III - Lake Tanganyika
After about two weeks of biking, I arrived at the second lake, Lake Tanganyika. My route along the lake would trace the bulk of Tanzania’s shoreline, which stretches along much of the east coast of the lake. Ringed by the distant mountains of Zambia and the Congo and with a deep blue hue, Tanganyika is like the big brother of Lake Malawi. It’s also a Rift Valley lake, so it is long, narrow, very deep, and contains an incredible diversity of mostly endemic fish species.
As I began paddling, it quickly became obvious that the lake was much more sparsely populated, with long sections of wild coastline seemingly untouched by people. On some of these remote sections, I could find wilderness beaches to spend the night. Watching the sun go down over the Congo, alone on these isolated beaches, made me feel like the last person on Earth.
Still, many days required spending the night in small fishing villages. Again, the people charmed me with their warmth. Despite our differences, I was welcomed into each community and graciously allowed to stay for as long as I wanted. The villages were built behind the beach, and beyond that were fields growing maize and cassava. The people living in this remote corner of Tanzania were surviving off the land—a timeless, subsistence way of life.
I continued to paddle north, with long days blending together into weeks. A fierce seasonal wind from the north piled up big waves and a powerful headwind that made progress incredibly difficult. Each day, I’d try to force progress, rolling through three- and four-meter waves. Through this stretch, I was managing only half of my usual daily distance. I began to feel completely mentally and physically exhausted. Lake Tanganyika started to seem cruel. The good fortune of a wind from the south, or even no wind, would make everything, my whole existence out there, so much easier. And yet, each day I would wake up and stand on the beach only to find the wind and waves mercilessly rolling in from the north.
Laboriously, I worked my way to the south end of what was supposed to be one of the high points of the entire trip. I had been granted permission by the Tanzanian National Park Service to paddle through Mahale Mountain National Park. Mahale’s neighbor to the north, Gombe Stream National Park, is perhaps more famous because it is the site of primatologist Jane Goodall’s research camp, but Mahale is far larger and contains a significantly greater population of chimpanzees.
From the southern boundary, it seemed so very intimidating. I had been invited to stay at a wilderness lodge that was located about 35 miles into the park. That distance would’ve equalled my greatest single day distance, and over the past week of headwinds, I had been struggling to cover 12 miles per day. I looked on the satellite maps for safe places to land my boat, but the beaches were either tiny or next to rivers. A few local people told me that I shouldn’t paddle into the park alone because there are so many crocodiles and hippos. These concerns weighed heavily on me as I tried to sleep before entering the park. When you’re alone and trying to use your judgement to evaluate danger, it’s difficult to not wonder if you are making a terrible mistake. Still, I felt like I had come too far to not press on.
Perhaps my faith was rewarded, or perhaps I just got lucky, but I woke in the morning to a strong wind that had entirely switched direction. After over a week, the pounding headwind had miraculously flipped, and this powerful tailwind guided me rapidly up into the verdant wilderness of the Mahale Mountains. Ten miles into the day, the forest canopy began shaking and I heard calls echoing down the hillside. A community of chimpanzees was announcing my arrival.
After a day, I arrived at the Greystoke Mahale lodge. It’s a marvel constructed out of native materials but exuding wilderness luxury—certainly an extraordinary change from the previous weeks of camping on beaches. At that point, something changed. I knew that I was going to make it.
In Mahale, I had the good fortune of observing chimpanzees and avoiding crocodiles and hippos. Chimpanzees, our charismatic cousins, win the popularity contest when it comes to conservation in this region, and it’s easy to see why people love these stunning animals. Still, when it comes to biodiversity and resources for the local people, it’s plain to see that the fishes of Lake Tanganyika deserve considerable attention, too.
Paddling north from Mahale, the population began to increase. Whilst I didn’t observe the volume of fishermen or as much of the destructive practices as I had on Lake Malawi, the fishermen on Lake Tanganyika told me that they were catching fewer and smaller fish over time. They said that the introduction of nets in the past thirty years, coupled with explosive population growth, were starting to take their toll on the lake. To me, it foretold the early stages of what I had observed in Malawi.
But Lake Tanganyika, and the communities around the lake, are beginning to act to protect their resources. Curious about these efforts, I stopped in a town north of Mahale to visit an international NGO, The Nature Conservancy (TNC), working in the area. TNC’s local initiative is called the Tuungane Project, and it works to protect the environment and people of the Greater Mahale Ecosystem. I was invited to spend a few days with the local staff and observe their efforts.
“Tuungane” is Kiswahili for “let’s unite.” This is central to TNC’s strategy for tackling the issues that endanger regional environmental conservation and human prosperity. The aim is to empower local people through education and training, organization, and by providing access to critical resources. The Nature Conservancy has the expertise and resources to guide this type of initiative, but they recognize that without the buy-in of local people, their efforts will never be sustainable. So they’re using their capacity to empower the local people to become partners in a sustainable future where the natural environment is protected and people can prosper.
I was able to observe one of their instructors, Apollinaire Williams, leading a seminar on climate-smart agriculture. Sixteen villages sent two representatives to be trained. The idea is that these newly-trained village leaders can go back to their communities and become educators, sharing the information with other farmers. Over a few days of intensive teaching, Apollinaire instructed the students on sustainable agriculture methodology, water protection to prevent pollutants entering the lake, field data collection, the use of GPS, and other topics that can help protect the region directly. These methods will help them to protect the land, the lake, and produce better yields for years to come.
I was impressed by the interest of the local people to learn and improve their future, not to mention the passion of the professional staff that I met there. Seeing different groups of people from significantly different backgrounds come together gave me hope that human impacts in the region can be as beneficial as they can be negative. I feel optimistic that the future of this region is bright, environmentally and for the local people.
I left the Tuungane Project field office after a few days and paddled north. After just over a month on Lake Tanganyika, I arrived in Kigoma and began biking to the final lake.