The haunted penthouse in Dar es Salaam
A true story of resistance and persistence to bring you laughs as you welcome 2023.
We were invited to stay in a beautiful beachfront apartment for a wedding in Tanzania, Africa. My wife and I added a mountain hike, a beach resort, and a wildlife safari to the wedding itinerary and took a mini-sabbatical. And the comedy of errors that followed inspired me to write this piece.
Arrival
We bought tickets to Dar es Salaam in August. But Turkish airlines sent us an email saying our flight was canceled and we needed to “contact” them to reschedule a month later. We contacted them via web and app, but no human responded so we started calling. Turns out Googling the customer support number isn’t reliable, because we got scammed of $300 as “change fees” that Turkish doesn’t charge if we call the right number. Still a manageable hiccup, and we successfully rescheduled, and hopped on the plane a week later than planned.
I could see the baggage conveyor belt from the immigration booth as we finished the visa papers in Tanzania. But the bag that looked like my wife’s from the distance was just a mirage. We had entered Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania’s capital, and the comedy of errors had begun. My luggage had arrived, Richie’s hadn’t.
While filling the lost baggage form, I asked the agent how long the bags usually take to be found. He shrugged, said “maybe 2 days” and went back to his form. Then I asked him to look for our bags in the system, he checked his computer and said “I don’t see it in the system.” I asked - do some bags just vanish forever? And he smirked and shrugged again. Big mistake Prateek, big mistake. When I turned to look at my wife, Richie, her face was white as a sheet. She was thinking about all her mother’s heirloom gifts, her work laptop, her curated clothes, all the stuff in her bag and assuming the worst. In her heart, she got that sinking feeling that her favorite things were now lost forever.
Richie would now have to borrow clothes from Bharvi, who’s wedding we have come to attend as part of a long trip and she wondered what she’ll wear to the wedding itself! Meanwhile, Bharvi’s mother said many reassuring words (that I should have said earlier) and took us to the luxurious accommodations for us. We planned a 35 day trip in Tanzania, with Bharvi’s wedding as a highlight along with safaris and hiking and a visit from Richie’s mother for a week around Christmas for a beach holiday as well.
Bharvi's Mama took us to a top floor apartment beachfront apartment with a private terrace and a romantic swing in the balcony from which to enjoy the beach. 3 rooms and very secure - with a deadbolt iron gate blocking the staircase entrance and 2 locks on the apartment door. The elevator opened on our floor only for our apartment. Along with the tour we got a gentle warning - this door locks automatically, and there are no other keys, please keep this bunch of keys in your pocket if you’re stepping out. And there’s a grill to block the stairs. We nodded our acknowledgement and began unpacking so Richie could see which of my clothes she might be able to wear.
The penthouse!
Day 1, we went out shopping for her panties, then for dinner and returned to the apartment complex in the evening. The elevator was not working in our building. No problem, we said as the Tanzanians do - Hakuna Matata. It was only 6 floors, we promptly climbed up the stairs and were stopped at the imposing, iron grill on the 5th floor firmly locked to protect our apartment and the private terrace. None of the keys in my pocket opened the “Godrej Sherlock” lock on the grill. Something seemed fishy - none of my keys were labled “Godrej”.
The penthouse - it seems - did not like its new guests. We were locked out by the grill and the elevator needed spare parts and repairs.
We called security, they looked us over with suspicious eyes and asked many questions in Swahili. We are strangers, and we don’t have the key to the grill, and we want them to open it?
No, they declared with finality. “No, No entry till Mama say so”.
The Mama in question was Bharvi’s mother, fondly called Mama Chhaya by the locals. The CEO of a nearby hospital, very loved by the locals, and a tigress of woman who should be the country’s president in my humble opinion. We called Mama Chhaya and she grabbed her own bunches of keys and any other “Godrej” key she could find, and her driver brought her over. We tried so many keys together! Eventually she asked security to find a way and security sweetly said - “Oh we can get to the terrace from the next building Mama.” They took us up from the next building’s elevator, we jumped into our terrace, climbed down to our apt door, whose keys I had and we entered with relief. Mama Chhaya went back up through the terrace hopped back to the next building and went home.
