The Bicycle Saga

I thought that it would be a great idea to buy a bicycle in Musoma. You know; exercise and saving money on petrol all at once. As a result, I had a look around Musoma for a suitable bicycle, and came upon many old and unsuitable bikes, so figured that I would do better having a look in Mwanza when Rachel and I went the following week. (This was during our first week or so in Musoma) I was very happy when I managed to find a new bike in Mwanza, from the same shop as our gas oven was from, and rather a pretty bike too. Getting it home was an issue, as our small Rav4 was already full of oven, so I decided to buy it in pieces in the box.

Arriving back in Musoma I gave Eliud, the office assistant, the task of acquiring a fundi (a word applied to technical people of all varieties, bicycle techniciany people to carpenters) to put my beautiful bike together, and I duly went off on my homestay for 5 days. Arriving back, my bike was still in a box, and remained so for another week while the fundi was acquired.

Fundi came and went, and I prepared to ride my bike home one day, and found that the brakes were not working, and the tyres were flat. I once again handed the job over to Eliud, and he fixed the back tyre, buying a new tube, and sorted out the brakes.

Just before conference, I looked forward to riding my fixed bike, yet was wise enough to plan ahead this time around, and inspected the bike first (before getting into my cycling gear in preparation to ride home). This revealed a sad lack of air in the tyres, and I found myself in the problematic position of having no pump. Thinking that other people with bikes would have pumps, I wasn’t too worried, but for some mysterious reason no-one had a working pump. “No worries” i thought, “I’ll look for a pump in Nakumatt” (the huge department store in Nairobi), so I happily went off to conference.

Conference came and went, and we returned to Musoma via two Nakumatts which both revealed a sad lack of bicycle pumps or even puncture repait kits. I would have thought, in a place where bikes are the main form of transport, there would be pumps. I guess that was probably the reason they were all sold out. So I returned, pumpless, to my flat bicycle tyres.

Revealing this problem to my parents brought the lovely result of a light-weight pump and puncture repair kit in the post, so once again I got excited about being able to ride my bike. This time, the front tube was burst past the point of even my fancy puncture repair kit’s help. I resignedly gave the bike into Eliud’s care again for fixing.

Finally, the following week, I rode my bike home! Here, I thought, was the beginning of my independence from the car. I proved to, again, have too much optimism and three days after riding it to and from the workshop, the pedal broke off. From buying the bike to now, after the pedal has finally been fixed and the bike is rideable, it has been 2 ½ months. Life does indeed happen slower in Africa. Still, it has been a good learning experience; don’t buy a bike without first checking how long it has sat in the shop for! Eliud spoke truly when he said that the bike is, “Nzuri kwa macho tu” (beautiful for the eyes only). Still, I have my bike up and running now, I can only hope it will last longer than last time.

Another amusing part of having the bicycle is the amount of stares I get as a white female riding a bike. I spend most of the journey to and from the office telling myself that they would stare just as much whether I wore the helmet or not (to make myself feel better for being the only bicyclist with a helmet on) and trying to ignore the giggles and calls of, “Mzungu, Mzungu!” (White person). I have tried telling the kids that, “My name is not Mzungu” but my cries fall on deaf ears. Still, there comes a point where I have to ignore them all, or I would spend the whole journey completely self-conscious. Some Mzungu have taken to saying “Mwafrica” back at them ( “African”), but i think this just amuses them and doesn’t stop them yelling, “Mzungu” at us. Sigh.