"Those are bullets": Surviving a riot...

This is probably going to be the most interesting post this blog ever sees (let’s hope). When you’re going through the application process for Peace Corps, you find yourself imagining all sorts of insane, absurd scenarios you might have to deal with. Last Saturday, another Volunteer and I were somehow confronted by one of those insane, absurd scenarios. (And yes, one of our coping mechanisms while everything was going down was to acknowledge that it was going to make one hell of a blog post.)

It’s taken a few days to post about this for a number of reasons.

(1) I (obviously) wanted to tell my parents before I posted about it publicly.
(2) It made sense to give Peace Corps an account of what happened first.
(3) I couldn’t decide whether or not to post about it at all.
(4) I’m not a big fan of drama and this (at least in reality) contains a stupid amount of drama.
(5) I still sometimes have trouble wrapping my head around the whole thing.
(6) Laptop power is at a premium right now.

It’ll take awhile to explain everything, but I don’t want to drag it out. I give an account in greater detail below, but here’s a brief synopsis for those of you who are as impatient as I am:

Some time ago, a significant deposit of natural gas was found off the coast of Mtwara region. There has been an ongoing debate in Tanzania regarding where and how the gas should be produced, and one faction has been staging demonstrations to emphasize their frustration. Those demonstrations remained peaceful until this past weekend, when rioting broke out in Mtwara town on Friday and in Masasi and Newala on Saturday. Another Volunteer and I got caught up in the crossfire in Masasi when our daladala broke down. We spent eight hours dodging rioters and riot police and there were a number of close calls that you’ll read about below.

Seven to nine people were killed in the rioting (reliable information is difficult to come by here). We got out alright, but it was still a tragedy. Estimates are at about $1M in damage, which is a lot here. The gas issue has been a major headline for some time now, but the riots have brought it to the fore. It sounds like things are calming down, though; regardless of the political outcome, let’s hope that’s the case.

Rewriting everything would be exhausting, so I’m just going to use a slightly-modified (grammar somewhat improved, full names removed, explanations for a broader audience, etc…) version of the account I gave to Peace Corps to convey the story. Pardon any grammar errors or poor writing; I wrote most of this a couple days after the riot and was still stressing over the ordeal. I also have to be sensitive posting about this because it involves an ongoing political issue. There are a couple (other) things that ought to be said before I begin:

(1) Tanzania has a proud history of stability and one incident doesn't change that.
(2) Peace Corps’ response to the situation was outstanding.
(3) I want to reiterate especially for this post that the views expressed here are mine alone.
(4) I’m uncertain of the legality of posting pictures of the riot, so I won’t chance it for now.

My (Slightly Redacted) Account of the Riot in Masasi

All times given in this account are rough estimates based on recollection and should be treated as such. The map above is also based on recollection and serves only to illustrate the day’s events.

I left my village on 24 January to go to Ndanda hospital to have stitches in my thumb removed. I returned to Masasi later that day and booked a room at Ludewa Guest House (a). Charlotte (Volunteer) was leaving for training in Iringa on 26 January and needed to be in town on the 25^th, so I stayed that day as well. On the morning of the 26^th, Stephanie (Volunteer) came down from her site to go to the soko (market). We were planning on heading up to our sites on the same daladala (small bus), so we met in the courtyard at Ludewa.

Even within the courtyard we could hear the horns of pikipikis (motorcycle taxis) outside. We didn’t think anything of it until, as we rode in a bajaj (three-wheeled taxi) to the main soko, five pikipikis sped recklessly by us with horns blaring. As we walked in front of the soko, we noticed more pikipikis speeding down the road together; people had stopped what they were doing to watch them. The mood was unusually tense, but Stephanie and I continued about our business.

We went to the “safi duka” in front of the petrol station on the east end of the soko to buy some items for site. While we were shopping, the owner of the duka stood in the doorway to watch a growing mass of pikipikis congest the road. I asked him why the pikipikis were rallying (I thought it might be about the pipeline issue) and was told that they were protesting the poor conditions of the roads.* After that, Stephanie and I went to reserve seats for the daladala at the small standi, check the posta (post office) and go into the soko. It was during this time that I first attempted to contact Joel (Safety and Security) to inform him of the protest, but I was unable to reach him because I had the wrong number.

After loading our stuff on the daladala, Stephanie realized she’d left her iPod in the posta to charge, so she headed in that direction to grab it. I’m not certain whether someone shouted something or what, but within a minute of Stephanie leaving, most of the people in the standi began running all at once towards the main road. I followed to get up to Stephanie.

The posta was virtually empty; most of the staff were standing on the porch watching as people passed. I asked a woman what was going on and she said there was an “anti-corruption” protest. Hoping for clarification, I asked if it was about the pipeline and she said affirmed that it was.