The next day, Richie’s mum (my mother-in-law, or Sasumaa as I call her) was due to fly to Tanzania for a holiday with us. Mama Chhaya said it would be silly for her to have to jump terraces to get into the penthouse, so we told security to break the lock on the grill. The Mfundi (local technician) showed up with a hammer, a chisel, and a sidekick to accomplish the mission. And with sweat drenching their shirt, confusion on their faces, they tried to break Mr. Godrej for the next hour. The ruckus with all that hammering brought the driver up to our floor. He hammered away with incredulity and the stubborn Mr. Godrej wouldn’t give. So he rattled the grill in frustration and something creaked.
Lightbulb moment💡 if the lock won’t break? Maybe the grill will?
Like He-Man with the Power of the Universe, our driver started rattling the grill, the Mfundi joined in, and so did the sidekick, until the metal plate that held the deadbolt and Mr. Godrej in place gave way, we heard the metal bend and the Grill pulled open. We were Free, released from the prison Grill even as Mr. Godrej defiantly still stayed locked on the bolt on the Grill deadbolt.
A few hours later, when we returned from dinner, even the elevator was working.
Through Day 1 and 2, we kept calling the airport, the airline, and emailing and WhatsApp-ing every person we could find for the bags. Hell, the squeaky wheel gets the grease right? So we squeaked plenty. 2 days later, the bags arrived and Richie had the relief of someone who’s lost baby gets returned to her by strangers.
The bags were back, the elevator up, the Grill ajar. “Hallelujah!” I thought, “what an adventure to start the trip”. But the adventure was just beginning.
To make sure Sasumaa wouldn’t have any issues arriving in Dar Es Salaam. I decided to apply for an eVisa for her in case the Visa-on-arrival process had any issues related to taking her money in Indian Rupees. The fee is $50 for a visitor visa and the form is pretty easy.
Having done this for Richie and me before, I already know that the eVisa website of Tanzania has moods. Sometimes it works , other times it throws an error saying “we encountered an unexpected condition, sorry.” This error can happen at unpredictable times, to unsuspecting users for unknown reasons. The only remedy is to try doing the same operation at different times using different devices on different networks. And that’s ok, persistence is my middle name this trip.
Once I successfully finished Sasumaa’s form I tried to pay the application fee. My card, didn’t work, Richie’s card didn’t work. Then I realized it is assuming that the payment form is not asking for the name of the card holder so it must be assuming the payer is the applicant. So I tried Sasumaa’s card in INR and that didn’t work either (maybe it wouldn’t take Indian currency). Then I reverse engineered the url and found another payment form which let me put my card holder name and then the payment worked! Shew done with paperwork, visa application submitted.
Hypnotized by the waves crashing on the beach, Richie and I had a relieved evening and went to sleep. Day 3 was Christmas eve and Richie’s mother’s (Sasumaa’s) flight from India was taking off late at night. During dinner I called Sasumaa and she happily informed me that she had reached the airport early. Bags packed and ready. I had already applied for her eVisa, all was set.
Shakespeare couldn’t make this up. Sasumaa gave her passport to the gate agent the Airport agent in Bangalore had a look of confusion on his face. He called his supervisor. And then the Gate agent had a sad look on his face. He looked up and said “we can’t let you fly.”
“But why?” asked Sasumaa surprised and fearful. “The software says no. Your passport isn’t valid.” “Of course it is, look here” said Sasumaa confidently. Turns out, the passport was valid but till June 23, 2023. The flight date was Dec 24, 2022. The passport needed to be valid for 6 months from the flight date. And it was valid for 5 months and 29 days. 1 day off.
My Sasumaa called me and said “I think something is off.” I asked “is it a damned visa payment thing?” No it isn’t - its an international travel requirement thing.
A flurry of calls and emails and requests followed. Still the airline software denied boarding and my dear Sasumaa had to return home from Bangalore Airport. Strong as she is, she called me, masked her soft tears and said she’s headed back home, but we should go enjoy the beach vacation. My dear Richie again had sadness all over her face. I couldn’t fathom how disappointed Mother and daughter were at this ridiculous situation.
The Christmas eve dinner conversation turned to everyone telling travel fiasco stories. This only made Richie sadder. So I went quiet and had an idea. A lightbulb 💡.
“If your mum can’t come vacation with us here, why don’t you fly to India and vacation with her instead?” That lit her up and we hastily booked tickets, Tanzania to India departure, next flight in 6 hours, and return in a week after new year. Richie packed (now that her bags were back) and was with her mum 24 hours after the debacle at the airport. Richie’s dad was in another city, and he soon flew to bangalore to see his daughter as well. Another problem managed. She took 5 flights in 5 days to make this trip and return.
