Robert Langdon

A portion of the 'Somewhere Between Countries' story, condensed into a tale about finding help when you least expect it and the kindness of a complete stranger.

“Good morning” I said far too cheerfully for 4:30am “can you tell me where this bus is going please?”

Silence.

“I need to reach Songwe, does this bus go to Songwe?”

“No English” came the short reply, coupled with a blank stare.

Not to be defeated, I scanned the dimly lit Mbeya busport, a patchwork quilt of bitumen, gravel and sand, for the next person I could ask the same question. It was worlds apart from any other I had experienced – a giant rambling mess of buses, goats, people, and the occasional braii set up to cook fresh ears of corn. I loved the bright colours, the smell of charcoal and the loud noises, but it was completely and utterly confusing. I kept waiting for the character ‘Robert Langdon’ from a certain Hollywood blockbuster movie, to pop out and help me decipher the insane riddle that was the Tanzanian bus system.

Through my copious research I had learned that to cross into Malawi from my current location of Mbeya, I first needed to reach Songwe. From what I had read, I would then walk across the border and continue on my merry little way in Malawi. It all seemed so simple on paper, but finding the correct bus was proving harder than expected.

There was no proper signage, just groups of people gathered in groups that were clearly waiting for a particular bus that would take them to a particular stop. A few handwritten signs were dotted about, some held by the drivers, others shoved in the front of bus windows. None of which said ‘Songwe’. I approached my first driver and asked

“Is this bus going to Songwe?”

I learnt very quickly that everyone is going where you want to go, even if their sign states they are heading in the opposite direction.

I asked the next driver “Where is this bus going?”

He replied with “Where do you need to go?”

On and on this went with numerous drivers for roughly half an hour, the same circular pattern of questions and answers. Just as I was about to give up and head back to my cockroach infested hostel room, it happened. The Robert Langdon of Tanzania appeared. He was over six foot tall and wore a black leather jacket and dark denim jeans without a crease to be seen. His big booming voice cut through the noise of the Busport and he flashed a massive smile as he made eye contact with me, the streetlights reflecting off his closely shaven head.

I think he had been watching me struggle to find the correct bus all morning, he approached and asked “You are trying to reach the border?”

Remember earlier when I said I needed to reach Songwe? It turns out I had gotten a little confused. The border crossing from Tanzania to Malawi is called Songwe River Bridge. The name ‘Songwe’ refers to an entire region which covers approximately 27,000 square kilometres. It makes sense why no-one could answer my question “are you going to Songwe?” or why so many drivers answered with “Yes”. Because technically – they were.

My new friend (whose name I didn’t catch and who I will call Robert Langdon from now on) told me that I needed to catch a bus to Kasumulu and from there I would be able to reach Malawi. Robert Langdon took me under his wing, walked me to the correct bus, made sure I wasn’t overcharged the bus fee, helped to load my bags into the bus and stood with me until it was time to board.

When I attempted to thank him for taking the time to look after me and making sure I was going to have a safe journey, he told me it wasn’t necessary. When I asked why, he said simply “I want your lasting memory of Tanzania to be a good one” and disappeared back into the crowd.

I am still angry at myself for not asking for his name, but my final memory in Tanzania was a happy one. He succeeded in his wish, and now when I see a stranded traveler looking confused or lost, I am reminded of Robert Langdon. I smile, before walking over to pay it forward.