Stephanie grabbed her iPod. The moment we were out the door, the staff returned inside and locked the building up. Our curiosity got the better of us, and we headed toward the commotion to see what was going on. While walking, I attempted and failed a second time to contact Joel (again, my fault).

*I have since read that the pikipikis were protesting the arrest of a driver over a traffic violation. This was used as a platform to ignite the larger riot.

(1) As we neared the main road, we saw a large crowd of people – at least many hundreds – standing en masse across the street in front of a complex of government buildings. The outermost ring of people appeared to simply be watching, but within the mass I could clearly see hundreds of people shouting and throwing chairs and boxes. Even outside the outermost ring, people were running around, screaming, laughing and looting.

Not long after we arrived, the crowd set something on fire. A thick black cloud of smoke rose into the air and the smell of burning plastic overtook the scene. Within moments, four fires had been set, including a particularly large one just off the main road. Stephanie used her iPod to take pictures of the scene.

We got to within about 50 meters of the outermost ring, but opted to not get any closer for obvious reasons. We had no reason to believe that we were targets, but we could clearly deduce from the level of violence that the protest had become a riot and we wanted neither to become involved nor to appear to become involved.

After taking a few pictures, we decided to back off some; we stood near the safi duka and Stephanie continued to take pictures. It was during this period that I called the Duty Phone (Peace Corps’ in-country emergency line) and got ahold of Anne (Administrative Officer and Duty Officer for the week) simply to inform Peace Corps of the situation; we obviously had no idea we would be stuck in town another eight hours. While talking to Anne, Stephanie and I began to walk away from the scene to board our daladala, which was due to leave at any moment.

When we got back to the standi, it was empty. All of the vehicles had taken off at news that the riot was breaking out. By chance, I happened to see our daladala slowly moving away through an alternate exit. To the jeers of onlookers, Stephanie and I sprinted across the standi. As it happens, the daladala was stuck in sand, so we joined a crowd of people trying to push it out. It was during the final push that the daladala overexerted itself and began leaking oil. It sputtered to a halt just down the road (b).

(2) We watched as those who had remained on the daladala got off and sat on the side of the road. We were in a congested residential area in the southeast of town. I called Anne again on the Duty Phone to inform her that our daladala had broken down, but that we felt we were safe. She informed me that she was on her way to the office and that EB (Country Director) was already there. There were no alternative vehicles, so we waited by the daladala in the hope that its issues would resolve quickly

Not long after we sat down, the Diwani to my ward (employed by the district to council the ward) walked over and greeted us. Apparently he was taking the same daladala back to my village. He speaks English reasonably well and I interact with him frequently; he has my trust. Because he works for the district, I asked him if he had any additional information, but to that point he did not.

The first time we heard gunfire was about a half-hour after we broke down. We could hear automatic weapons firing from the west. This was disconcerting for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that, to that point, we had no idea that there was any trouble to the west. Within seconds of the first round of gunfire, we heard a second round go off to the north near the soko. When that burst was sustained, everyone in our area – Stephanie and I included – ran further into the residential section away from the road. At that point it was clear that the situation had escalated, and I called Anne immediately to report the gunfire.

Tyler, the Warden for our region (responsible for coordinating Volunteers during security situations), had been informed of the situation and called to inform us that Peace Corps had elevated our region’s action stage to “Standfast” (which means we have to stay in our villages until Peace Corps says otherwise). He asked if we were alright and wanted to make sure that it was just Stephanie and I in town. After giving him a brief rundown, I tried to call Amanda and Dierdre (the other Mtwara Volunteers from my training class) to inform them of the situation. I was unable to reach either, but sent Amanda a text and called Drew (Volunteer) to ask if he would continue trying to contact Dierdre (who is in his district).

Not long after that, I received a call from Joel checking up on us. I let him know we were still alright. He then told me that he had contacted district officials and that one of the district buildings had been burned down. He advised us to do whatever was necessary to remain safe. I informed him that we had pictures of the situation and asked if he would like us to send them; he said yes if we had the means, but only if we were able to do so safely.

Stephanie and I then boarded the daladala and I got out my laptop. We transferred the pictures and I began composing the email. While I was resizing the pictures, we heard yelling; we looked up and people were running away from the road again. I closed my laptop, Stephanie and I jumped off the bus, ran down the road a bit and were guided into a nearby house by a couple of men.

Within a minute, one of the men said that all was clear, and Stephanie and I cautiously made our way back to the bus. I finished resizing the pictures and resumed composing the email. As I was about to send it, gunfire rang out again. After noting the gunfire in the final line, I hit ‘send’, waited for confirmation that the email had made it out, put my laptop away and got out to find a safer spot.