Shew, this trip was turning to be quite a roller coaster. I returned to the penthouse from the Airport and took a nap. Then I called up all the reservations in Zanzibar to get refunds for the expected vacation with Sasumaa, Richie and me. Now that 2 of the 3 vacationers were on another continent, I thought the refunds would be easy, but no refunds were given, so I decided I’d go on the vacation myself and have some chill beach time.
The next day, alone without my wife, I went out and returned after dinner. Went to open the apartment door but wait - where are my keys?
The haunted penthouse managed to thwart Richie’s mum back on another Continent, now Richie had also been sent off. How did I think I could come back? The penthouse was in no mood for playing host.
I was stuck outside again, this time staring at the apartment door, with its serious “TSH” lock. No keys in hand. And of course… calling Mama Chhaya so we could start a search for the keys.
We looked and looked and looked. No keys anywhere.
The great mother, of Mama Chhaya, heard the commotion and asked us what’s happening - we said we’re looking for the penthouse keys and seem to have lost the only set. She presciently said - I knew this would happen someday. I have kept a spare key in this drawer.
To my immense relief, this warm, 84 year old woman with the elephant’s memory to remember where the spares were hidden (when I usually can’t even find the primary key). then pulled out a bunch identical looking to the ones that I was originally given. Mama Chhaya and I kissed her good night, and called the driver to go try these keys on the haunted penthouse. We were confident they would work. So along the way Mama Chhaya said why don’t we pick up the ticket to the Zanzibar ferry tomorrow so you can go on your beach vacay?
I said - I tried to book the ferry already many times. The website is broken. The travel agent sites didn’t respond. I tried the company’s phone number. I think they’re not working today - its Christmas. “But the ticket counter is open 24/7” she said. So off we went to the Ferry ticket counter.
The Road to the ticket counter was closed for construction.
The Ticket counter itself was closed for the evening with people sleeping outside waiting to buy tickets.
Still we didn’t give in to all these omens and asked the security guard where we could get tickets for the next day. He pointed out a small shop in the distance “that shop with the white light on.” We walked over to what looked like a shady cigarette store and the guy sold us a ticket for the next morning’s 8 am Ferry.
Jubiliant, we returned with our jangling spare keys and tried the door to the Penthouse.
It would not budge. The spare keys fit easily, but they don’t actually work.
Uh Oh.
Now we have to figure out how to open this “TSH” lock on the apt door. Another Mfundi called. Another hour spent with the security guy and the technician sweating, hammering, and trying all their screwdrivers in vain. But the Spare key must work we figure so we try it incessantly - until it breaks into two pieces in our hand. We take apart pieces of the lock and hammer away but the door won’t budge. I tried Googling locksmiths, but no one picked up the phone.
By now I’ve realized one thing. The Hammers in Dar es Salaam are no match for the locks that Mama Chhaya gets installed. I mention this to her and she tells me the story of her first night in Tanzania, 24 years ago. She had arrived, and bought groceries that evening. She had been mugged in the 300 meter distance between the grocery store and her apt at 7’o’clock in the evening. Lesson learned.
So I suggest an idea. I said “We’re on the top floor, the terrace is the floor above us. The Balcony door is open. If someone can climb down to the balcony, they can open the lock from the inside.” Mama Chhaya looks at me like I’m joking and realizes I’m being serious.
She says - “We’re seven floors high. Its 11 o-clock at night and we can barely see anything. If the Mfundi falls, he will die. If he dies, we will die.”
I come to agree with this point.
So, we decide to return when the sun is out with a locksmith in tow.
The next day I contact many locksmiths and send them photos of our lock and videos of our hammering attempts. They say their technicians are not in town, its Christmas break. I wish them merry Christmas and I return to the building management office - they send over the plumber and his sidekick. Soon after giving up on Hammers and screwdrivers, I mention the Balcony idea to them. They head off to go find a ladder and rope.
Then we spend 60 minutes securing the ladder from the terrace to the balcony in question with rope and a cheerful Mfundi unafraid of the 7 floor drop.
Minutes later, he opens the door from the inside and says “Hakuna Matata Rafiki!”
We proceed to promptly remove that lock from the door permanently. The penthouse is running out of ways to keep me out- it started the week with three locks, and now two of those are permanently decommissioned.
But its 2 pm now, I’ve missed my 8am ferry by hours.
