I first heard of the TAZARA train from my hostel receptionist in Lamu, Kenya. I was the only one in the hostel, so we ended up chatting with each other extensively over the next few days. I told him about my plans to travel overland all the way down to South Africa, a more naive and optimistic version of myself that had yet to be jaded by corrupt land border crossings and entire days spent in chaotic, cramped buses. He told me about the TAZARA train and it became nothing short of a hyper-fixation.
I met other travelers intending on taking the same train, and we'd check in weekly with each other to see if we've heard anything new about it. The TAZARA felt like a mythological creature. There were only whispers among travelers, many have heard of it, but few have actually seen it.
Even as I was entering Tanzania, the immigration agents were not buying my story about taking this train that even they, as Tanzanians, knew nothing about. For that reason, I had to book a return flight on the spot at the airport. I was starting to give up on the train. It wasn't until I got to Zanzibar that progress seemed to be made. The website put out a press release that they would start operating again. It was promising, considering it's the first news about anything they'd put out in a year. The schedule seemed to align perfectly, and I left Zanzibar for Dar es Salaam with a few days to spare.
The hostel was happy to help, calling the station to try and reserve my spot for the first express train in nearly two months. That train was full, but there was another train leaving on Tuesday. It was the ordinary train, and it would make stops at dozens and dozens of small towns that the express train would breeze past. Best case scenario, I'd be spending three days on that train.
I said fuck it and booked a bed in one of the first-class sleeper cabins. This turned out to be a great stroke of luck, as the Friday train ended up being cancelled, and I had already secured a bed in the inaugural train. Floods had washed out part of the railway on the Tanzanian side, resulting in over two months without a train running.
I had six days to kill in Dar es Salaam before the train, not exactly a favorite stop among travelers. It's a big city with relatively little to do. There are nice neighborhoods, but the restaurants and bars come with a Western price tag. The days floated by as I passed the time roaming along the city's coastline or buckling down trying to catch up on the blog. The four months I had given myself to make it down to South Africa were disappearing quickly, but if everything with the train worked out, then I would be able to cover a substantial distance in a few days. Patience is a trait I've acquired since I started backpacking, and I maintained faith that this would all work out.
The Day of the Journey
My six extra days in Dar-es-Salaam passed uneventfully, but finally, it was Tuesday. I checked out of the Slow Leopard hostel and sat my bags in the restaurant area. The other travelers I met over the last few days were there to see me off before heading out on their days' adventures. Last minute words of advice, like bring toilet paper, don't eat the food after day two, etc, were handed out from the word-of-mouth they've heard from other travelers. It seemed like everyone knew something about this train, but no one had actually been on it.
I took their advice and loaded up on snacks, water, and toilet paper from one of the nearby shops. I spent the last bit of my time in my usual air-conditioned cafe having an iced coffee. I ended up cutting it close by ordering a sandwich, not realizing they were going to make a fresh, hot one and not just hand me the sandwich in the display case. This sandwich ended up feeding me for three meals, so it was worth the wait.
I rushed across the street back to the hostel and ordered my Bolt to take me to the train station. Having arrived in Dar during the evening, this was actually my first time seeing the city center in the daylight. The heat was suffocating as we sat in the traffic jam leaving the city center. I bought a bag of nuts from one of the street vendors while stuck in the caravan of vehicles, hoping for some extra sustenance on the train and spending my remaining Tanzanian shillings in the process.
![tazara railway dar es salaam tanzania zambia](https://thepartyingtraveler.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/img_4115-2-1-1024x768.jpg)
The taxi pulled into the station, with TAZARA in large letters gracing the top of the station. My driver directed me to the line for the tickets where only a handful of passengers stood ahead of me in the first class line. I had already ordered my tickets on the phone, and the ticket vendor immediately picked my ticket out of a list without even asking for my name. That was not a promising sign that there'd be other foreign travelers on board to commiserate with. I scribbled my information onto the registry before heading upstairs to the waiting area.
![tazara railway dar es salaam tanzania zambia](https://thepartyingtraveler.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/img_4116-2-1-768x1024.jpg)
It seemed like everyone had packed their entire lives for this journey. Each passenger was carrying three or more bags the size of my large backpack. I sat on the floor for a while before realizing there was a "first-class lounge", which was not much of a lounge, but gave you a nice view of the trains and train tracks. I tried to charge my phone in every available outlet, to no avail. After only two minutes, people started trickling onto the platform.
This was it. After nearly two months of anticipation, I was actually getting on this train. I strapped on my two backpacks and started walking to the train to find my car, number 1004. Here we go.
After all the trouble this train has already given me, did I really think it was going to be that easy? Nope. I got to my cabin and there were four women sprawled out on the beds. Not sure what to do, I set my bags down and sat on the steps of the train. I waited for the crowd surrounding the attendant to dissipate, but it seemingly never did. Then, I heard the voice of an angel, the elderly Chinese man who would become my roommate before too long.
