Crtd 06-03-03 Lastedit 15-10-27

Banned

Inspector Mgussa had told me I could expect to have my computer in five days. But on that Monday I got no phone call. I decided not to press. The more mistakes they would make the better. My file updates were at a Hotel Tilapia computer. Urgent emails to and from my website in a server in St. Louis Missouri.
Wednesday. Mandjit, owner of hotel Tilapia - an Indian of course, all serious business and wealth creation in East Africa is done by Indians - was furious about my gunpoint arrest and imprisonment. I told him they would find nothing in my computer. That I legally can buy a dhow with a visitor's visa. My lawyer had said so categorically. That the case would die out.
Why let it die out? Mandjit said. This is something for the real big shots. I will make an appointment for you with the district commissioner.
He did. For next Monday.

Friday 060303, in the morning, Inspector Mgussa announce by telephone that he was going to return my property. I told him I was in a meeting and could be there in an hour. That was to buy time: since the owner of the passport, the Netherlands, who clearly writes to the holder, in the passport itself:

THIS PASSPORT IS THE PROPERTY OF THE STATE OF THE NETHERLANDS.
THE BEARER OF THIS PASSPORT MAY PASS IT TO A THIRD PARTY ONLY IF THERE IS A STATUTORY OBLIGATION TO DO SO

is not represented in Mwanza, I had to collect a fellow Dutchman to collect it. If tampered with (replacing my legal visa with a forged one for instance), I wanted proof I had not be the one. For the laptop, I had to take an engineer from a computer shop who was to receive the computer directly and make full backups of its state at return by police. Mgussa thought an hour was too long. I promised to do my best.

Hurrying, after half an hour I was at the police station with my people. Mgussa chased my fellow Dutchman and the computer engineer out of his office, told me to sit down and wait.
I sat for two hours. Then I got my computer, camera, scanner. My dhow building contract. was not returned. Did they hope I would not have a copy? My computer engineer went with my laptop to the corridor and started playing with it. Not a nice start for making a backup for purposes of legal proof. I decided simply to give up on the bastard. If he did not even understand this, he would probably make a corrupt backup and in general not know what to do with it. My Dutchman refused the procedure I had in mind: having him sign the passport and sealing it in a plastic bag. He feared. Nice guy, but no suitable recruit for a resistance group. I resigned, and after some waiting time told him I thought this would all take too long for him and understand it if he would go back to his work. He went.

Inspection Iko, commander of the small army that had arrested and imprisoned me midnight at gunpoint a week earlier, came in. I embraced him and said: good I see you because I wanted to know your name. You have behaved quite correctly during the operation.
Immigration officers standing around me asked me, angrily, what I thought of them.
I said: when it is surely good, I can easily say it. In other cases, like yours, I will leave the judgment to the Tanzanian authorities in charge.
Immigration was not amused.
Police did not return my passport to me but gave it to an immigration officer.
Is the investigation ended Mr. Mgussa? I asked.
"I think so." Police Officer Mr. Mgussa, in charge of my case, looked at the ground.
Do you have an explanation Mr. Mgussa?
"I do not have much of an explanation", Mr. Mgussa said, still looking at the ground.
Thank you, I said and shook his hand.
Good man.

Immigration officers took me to the immigration office, again under some kind of arrest. Brought me in a room, where I found my main immigration thug, whose name I did not yet have with certainty. So I shook hands with the fat monkey and apologized for having forgotten his name. He gave it: something like Pita Mita. I sat down and wrote it in my exercise book. Pita Mita followed the movements of my pen.
How is your business?
No business, Sir, no business, I am a retired professor in philosophy.
How long will it take you to finish your dhow?
I am not finishing. My contractor. Three weeks.
I will give you three days to leave the country.
After this announcement, Pita Mita and his cronies went off for tea. I was again under a kind of arrest. Hours went by. I sat in a room littered with documents and passports. On the tables, on the floor. An incredible mess. I could have taken all kinds of people's invaluable papers. But of course I did not and had anticipated this "waiting" harassment strategy I now had learned is characteristic of Tanzanian government authorities, at least the ones that like to seek my company. I had taken Rabelais.