The sound of gunfire could be heard from multiple directions over the couple hours we waited at that spot; sometimes it was automatic, sometimes it was single-burst. Smoke was still rising from various points in the distance. We ran away from the road any time we thought rioters or riot police threatened to appear. We kept close to the Diwani whenever we could. Even though he was a district official, he was having trouble getting updates; nonetheless, he had a stoic demeanor that gave me the impression that he knew enough about the situation to remain safe.

At some point while we were waiting, I was able to get ahold of Dierdre and let her know what was going on. During the course of that conversation, she informed me that Mtwara Town had seen some significant rioting the night before. Aly (Volunteer) also called Stephanie during the same period and informed her that there was rioting and gunfire in Newala. After finishing the conversation with Dierdre, I called Anne to suggest someone contact Aly about the situation in Newala.

Our situation in Masasi escalated once more as the gunfire continued. While Stephanie and I were sitting on a cement block with the Diwani, we heard three distinct single-round bursts fire from the north. Within a second, we then heard what sounded like three “sizzles” go just overhead. We ducked.

“It sounds like they’re using firecrackers,” Stephanie said.

“Those are bullets,” I replied (not as coolly as my writing implies).

This was the most surreal moment of the entire ordeal. I’m not sure the bullets would have hit us had we been standing, but had we stood and put our arms in the air at that moment, I think we could’ve caught one. We were not the intended targets – I assume the gunfire was being used as a deterrent rather than to kill – but whoever was firing was doing so recklessly.

People were running again, and Stephanie and I crouched low behind a house for cover. I called Anne immediately, informed her of the near miss, let her know that the conflict was spreading and that we no longer felt safe in the area. At some point, during that or the previous call, I informed Anne of the presence of the Diwani, and we resolved from that point that Stephanie and I should continue sticking close to him and work on moving away from the area.

Soon after the near miss, a large group of rioters armed with sticks, shovels and machetes appeared down the road. They were making a lot of noise, and everyone in our group of bystanders became quiet by their presence; the concern was evident in the bystanders’ faces. It’s one of the few times during the entire ordeal that the Diwani looked uncomfortable. But the rioters turned down an adjacent street before they reached us, and we continued considering our options for moving.

There are three major routes out of Masasi: the road to Ndanda, the same road in the opposite direction to Songea and the road to Newala (which would take us to our sites). Given the location of the rioting near the soko, Ndanda wasn’t feasible because there was no way to get a vehicle out without running into trouble. We had never been down the road to Songea, so what lay down that road we had no idea – it was the furthest option and we weren’t even sure it was accessible. We deduced then that our best bet was to either try to get to safety at our sites or to find a safe guest house in town and wait out the violence.

Soon after the rioters moved away, the Diwani suggested we walk down the road. We would head down the same route that the daladala would take when it was fixed. Then we would be able to board and head to our sites. We agreed and started walking; a number of the other bystanders followed.

It was a lengthy walk, but relatively uneventful. I called Anne to inform her that we were moving. Peace Corps wasn't able to contact Aly, so Stephanie passed on to Anne what Aly had told her about Newala.

We could still hear gunfire from various locations throughout town, and at one point during the walk we could see smoke rising from multiple areas in the north. As we approached the road to Newala, we could see lorries packed with riot police (from Mtwara town, I later found out) heading into town. The police were armed with AK-47s; a few had some form of grenade launcher.

(3) The Diwani directed us down the main road a bit and we entered Matapola Guest House (c). A large group of bystanders had already congregated inside. I called Anne and updated her on our whereabouts. We stayed in that area for a couple hours; Matapola is on the outskirts of town and we were able to buy bread and soda. There was some gunfire immediately outside the guestie at one point, but aside from that it was relatively quiet. I called a couple other Volunteers during that period to let them know what was going on.

About an hour or so after arriving, Stephanie informed me that some rioters were outside the guestie. Not long after that, she came back and said a fire had been set. I then went outside to observe myself, and saw that the rioters had laid three tree trunks across the road as barricades; the middle barricade was burning.

Minutes later, a lorry of riot police arrived. A number of officers got out, rounded up some bystanders and had them move two of the barricades (the third barricade was placed poorly and the lorry could pass uninhibited). The police then boarded the lorry again and continued to pass through.

After another half-hour, the Diwani said the daladala had been fixed and was on its way. We walked outside the guestie and waited for well over a half-hour, but the lorry never arrived. During this period, while on the phone again with Tyler, another police lorry pulled up and stopped. An officer with a grenade launcher aimed high and shot something into the air. Five seconds later, we heard a deafening explosion just overheard (we later deduced it was a concussion grenade). After yelling some expletives, I got to cover and told Tyler that I needed to call Anne. It was during the conversation with Anne that we realized the police had simultaneously thrown tear gas. My nose began to tingle and my throat burned, so we moved down the street a bit and Stephanie helped me wash my face (she is apparently immune to tear gas).