Meeting My Train Roommates
"Problem! Problem!" He ran up and down the train's narrow hallway until catching someone's attention. The attendant followed him to our cabin, and I snuck in behind him to see if the problem would be solved. The attendant and the women exchanged words in Swahili. They had some "free pass" or something, but otherwise didn't have a ticket, so the Chinese man and I got our cabin. We claimed the bottom bunks, making our introductions. I'm not sure how his name is actually spelled, but it sounds like Tree, so we'll call him Tree. He was a 65-year old man from China with poor eyesight and a penchant for traveling. Most of the time, he shared the experiences with his wife, but this time, he was riding solo.
We made our beds and got comfortable. Before long, the train started moving. It left only 23 minutes late, which is a miracle by African standards. I watched the cityscapes of Dar-es-Salaam transition into rural villages as the melodic chugging of the train propelled us towards Zambia. The rhythm was quite similar to Hotel California by the Eagles, so I'd hum the lyrics with every cycle of the wheels rolling along the tracks.
Not long after, our new roommate waltzed in. He didn't seem to have a ticket either, and passed by several times earlier to scope out his options. He ended up hopping on the top bunk of Tree's bed and introduced himself.
"My name is Zibonike Brown, but you can call me Brownie." Regardless of how awful it would sound if I were indeed to just call him Brownie, I always try to call everyone by their names. My name is Elijah, which is not even a hard or uncommon name, but I've straight up had people decide that they'd call me something else, ranging from Enoch to Raul, either because they found it easier or because I looked more like that name. White people, I swear to god.
![tazara train ride tanzania zambia](https://thepartyingtraveler.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/img_4106-1-1024x1024.jpg)
But anyway, I insisted I'd call him Zibonike, although it did take some trial and error to remember which syllables to emphasize. He was quiet at first, speaking only Swahili and seemingly frustrated that we didn't know how to speak Swahili. I tried my best with what kidogo I had learned so far, and before long, he opened up and revealed that he spoke pretty damn good English. He lived in Mbeya and was making the journey back. He spoke very highly of Mbeya, and mentioned a few beautiful places that I needed to visit, like the crater lake of Ngozi. He insisted that I get off the train and come visit him, and in hindsight, perhaps I should have.
It was a tempting offer. The longer the train dragged on and the later the arrival times became, a couple of days spent hiking to turquoise lakes and lush mountains in Mbeya didn't seem like the worst detour. I definitely would have done had I known the outcome of the train journey.
The First Day On Board the TAZARA
We passed the time chatting until a train attendant walked in looking to take lunch orders. I opted for the chicken and rice. I still had plenty of food, but I was very curious as to what kind of meals we'd be working with. It was simple, but you can't beat the basics, especially for about $2.25 a plate. He came by with a wash basin for my hands before setting the plate down on the table and I scarfed down my meal with views of green fields and tall grass.
Okay, now what? There wasn't much else to do, and with the power outlets in the cabin not working, I wanted to avoid wasting my phone's battery on mindless scrolling. With nothing else on the agenda, we all napped. It was surprisingly easy to fall asleep on the train. I wish I'd recorded the sounds of it for white noise to fall asleep to in the future.
Despite the lack of air-conditioning, the train kept cool for the entire journey. Windows were wide open in all of the cars, or didn't even exist in the first place. Quite a few of the doors had the windows smashed out. When the sun set and night came, it became very chilly. We'd shut the windows shortly after the sun disappeared below the horizon, although I'd fight to keep it open for as long as possible.
There is something special about the sunsets in Africa. The way the light lingers long after the sun has disappeared feels like a lifetime compared to other sunsets I've experienced. Once it became fully dark, the sky would erupt with stars, and I could even see the Milky Way fully etched out as early as 8 PM. Any later, though, and we might have froze. Luckily, the first class beds came with about two blankets per bed, and they were pretty cozy. I always slept like a baby, although the bed itself was fairly hard and rubbery.
Day Two of the Journey
The train was stopped when I woke up on the second morning. I wasn't sure how long we'd been parked there, nor how long we would continue to be parked there. That'd end up being a recurring theme of the trip. I watched the sun rise and took a stroll on the train platform before hopping into the dining car for a coffee. Before too long, the train started moving. We were deep in the Tanzanian countryside now. While the landscapes of the first day were beautiful, they were nothing compared to what we'd see on the second day.
We passed through a national park overnight, so sadly, all the opportunities for spotting wildlife had passed. However, the landscapes did not disappoint. It was green everywhere you looked. Rolling hills, farmlands, and lush forests passed by as the train crawled and curved across the country. The morning light was still basking everything in a golden glow, and I sipped on my coffee alone in the dining car gazing outside the window. This was that main character energy I was envisioning from the ride.
We passed by countless small villages, and each time, it seemed like the train passing by was the biggest event of the week. Hordes of people would crowd the train, some selling snacks but most just there to watch it go by. The train would occasionally stop, and with each rolling stop, Tree would light up. He could be fast asleep in his bed, but as soon as the train halted, he would jump up and ask "station?" before popping up to look out the window.
