave of William and even though it is only a grave I will talk to William of all my adventures since our last meeting.