Panurge, a friend and fierce general of Giant King Pantagruel, a man rarely allowing his soldiers to kill an enemy because he insists on killing them all personally, usually by lethal urine inundation (drinking a lot and then drowning them in piss), lately refuses to wear his codpiece and considers to marry. But he doubts and asks Pantagruel for advice. Panurge and Pantagruel philosophize about all the responsible and sound modes of divination (like random selection of a book passage and finding out what it means for the problem, throwing dice, cards, and the explanation of dreams). Further down in the book I already see headers crying that despite of this good preparation Panurge is marrying and cuckolded immediately.

OK I thought. Then better get thrown out of a country.
After six chapters of Rabelais the crooks returned, had an ORDER TO LEAVE IN THREE DAYS stamped in my passport. I could go.
Do you have an explanation? I ask.
The explanation is that you have to leave in three days.
Back on the street one of the monkeys comes running after me and calls me back to the office. With a pen, the writes CANCELLED on my visitor's visa.
So without canceling it, it would still have been legal? I ask.
The monkey stares out of the window.
Thank you, I say and leave.

To Tilapia. I show my passport to Mandjit. He is furious. Grabs his cell phone out of his pocket and puts it back in. Do not worry, I will sort this out for you, he said.
Thus, I trusted that plan A (bloc the ban), would probably work. But a plan B was needed. I went to the dhow and called Gabriel en Philemon.
We have serious trouble, I said. We are now going to organize ourselves as a military group. Gabriel, you are the general of building. All fundi have to do exactly as you say. Philemon, you are my general of sailing. You have to make sure the boat can sail and we have a crew with valid passports on Monday. I am the commander. I give no more reasons for my commands than I think you should have. Everybody should know only what he strictly needs to properly follow his orders. Philemon got the point immediately but evangelist Gabriel immediately made attempts to waste time with questions and discussions: "but the wind...you cannot sail..."
That is Philemon's assignment, Gabriel, you are not the sailing, but the building general. You should have the rudder finished tomorrow. Do we have the wood?
"But..."
No but, do as I say, and remember, all unnecessary information you have can be tortured out by police. It is good to know little!  (I felt I had to stress the new procedures of absolute discipline and obedience without discussion by some exaggeration, but they know police better than me and were convinced I was right).
Gabriel, through trembling of fear and worries, was completely unable to understand that this was the proper routine for the situation. In secret, I appointed Philemon to keep Gabriel's mouth shut and keep him at his own job. Philemon started as a painter just after I took over January 1. I was warned by others to store my brushes and paint in my car every evening, because "those painters are thieves". Now, only two months later, he is number two after me. Thug Daniel, of course was out and should saw and screw only. Would I ever have had this problem if the bastard would just have finished the bloody dhow in four months as he had promised?

Saturday 060304  Work on the Rudder, moving all my personal effects into the boat

Photo: High speed finishing of the rudder to meet the expulsion deadline. Philemon instructed Daniel how to make it.
Background: Mama Simon, our caterer.

Photo: Saturday March 4: preparing for Plan B: possible execution of order to leave. My boxes go in the dhow. Last job of my pickup? Middle just behind boat stern, my deputy captain Philemon. He tells me Gabriel was worried, I should have loaded the dhow at night. I explain Philemon that starting to behave like a thief only makes things worse. We are legal, they are the criminals. They come at night with guns, we work unarmed in day light. Philemon gets the point and relaxes.

Photo: Saturday March 4 Preparing for Plan B. The personal effects in these boxes, coming from The Netherlands by boat to Kampala, stored in Jinja, moved to Isamilo, stored at a lake side container, now have an almost three year history of custom officer's and private harassment and stealing attempts. I lost one quality suit, stolen by Uganda Customs Authority. I lost to theft an external hard disk housing useless to any one but me, and a T-shirt while moving from the 2 Friends Boys Quarters to the container. Not a bad record to African circumstances. But with some bad luck I could loose the entire dhow. That was the probable aim of my harassment by Mwanza immigration officers.