Soon after, the Diwani suggested moving back to the daladala to check up on it. I called Anne to see what she advised, and she asked which option I preferred. While there were drawbacks to either option, I decided that staying with the Diwani was more important than sticking to the outskirts of town. Anne also informed me that I should ask the Diwani to contact a driver to negotiate private transportation in the event that the daladala couldn’t be fixed. I told her I would talk to the Diwani while we walked.

While we were walking back into town towards the daladala, a man I recognized from the soko area spotted us and asked how we were doing. I asked him what the situation was in town, and he informed us that the rioters were burning government buildings and vehicles and were looking for government officials; at least three people were dead, including a police officer. We gave him our condolences and said our goodbyes. I then relayed the report of casualties to Anne.

(4) When we got back to the daladala, we could see that it had hardly moved from its previous spot. The condo insisted that it would be only a few more minutes, so we waited. Despite several attempts to start, the engine wouldn’t get going.

After about fifteen minutes, we decided to start looking for private transportation. Stephanie and I agreed that I would stay with her in Nanjota (25km away) to keep the cost down. The Diwani called someone he knew, who then called a driver. That driver’s asking price was 120,000/= (~$75), well outside the 25,000/= (~$16) I was hoping to start with. I called Anne, and she told me to start higher and remember that the primary objective was to make sure we got out of town.

While we were waiting on the driver to get back to us, the daladala started up again and the engine held. We needed little encouragement to get on, and I called Anne immediately to let her know that the daladala was moving again. Joel called soon after and I updated him on the situation. We were passing through the remains of the barricades as I hung up.

(5) Less than a minute after passing the barricades, the daladala began slowing down. At first we thought it was going to break down again, but upon looking ahead we realized that the rioters had set up and were occupying a new pair of barricades on a bridge. The rioters were shouting and were armed with shovels.

The daladala came to a stop and the rioters surrounded us. A couple of them boarded, one with a shovel, and began shouting something we didn’t understand to the crowd. During the commotion, I turned back to the Diwani and asked him what was going on (referring to him as ‘Bwana’ instead of ‘Diwani’ for obvious reasons). He told me to wait a little, so I looked forward and kept my mouth shut. Stephanie and I got an uncomfortable amount of attention for being white, but the condo apparently knew one of the rioters and managed to get them off the bus after a couple minutes of shouting. The rioters then moved the barricades out of the way and we were allowed to pass. (I later found out that the rioters were asking if there were any government officials onboard.)

Five or so minutes after getting past the rioters, we felt a jolt. Then the daladala veered sharply to the left and crashed into a ditch. We thought we were going to roll, but the driver managed to position the vehicle in such a way that we came to rest at an angle. The condo had jumped or fallen out of the door during the crash, but was alright. I called Anne once more to update her on our new problem (although I forgot to mention the episode with the boarding rioters) and we got to work looking at private transportation.

I approached the condo and the Diwani, who were speaking to each other. After they finished, the Diwani told us that the condo was getting another vehicle from the same company. Despite a brief period of uncertainty, we were soon informed that the second vehicle was on its way. We relayed that information to Anne, and the issue then became daylight (night driving in Tanzania is dangerous).

The first daladala was eventually able to get out of the ditch, but was decidedly unfit to continue; we waited and considered our options. We also spoke with both Anne and Joel to weigh risking a night drive versus returning to Masasi and trying to find a safe guestie. (I feel that returning to Masasi would never have been an option in the first place had I not failed to mention the rioters’ barricades.)

The second daladala arrived just as the sun was setting. The crews got to work unloading the first daladala and loading the second. Even to that point there was some concern over our decision. Neither option was without risks, but we eventually agreed that Masasi was too unstable and that taking the daladalas back to our sites, even at night, presented the safer choice.

We boarded the daladala and took our seats. Despite the driver going a little faster than we were comfortable with at night, the trip up was uneventful. Stephanie got to Nanjota in due time and I got to my site an hour later. I called Anne immediately to inform her that I’d arrived. That was the end of our ordeal.

Alrighty, so there’s my story. A lot of you said before I came over that I’d experience things I’d never forget. Well, you were right, but I’m not sure that’s what you had in mind...

Again, I am safe. The days immediately after the riot were pretty stressful; I didn’t get much done this week. But things are settling down and I’m hoping to get back into the swing of things once next week rolls around. Please keep the families of those killed in your thoughts and prayers.

A billion thanks to Anne, Joel, EB, Nasorro and the PCMO for helping us get out and for the follow-up support. Our country staff has proven itself to be supremely competent when it matters most (on more than one occasion, too).

On a lighter note, I’m eight weeks in and I’ve now been able to get three Peace Corps staff members to say “Oh my God.” I think there’s a prize if I get all of them to say it by the time my two years is up. We’ll see...

I think that’s all for now. If you don’t mind, I hope my next post is really boring.

Tutakutana siku nyingine (I promise).