The streets are alive by buzzing Toyo motorcycles and honking vehicles swerving this way and that. In the midst of it all, stand solid buildings holding strong amid the scrambles of people running around like armies of ants, as the promise of a new day in the hubbub of Arusha town awakens. Voted the 8th worst city in the world by The Lonely Planet, ‘A-town’ is quite rich in culture, and street vendors. The gateway to the famous national parks, it’s not usual to see swarms of tourists shuffling about the busy streets, enjoying the experience of a dusty, Tanzanian town.
She sees a bunch pass the window, gawking at a particularly colorful ‘shuka’ clad Masai man, cycling down the road in an excited frenzy. The stream of smoke from her Marlboro light softly diffuses out into the open air, as she lifts the steaming cup of frothy coffee to her lips. Ten years she’s lived in this town, yet, aside from a few industrial developments, it hasn’t seemed to have changed. The same old cars, the same old air, same kinds of people, the same kind of timeless quality wafting in and out on a daily basis.
Soft lilac petals fall down lightly upon her rich auburn head, as she heads out to her car. She gazes up at the molting Jacaranda tree, magnificent in all its purple glory, bringing light to a change of season; October is nearly upon them. With a sigh of indignation she climbs into her weathered old land rover. A much loved vehicle, a series 2, this car did not take shit from anything; however much prone to getting a few hiccups now and again.
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