It Got A Little Western in Dar Es Salaam.

When my brother Chris moved to Colorado, one of the first things he exported back to our family was the phrase “It can get a little Western.” I don’t know the origins or the etymology, or of it’s overused to the point of cliche now out in the Rockies, but in my life it’s just a thing Chris says when he expects the shit to hit the fan. And it’s a phrase I’ve happily adopted to describe that moment right before the wheels fall off.

So…Things got a little Western here in Dar Es Salaam this week. Tanzania held an election on Wednesday that featured all of the trademarks of a rigged system. Opposition party leaders jailed, dissent quashed, ruling party of 65+ years expected to win with approximately 90% of the vote. The standard Banana Republic election package. Problematically, the people have had enough of this party and their leader and have decided that this is the election where the leadership is actually going to change.

Since that change wasn’t happening at the ballot box, the people have taken to the streets. The President has reportedly fled to Zanzibar, and there are clashes everywhere between police and protesters. Nobody is really sure what the current situation is politically. The ruling party says they’re remaining in power. The military seems intent on just keeping the peace. Two opposition parties are claiming to have each overthrown the government. And the police seem intent on creating as much chaos as they quash.

For the past several days I’ve been staying in the shantytown of Temeke outside of the main city at a homestay not far from the Valentine Children’s Home, an orphanage that my family has very close ties to and where I was spending a few days checking in on the progress of a few projects and spending as much time as possible with the kids. For the past 2 days I have been unable to leave the orphanage grounds as there has been a consistent barrage of tear gas and pepper spray rounds going off in the streets and sporadic gunfire throughout the neighborhood. (But inside the walls of the compound we’ve been having a great time!)

A second strict overnight curfew seems to have calmed things down a bit, so today I took advantage of the opportunity to make my way out of the shantys and over to a proper hotel in the city at which the US Embassy advised American travelers to congregate. When I spoke with the Embassy they couldn’t quite sort out whether to tell me to stay put or make my way downtown. Mostly they wanted a report of conditions on the ground where I was because they didn’t have anyone anywhere near where I was. “What are you doing way the heck out there??”

Overhead view of the shantytown of Buza with the location of the house I was staying marked in Red. I’m pretty sure the Valentine Home is just out of the picture behind the engine.

Gao, the director of the orphanage, and I debated the options and made a few calls and soon I was off on a bit of an adventure to get to town. As we were discussing a plan, Freddy, the driver we had called, flagged down a couple of motorcycles passing by on the trail behind the orphanage. After a brief negotiation he and I hopped on the back of the bikes and began to wind our way though the back streets of the shanty to avoid the roadblocks, gathering crowds, and police checkpoints on the main roads around us. As soon as we headed out, the calm that we had been experiencing broke. We heard more gas canisters launching and significantly more gunfire than we had heard throughout the past couple of days.

Weaving through the rutted back alleyways, across yards and gardens, and  down narrow walking tracks, we made our way out of the shanty to Freddy’s truck. Everyone we passed seemed pretty surprised to see me back there. Waves and greetings were paired with confused smiles and a few very stern stares. Clouds of tear gas drifted down from the tin roofs of the shacks we careened past. Freddy just kept repeating that everything was fine and that we were “almost to the truck. That will be good.”

Arriving at the truck we all grabbed at the bottles of water Freddy pulled from the trunk to wash the tear gas and pepper spray out of our eyes and mouths and off of our faces. Shaking our heads and laughing at each other, we all absorbed the reality of the passage we’d just completed. Unfortunately that laughter was short lived as within a couple of minutes a truck full of police officers arrived and set up a checkpoint about 25 meters from us.

The boys piling out of the truck bed seemed a bit unsure of themselves in uniforms that looked like they had been unwrapped from their packaging an hour ago holding rifles that I’d be willing to bet had never been in their hands before today. The main man in charge was gesturing wildly and swinging his pistol around like a toy. He waved us into the truck and proceeded to fire a few rounds into the air to make sure his authority was clear.

