Karibu tena Tanzania

As I left the plane the heat wrapped around me like a steaming blanket; I was startled because the temperature and humidity should have begun to become more bearable now it is March. The Dar airport arrivals tunnel - hall is too grand a word for it - though still suffocatingly hot was fairly empty and I deluded myself that I would get through immigration relatively quickly. I had filled out the blue entry card, had my brand new US$50 note, noted the inconspicuous pile of A4 sheets and correctly guessed filling one of these out was a new hoop that had to be jumped through: I was asked virtually everything except my debit card PIN. I amused myself by making up the more uncheckable details. The experienced traveller ready and able to take on the might of the Tanzanian immigration authorities - wrong! Since last year the entry positions are now fully computerised, and there are more of them - six or seven instead of the previous 2 or 3; though as my flight from Qatar was rapidly followed by others from Dubai Nairobi Lusaka and South Africa, only half of these were manned and the queue of hopeful tourists was soon snaking out of the hall. I observed that as usual, moving from biro to keyboard has managed to slow down not speed up the process. This is probably because they now have to include my grandmother’s maiden name and how many cats I have on the entry formalities. But my major mistake was to be standing close to a loudly braying specimen of the English upperclass broadcasting his views on the idiocies of the entry process as a way of welcoming tourists. It wasn’t that I disagreed with him but he failed to recognise two things – one that his sentiments could be heard by the entry officers, and two, that just because there is a queue it doesn't mean that the applications are dealt with in strict rotation. My passport was collected in the batch that included his. One and a half hours later I collected my bag still making its lonely way round the carousel! As we left the airport, we handed our carpark ticket to the man who always collects them at the barrier - no problem it gives employment; but why then install an automatic barrier for him to solemnly feed the ticket into? I love this country and I am glad to be back, but sometimes I’m left scratching my head.