Two by Two
KITONGA
An Unspoken, Subtle Lesson ⬗ /26th August, 2026
The Kitonga-Pass in Tanzania is well known for its steep slopes, sharp bends and very dense traffic. It gets the bulk of the through-traffic from Dar Es Salaam to the Southern Highlands. It also takes the heavy transport from Tanzanian seaports to the neighbouring, landlocked countries. Convoys of lorries crawl up the grade — or sneak downwards in order not to overstress the brakes. In between there are passenger cars crowding around, waiting anxiously for a chance to pass the trucks. Even the trucks are passing each other painfully slow. It is a kind of Russian Roulette: Will the road stay clear long enough? The entire road, eight kilometres, is a no-overtaking-stretch.
Once more we had to travel to Iringa. Already two kilometres before we reached Kitonga Village, there was a long no-passing-stretch. We were crawling behind a heavily loaded lorry. I feared we'd get stuck behind it all the way up the pass so I sought to overtake it before we reached the grade. Again and again I pulled the car to the middle line to get a better glimpse of the oncoming traffic — but no chance.
There! A gap! I looked into the mirror, pushed down the accelerator, pulled out to the other lane. With a roaring engine I passed the lorry. I made it! The road was clear, for a while at least.
After five hundred metres I saw a policeman on the road. He gave me a sign to stop. So I halted the car by the roadside.
As he approached, I rolled down my car window.
"Habari za safari? — How is your journey?" he greeted me friendly.
"Salama! Na wewe? Habari za kazi? — Everything safe. How about you? How is work?"
"Safi. — Fine." He smiled. "Mnatoka wapi? Mnaenda wapi? — Where do you come from? Where are you going?" he asked. Then
his face turned serious as he said,
"Tell me, rafiki yangu*), why did you just pass that lorry? You knew that passing is prohibited,
there is a continuous line."
Busted! I was desperately scrambling my mind for a plausible excuse although I knew that I could not possibly talk myself
out of it. Finally I said,
"I passed because that truck was moving at snail's pace." I tried to smile.
That very moment the truck passed us, leaving us in a plume of dust. When the cloud had settled, the officer looked me in the face and smiled.
"Msafiri salama! — Travel safely!" he said ever so subtly as he gave me a sign to get back on the road. There I was again, trundling along behind "my" lorry.
Alexander Breitenbach