Planning a Trek

        

I have read much about fraudulent climbing companies, sending out emissaries of street children in the towns of Moshi and Arusha. Websites and guidebooks warn about such scams taking place in the safari and adventure industries throughout the world. But almost as insidious, in my opinion, are the international corporations that charge tourists exorbitant prices, then employ the services of local companies at rates that barely cover the real costs of the expedition. The greedy abuses of these companies feed on the fears of travelers who want no surprises after arriving in a foreign land. They undercut legitimate local businesses, and often contribute to the exploitation of porters and other workers. I would rather take the risk of a small-scale scam, than help fund massive corporate swindles and middlemen exploits. So while I remain cautious of the pressure of booking with George’s brother’s company, I am armed at least with the awareness of my own expectations, as well as humanitarian concerns.

George and I trek towards the more residential streets of central Dar. We pass an old building of colonial architecture. George motions to a window on the third story.

“The office is up there. The building use to be a hotel.”

We walk through a dark stucco entryway at the center of the complex. To the right is the doorway to a smoky neighborhood tavern. There is a strange rhythm wafting from the bar, as if some patron or two were drumming quietly on the tables, anticipating a concert of Swahili Jazz. We pass an old woman standing behind what used to be the Reception desk.

“The Safari office,” George mumbles to her, as we squeeze past and ascend three flights of stairs. On the second floor a woman attends to a crying baby, shutting the door as we pass. It seems the old hotel has found many new purposes, business, recreational, residential.

As we walk down a dingy hall, a wooden door at the end creaks open. A heavy-set figure is silhouetted in the door frame.

“Welcome brother, Karibu dada! Come in, come in to the office.”

Past the door, the afternoon sun filters in through large windows, filling the small, neat office. The man who welcomed us hugs George in greeting. He is older than George by more than a decade, wearing a heartened expression and a well-loved gray suit. He turns to shake my hand.

       “Welcome to Safari Seniors. So . . . you have some questions about climbing Kilimanjaro.”