Tuesday, April 20
We leave Lunga Lunga at first light and cycle to the border. Officials on both sides are friendly and like our project. The Kenyan customs lady sheds tears of laughter when she hears Bjorn has been cycling all the way to here from Norway :)
It is 50 dollars to enter Tanzania but the immigration officer gives us both a free bottle of ice cold Miranda each.
Asphalt road instantly becomes dirt track. After maybe a dozen kilometres, dirt track becomes a continuous pot-holed, dried-up quagmire of a road. Suddenly, cycling has become off-road BMXing.
This really is rural Africa. We pass a village where Masai tribesmen are stood chatting. A dung beetle pushes a cow poo across the road; we pass rivers full of crocodiles.
The heat and humidity are awful. The orange pot holed track stretches forever. Bjorn tells me this is the worst stretch of road on the whole trip and the harshest weather conditions. I mildly throw up twice and take more breaks with every hour that passes.
Truthfully, I have never felt so exhausted in my life - physically and mentally. I was hoping we would call it a day by noon but Bjorn is determined to make it to Tanga by the end of the day. There aren't really other places we can stay.
When we do finally make it to Tanga after 80 kilometres I am close to collapsing. We agree to find a 'good hotel'. We find one with air-con, good food and clean rooms. It feels like the most luxurious place on earth.
Monday, April 19
After visiting the medical centre and seeing the good work the Rafiki Kenia Foundation and the local doctors are doing we get back on the road. Unfortunately, we don't get away until after 10am and the temperature soon soars to 39 Celsius.
We were told it was 30 kms to Lunga Lunga, on the border. After 30 kms there is no sign of the town so we start asking the locals how far is left. "About 35 kilometres". Five kilometres later we ask another local. He replies, "Around 50 kms."
Then we meet some Kenyan Army men by the roadside.
"Are we going in the wrong direction?" "No."
"Are there hotels in Lunga Lunga?" "Yes, but they are closed because there is a cholera outbreak there."
The heat and humidity start to take their toll on me but, with the pedal on my bike worn loose, we glide down the hill into the border town before sundown.
A local lad repairs my bike in 5 minutes and Bjorn and I take a room each at a local guesthouse. It is the first time I have had my own room since I left England. It is a flee pit with character and nice staff. We cannot eat dinner because of the cholera outbreak. Neither do I shower in the potentially dangerous water. Instead, I am in bed by 7pm in my 1.25 pound room.