Sunday afternoon, after a weekend amongst the jungle-topped mountains, we are packed into a bus on our way back home. Everything grinds to a halt about an hour out of Dar. Car after car after car are suddenly jammed together. Horns are blaring and the air inside the bus quickly becomes stagnant and sweaty.
We don’t move and we don’t move and there is word that there has been a bad car accident further up the highway. We can hear the wail of the ambulance in the distance, and it moves slowly past us, zig zagging through the cramped traffic. A construction truck follows closely behind, ready to clear away the debris.
Crowds of people stream down the road, to gawk at the accident site and, perhaps, lend a helping hand. Passengers inside the bus get out of their seats and crane their heads out of the windows to get a better view.
Vendors walk between the cars, selling water, soft drinks, cookies, and chips. One hops up to pass packages of cashew nuts through the windows of the bus.
Several hours later, we pull into Dar’s central bus station as the sun is setting.