Sunday 060305: Gabriel and Daniel judge praying more effective than working. Rudder finished by the Philemon guys. Rig also finished. We can sail! Although a 450 km first test trip to Uganda with an uncaulked deck - hence all rain and lake water on deck going right down in the hold - is a somewhat unusual thing. Only add that the rig is my personal design, I never designed a rig before, let alone a lateen sail, I just made a rough proportionally inflated copy of what I measured on smaller dhows, and chose for slightly too big  because reducing is easier that increasing sail surface, I say, only add that and you realize where these immigration monkeys have brought us in.
I prepare a report for the meeting Hotel Tilapia owner Mandjit has arranged between me and Regional Commissioner Kiroja:
 

To: Mwanza Regional Commissioner Mr. Kiroja
My Name: Lambertus hamminga
My Nationality: The Netherlands
My Visa for Tanzania: visitor�s visa valid until March 19, 2006, on entry Mutukula December 19, 2005, Cancelled by Immigration Mwanza on March 3, replaced by ORDER DEPARTURE FOR THREE DAYS.

Summary of the case:

I am a retired Professor in Philosophy. Early 2005, I ordered a Mwanza shipyard to build me a sailing dhow according to Mwanza tradition. The purpose of the ship is enjoying my retired life on Lake Victoria with my Tanzanian and foreign friends. There is no business purpose. It is my plan to apply for a permanent visa for Tanzania as the owner and captain of the dhow, now officially registered by Tanzania as TMZ 09450 SV Saa Moja.

November 30, 2005, I was arrested by Mwanza Immigration and taken by force to head office on accusation of owning and running a shipyard. Immigration apologized for the incident by mouth of Chief Immigration officer Mr. Msellem. I left with Immigration a copy of my contract with the ship yard.

February 5, 2006. The dhow was launched, to be finished floating in the lake.

Friday, February 17, 2006. Immigration officers are spotted at the mooring site. I go to Immigration, Mr. Msellem in out, in Geita. Officers say they have orders from Mr. Msellem to check me again.

Saturday, February 18, 2006 I meet Mr. Msellem at the immigration office. Mr. Msellem says he gave no orders for any check. He advises me to take a business visa instead of my visitor�s visa. I repeat that I do no business whatsoever in Tanzania, nor have any intentions to start doing so, but of course am willing to conform. We shall make the business visa on Monday, February 20.

Monday, February 20. I wait for Mr. Msellem in Immigration, but he is busy and asks me to return the next day, that is Tuesday, February 21.

Tuesday, February 21, 17:00 hrs. I am unexpectedly late to meet Mr. Msellem. I try to phone him, but he is off. 24:00 hrs. I am lifted from my bed and arrested at gunpoint by six police officers in civilian clothes, arrested and imprisoned.

Wednesday February 21 Full search of all my property. Questioning by police and immigration is mainly about the difference between building a dhow (which I do not do) and buying a dhow (which I do). Police ceases my computer, including backups, CD�s, camera, scanner, the contract for the dhow (of which Immigration had a copy since November 30), and my passport. I am released at 17:00 hrs but �should keep my cell phone switched on�

Friday, March 3 Police returns my property, except the dhow contract and my passport. I do not know who has my dhow contract at this point in time. Fortunately, I still have a copy. My passport was given by police to Immigration. On being asked whether the investigation was terminated, Police officer Mgussa said: �I think so�. On being asked for an explanation he said:� I do not have much of an explanation�. At Immigration I was asked how long it would take to finish the dhow. I answered: �Three weeks�. Upon this Immigration cancelled my visitors visa (which means that they considered it legal: if the visa had been illegal, there would have been nothing to cancel). They stamped in my passport an ORDER DEPARTURE FOR THREE DAYS. On being asked for an explanation, I was told: �This means that you have three days to leave the country�.

Saturday, March 4 My lawyer tells me the ORDER DEPARTURE FOR THREE DAYS does not leave time for any legal action.

REQUESTS:
1. I kindly request this to be sorted out.
2. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs of The Netherlands has requested me to inform them concerning the explanation of these events by Tanzanian authorities. I kindly ask permission to use the coming explanation to the purpose of forwarding to this ministry.
3. I kindly apply for a permanent visa for Tanzania as the owner and captain of SV Saa Moja TMZ 09450 while now being allowed to stay in Tanzania until I have been granted such visa.