The train rumbled on like this for many hours before making a long stop a few hours before Mbeya. Zibonike took advantage of this to bring back scores of snacks to share with everybody. We snacked away while he was simultaneously telling me that I'm fat but should also eat more. Funny guy, this Zibonike. The train continued moving once more and the sun began to set over the endless plains of Tanzania. Baobab trees were scattered throughout the countryside, perhaps the only thing I love more than trains.
Some new faces were on board, mostly children, and they were very excited upon seeing me. I'd wave to them through the respective windows we were each looking out of, and it never failed to send them rolling into a fit of laughter. Dark descended on the savanna and I returned to the room for an early night.
I'd be shaken awake shortly after midnight by Zibonike saying goodbye, as the train had stopped in his town of Mbeya. "I will remember you so much," were his parting words to Tree and I. I think he was trying to say "I'll never forget you," but honestly, the way he said it felt much more meaningful.
Crossing into Zambia with the Train
After spending most of the night parked at Mbeya's station, we were on the move again in the morning. It is only a few hours to reach the Tanzania-Zambia border from Mbeya, and everything felt like smooth sailing so far. One of the train attendants came by to have us fill out some information and instruct us on what to do upon reaching the border.
First up was exiting Tanzania. We got into the station, which was just a big empty room aside from a table and a couple of benches. There was no one manning the immigrations desk, and I counted less than a dozen of us remaining passengers continuing into Zambia. A few minutes later, a car drove up onto the train platform and a man stepped out. He seemed quite frustrated to be doing his five minutes of work that week, but handed out some more papers to fill out.
I ran back to the train to grab a pen, since he wouldn't let us use his because he was using it, despite it just sitting on the table unused the entire time. I filled out my slip, he stamped my passport, and I was good to go.
![nakonde border crossing tanzania zambia](https://thepartyingtraveler.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/img_4104-1-1024x768.jpg)
Next up was the Zambian border crossing at Nakonde station. We filed into a short line. As a U.S. citizen, I didn't need a visa for Zambia, nor did I need to fill out any online forms or travel authorizations ahead of time. Two Angolan brothers were ahead of me, and they requested 15 days for the visa, and the two female officers granted them only 14, which they loudly protested before relenting. It made me nervous for how much time they'd grant me, and I estimated about three weeks when they asked me how long I planned on staying. They gave me a month, stamped my passport, and I was through to Zambia. As a mzungu, you truly never know when it's going to end up in special treatment or a cheeky bribe. After my last African land border crossing cost me close to $200, I was happy that this time, it was special treatment.
I got back on the train with my newly-acquired passport stamps and headed to the dining cart for a coffee. A girl from Lusaka joined me and we got to chatting. She was proudly Zambian, and boasted about how modern Lusaka was, citing the number of KFCs and shopping malls. She was originally from Somalia, and had traveled quite a bit of the African continent. After sharing all her advice for my future travels in Namibia, we parted ways, exchanging Instagrams so that we could pick each other's brains later on. I headed back to the room to catch a few extra hours of sleep, and before long, the train carried on.
End of the Line
After no more than five minutes, the train screeched to a halt. I heard some loud noises that didn't sound very promising, but not being a train engineer, continued my care-free nap. I don't know how long we were sat there before I heard knocking on some of the cabins. It was the Somalian girl asking which room the white person (me), was staying in. They immediately pointed her to the right direction, and she started knocking on my door. This might be the first time in my life I've been called a white person, so I enjoyed my few moments of privilege before the perfect train journey came crashing down.
Part of the train had derailed, potentially due to them overloading the cars with goods at the Nakonde border crossing. With so few remaining passengers on board, they were undoubtedly trying to make up for the lost profits. The train staff were visibly more disgruntled that morning, understandably unhappy about having to continue the journey with so few passengers to make it worth their time. I do admire the reverse-hustle culture and dedication to work as little as possible. The U.S. could learn a thing or two.
The Somalian girl explained the situation to me. The train had derailed and they were waiting on someone to come fix it. Afterwards, they would head back to Dar es Salaam instead of continuing to Kapiri Mposhi. Frantically, I scrambled to stuff my belongings into my bag. I looked for Tree but couldn't find him, and with the girl in a rush, I followed her off the train and along the train tracks. Don't worry, I would run into Tree once again in Botswana, and what a reunion it was.
I made it to Lusaka the following day, a journey that involved motorcycles, a 22-hour bus ride, and sleeping overnight at a gas station. It was an abrupt and hectic ending to the train journey, but after all the chaos of my previous African land border crossings, I couldn't have expected anything more. It was nice while it lasted, right?
Overall Thoughts on the Tazara Train
Frustrating and difficult as it may be, it's pretty rare to encounter something quite like this train journey. In a world of bullet trains and high-speed rail systems, this remnant from the past is an adventure unlike any other for the patient and easygoing traveler. It's a far cry from the luxury trains in Southern Africa that'll cost you $3000+ for a journey of the same length, but it is truly an unforgettable experience. If you've got several, and I mean several, days to kill and are looking for a unique adventure, the TAZARA train journey is one for the ages.
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