We quickly complied and Freddy backed into an alley where we waited, ducked down in the truck, for another motorcycle to show up with my bags from the homestay. (I’d left for the orphanage expecting to be able to return to the house, but had instead been confined to the orphanage grounds for the past couple of days by the chaos outside the walls. The idea of transiting all the way through the neighborhood to my house was a non-starter. And I definitely needed my passport and certainly wanted the rest of my belongings.)

As I was reunited with my bags, the sounds of conflict started ramping up just down the road from us as the police crew hurried off in that direction. Freddy jumped back in the truck, hit the gas, and got us out of there post haste.

Driving out of the slums and toward the city we detoured around smoldering piles of trash and tires in the road, burned out, overturned cars, and other debris and damage that spoke to the troubles that had filled these streets just hours ago, and were likely to return tonight. “Don’t’ worry.” Freddy said as we passed yet another checkpoint “I have diplomatic plates, so they won’t stop us.”

(We were unable to take photos of most of what we saw due to the heavy police presence. Information control is a major strategic tactic and in addition to shutting down all internet access and cellular data, and imprisoning and attacking journalists, photographs and video were also forbidden to be taken by anyone, so we had to be careful in sneaking a few shots.)

Entering the city, the streets were eerily empty. Just a few well armed police officers scattered about and an occasional truckload of soldiers passing by. We didn’t see another civilian vehicle the entire drive. Freddy seemed shocked and dismayed by the level of violence that was occurring and the state of things in a country he had always known as a very peaceful place. He also seemed quite relieved to be out of the slums and back downtown.

Driving up to the front entrance of the Hyatt was a shocking shift in atmosphere.  Once we were through the heavily guarded gates we were met curbside with all of the pomp and circumstance you’d expect from a 5 star hotel. “Allow me to take your bag sir.” “Would you like some water sir?” “The washroom is right this way gentlemen.”

We still don’t have internet, or much cell service, and they won’t know if they have a room for me or not until current guests find out if they are leaving as planned or if their flights are canceled once again. The hotel is also full of a couple of hundred poll workers and international poll watchers gathering in groups discussing issues with the election.

But for now I have a cold beer and was able to change out of the clothes that still smelled of tear gas and burnt rubber so I’m feeling pretty civilized. Hopefully the airport will return to some semblance of normal operations tomorrow and I’ll be able to head off to my next adventure - one that I hope will be as interesting, but in VERY different ways.

Update - With a tremendous amount of logistical help, support, and love from my father and stepmother I was able to confirm my flight out and Freddy got me to the airport in time to catch my plane to Johannesburg - one of only a half dozen flights that made it out today. Two days ago the airport was overrun with protesters blocking the runways. Today it was nearly deserted with only those of us who had been confirmed on the few uncanceled flights and a couple dozen unlucky travelers who had been in the airport since their flights had been canceled in the previous days. They were all trying in vain to purchase tickets at an airport that had no internet or consistent phone service, and thus no way for airline staff to confirm a purchased flight, run a credit card, or do anything except apologize and ask them to wait until service returns to normal. I feel very fortunate to be able to easily continue my journey at this time.

Numbers are all still unofficial and will likely always be, but reports are consistently in the range of over 700 people killed in the clashes over these past few days. One of the injured victims, shot just a couple of blocks away from Valentine, was a friend of Gao, our leader there on the ground. My heart goes out to everyone who was touched by this violence as the people of Tanzania risked life and limb in pursuit of the kind of political freedom that we assume and enjoy every day. Compared to their trials and challenges, my little jaunt across town was a literal walk in the park. Article here: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/oct/31/tanzania-election-protests-opposition

I’m incredibly impressed by the work being done by the amazing team at Valentine Children’s Home with the love and support of many donors and a hard working Board in the States that includes my father, my stepmother (co-founder of Valentine Project), her daughters and my brother Chris. If you would like to learn more about the Valentine Children’s Home, please follow this link: https://valentineproject.org.

If you want to visit and volunteer (not during a coup d’etat), I can tell you that spending time with these children will change your life for the better.