Monday morning 060306. My captain and crew had prepared their passport applications in the previous days and now can go to get them.
My meeting with Regional Commissioner Kiroja is at 10:00 hrs. Mandjit advises me to be there at 9:00. At 8:30 there is a tropical rainstorm. I leave Mwanza Yacht Club with my car and head slowly, wipers maximum speed, for the office of the regional commissioner, where I am put in a waiting room with soft fauteuils, talking with an entertaining South African. When he is let in, I tell the secretary my name and say I have an appointment at 10:00 but came early. She invites me to sit down. I ask for the name of the RC.
James Mselera. My Kiroja is District Commissioner and was acting Regional Commissioner last week between the leave of the previous and the coming of the next RC. She offers to call the District Commissioners office. Yes, my meeting is with Kiroja, that is, the District Commissioner.
The "region" Mwanza has many districts, one district is Mwanza. This clearly lowers my chances. Did Mandjit know the difference between the two types? I call him nervously. His cell phone is off.
The District Commissioner's Office has no carpet, metal chairs, though with cushions. I am slipping down the ranks back in the direction of my immigration monkeys. Mr. Kiroja reads my docs and calls the immigration. Pita Mita arrives with a uniformed guy I did not see before. I am called in. Mr. Kiroja tells me he cannot change the decision.
I am used to remember what people say literally. This time I fail. Kiroja had some papers on his desk, waved at it and said something like me having been unfriendly to Tanzania and some high boss in Dar es Salaam, the name of whom he refused to say, had already told I should leave the country. So he could nor wanted to do anything. One of the papers he waived at I recognized: a print out of my website report on my arrest on November 30. Killing the messenger seemed part of the idea.
I took no more time dealing with these thugs, said goodbye and continued preparing for plan B (sailing off with the dhow).  

Final LPE graph. (Click here for Line Of Perfect Inertia Explained). The purple period "My Line" is 10% of the 14 months building period. In that time we did roughly half of the work. Extrapolating the progress line of the period before my interference, the dhow would not have been ready in 14, but in 25 months, that is, in February 2007. Of course, the police/immigration operation caused quite some activity among my boys and made me win a week or two. I do think the "No Delay Line" (4 months) is feasible under the white supervision style it unfortunately took me a year to develop. Also the original contract price of Euro 10 000 is feasible if you know how to avoid being cheated by your contractor. I lost Euro 3000 due to my lack of experience. Roughly half of it because contractor Daniel purposively told lies in order to get money for other uses, the other half by his stupidity and ignorance. But I would not call him a bad dhow builder. His version of the dhow would have foundered in a few months but just because some adjustments were needed to cope with the big size of the hull (the triangle operetta, and the keel addition, and the stiffener beams).

Photo: the crowd near the boat. You do not know who is who. And the beach is free

Photo: Monday morning 060306. My last legal day in Tanzania. Trying the gaff (folmali). Some critical adjustments suggested by a young helper Makamba. Philemon and me impressed by his judgment. Makamba (photo) is immediately hired as a crew member for the trip to Uganda

Monday night 060306. Tropical rainstorm. Philemon and I hope for better weather and land wind starting in the late night. I park off my car, motorcycle and saxophone with a friend, putting some rubbish before the street side number plate. I will walk the 10 km known danger area from Hotel Tilapia to the dhow at around 2:00 hrs. at night, unarmed.
At 20:00 hrs. Philemon calls: police spotted on the beach twice.

We may have the right, but they have the guns. In case of trouble I could be kept in the country until after my time limit and then treated as an illegal. They want to split me and my dhow, it is very clear. Clearly, we are in plan C (leaving by car through Kenya). I drive with my motorcycle to 500 m aside of the mooring site and walk in the moonlight, the weather had cleared up, to the boat, wade to the rope ladder, dig out my travel documents, take my computer and ten cigars, drive back to my car and leave high speed through Serengeti at 21:10 hrs, kill a dog and a rabbit, am stopped thrice by armed civilians in fast cars who happily all turned out to be police, one of them asked me to sign I did not need an armed escort, so that story of nightly road unsafety, which I thought was just a means for police to get lifts from civilians, is genuine. I sleep at 01:00 hrs. in front of the closed Sirari border gate, after counter intimidating some little thugs claiming to be security and asking money, cross the next day (immigration was not at all interested in my beautiful order-to-leave-in-three-days stamp), through Kenya, and order a pizza after my personally submitted recipe, formerly known as "Pizza Bert Special", recently rebaptized Nile Pizza, in Jinja's restaurant 2 Friends at 20:00 hrs Tuesday evening.