The ferry ticket went to waste but the penthouse was now unlocked. My heart yearned for a vacay from my vacation and my fist grabbed my passport. Dar to Zanzibar flights go every half an hour. So I cleaned up the house, packed my bag and got into the car to head to the airport. Along the way I dropped by Bharvis home to give her the penthouse key. And she asked me which flight I was taking - I said whichever will take me. My precious friend looked up tickets on her phone and found that all the flights were full. And there was one ticket for $971 dollars requiring 19 hours and two layovers, and another ticket for 41 hours flight time and three layovers for $1400.
Hahaha, I just burst out laughing. Because the dar to znz flight is a 30 minute hop, not a 19 hour marathon aviation adventure.
I was trapped in Dar.
It was clear now - I had taken a liking to Dar Es Salaam and Dar Es Salaam had taken a liking to me , but not the penthouse. The penthouse wanted me out.
I now went back to my plan to take a ferry. So I needed a new ferry ticket. … I took my old ticket for an exchange. Got assurance I can just bring my unused ticket. And I was assured in my head, nothing can stop me from Zanzibar tomorrow. But Dar had other plans.
So I planned to sleep at Bharvi’s that night.
Sometime in the evening while chatting and doing wedding prep, I went to Google something adn my phone was not to be found. I quickly did the usual - asked people, searched nearby, put my fingers into the sides of the couch, dialed and called on WhatsApp - not even a clue. Where could it have gone? I remembered it in my hand an hour ago in the same spot. The errors continued - the find my iPhone setting was off God-only-knows-why. The phone was on vibrate. And again I was faced with the realization that no matter my confidence level - Dar es Salaam can still choose to keep me around.
Eventually Mama Chhaya made me flip over the couch I was sitting on, and out plopped the phone from within its fabric. Phone in hand, relief at again having a chance at Zanzibar, I went to bed.
The Ferry to Zanzibar was remarkably beautiful, the rains didn’t dampen anything. I reached and went off to fin my hotel, but got distracted by the incredible paintings made by local artists instead. After lots of haggling, and lots of exploration, I bought two paintings that are rolled up and I’ve plans to go build frames for them back in SF.
In Stone Town, I met dancers, practicing their craft in the Old Fort. They were so friendly, I got scooped up in the excitement of the new year coming up, we went to Dinner, then to the Forodhani night market, then the spanish Tapas place for party number 1, then a Beach Club for party number 2, then Tatu for party number 3, then a Malindi for party number 4. Still we were up and went off to the beach to watch the sunrise. Someone might have snagged some Tshillings from my pocket at Malindi, but by then I had spent most of the money in my wallet. :)
The next day was about a Spice farm where Aly and Fatima were hilarious hosts. Then I found myself in Jambiani. It is a slice of paradise. Just look at the photo of the water seen from my room. The sort of beach resort that I’ve only seen on celebrity Instagram accounts. The peace of sitting on that beach requires another blog post, but you’ll be happy to know dear reader that my hotel room that was on the beach itself was happy to have me. I was not locked out even once!
I loved it so much and missed Richie so much that I booked two more nights in January to return to this paradise on Earth with my partner on Earth. Then I headed off to the airport to catch a 30 minute flight back to Dar es Salaam. The flight was not even listed on the airport departures screen. I asked the Gate agent of the Gate if the flight was canceled - he said “No, why man?” I said “It is not showing on the screen” - he smiled and said “Oh, no problem, no problem, Hakuna Matata, Flight on time, just forgot to put on TV.”
After landing in Dar es Salaam I waited for Richie to come back from India. She called me and her voice barely came through. A new twist has happened - Richie has caught Laryngitis.
“Errrr… I ask - isn’t that the sickness where you can’t really talk and have trouble breathing?” “Yeah, she said, but I think i’ll be fine in 3-4 days.”
“Oh, well our hike is supposed to start tomorrow. We would be climbing up to 14,000 ft. Difficult to breathe at that altitude even normally. How does it work with Laryngitis?”
My wife’s a Yes Person. So instead of saying lets cancel this monumental hike, she says “we’ll figure it out when we get there! I should be fine by then.”
And I think about what it will be like to see her not able to breathe atop a mountain with no hospitals nearby and understand that Dar Es Salaam has won again.
I cancel our hike. And we’re still in the city (and still in the penthouse!)
Dar es Salaam has taken a liking to me. And I’ve taken a liking to it. :)
Let me know in the comments if you’d like to read part 2 about what happens next.
Here's part 2! https://prateekdhakra.substack.com/p/shameless-baboons-and-lazy-lions
Let us read the second part. :-)