Mission Rabies Tanzania 2025 - The Calm After the Storm

Monday, October 6

After yesterday’s record-setting 172-dog day, anything that followed was bound to feel a little sluggish. Sure enough, today’s roaming clinic was a quieter one — fewer dogs, slower rhythm — but that’s the natural ebb and flow of these campaigns.

Logistics were the real challenge. Normally, it’s one team per van, but this trip’s vehicle shortage has us doubling up: two teams, one van, eight or nine people squeezed shoulder to shoulder. Manageable, but cozy. Today’s plan was to split our group further to cover more ground: Mary and Henry would go door to door while Elsa, Noel, and I handled the roaming work. Team Gombe, as always, rode with us. Dropping off three different teams at three different spots took patience; collecting everyone again in Arusha’s evening traffic tested it. By the time we got back to base camp, we were more mentally drained than physically.

My cold continues to linger. The azithromycin is helping the sinus infection, but the dry throat, constantly runny right nostril, and dusty air aren’t making recovery easy. Still, this isn’t my first Mission Rabies cold. I’ll tough it out. The true highlight of the day: last night Fran announced that she’d secured four additional vehicles for the rest of the week. Smaller teams, more space. A welcome development.

No final numbers yet — the Wi-Fi here is moody, and the daily vaccination totals must still be floating somewhere in cyberspace. Our own tally was 56 dogs, and judging from what I’m seeing in the WhatsApp conversations, most teams posted similar numbers. Fewer vaccinations, yes, but far from unproductive.

The village we worked in was different from others we’ve visited — not upscale exactly, but certainly more developed. The main road was paved (a small miracle), and the side roads were less harsh. Homes sat farther back from the road, often surrounded by plants or gardens. Most people brought their dogs out to us, but occasionally we followed the owners to their home — weaving through narrow footpaths lined with half-built walls, chicken coops, and piles of bricks, ducking under laundry lines, stepping past goats and water tanks. You never know what you’ll find at the end: sometimes a mother dog with a litter of sweet little puppies; sometimes two suspicious, free-roaming adults that refuse to be caught. Anything is possible.

Took a little time out today for some artistic photos, like these clothes on a clothesline

Another artistic photo. A solitary biker on a quiet dirt road.

We also met several owners afraid of their own dogs. They’d lead them over on leashes but decline when shown how to restrain them. Elsa, who could probably hold a cheetah if asked, handled the trickier cases while I vaccinated. One woman’s dog was outright aggressive, and we agreed it wasn’t worth the risk. She volunteered to vaccinate him herself, confidently telling one of the locals that she was a nurse. I handed her the syringe. She deftly slid the needle under the skin, his tail wagging throughout. We handed her the marker. She put that tell-tale green streak on his head.  “Tayari”. Done.

Puppies often yelp after being vaccinated. It stings a little.

A minute later, they're fine.

At one point, we passed a small building tucked into the hillside, where a preacher’s voice was booming through loudspeakers — pure fire and brimstone — punctuated by the wails of a crying woman. It felt like a deleted scene from The Exorcist. When I asked Noel later, he said it was a “house of prayer.” Oh great. As if my Ambien dreams weren’t already weird enough without that soundtrack rattling around in my head.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/6f963e_9c5bcd73ea414306b91003218abc365f/1080p/mp4/file.mp4

Is this creepy or what? Like a scene from a horror movie.

We broke for lunch at a roadside café: two plastic tables, a few mismatched chairs, as authentic as it comes. Elsa and I unwrapped our packed lunches while Noel ordered the local special - twin mounds of white and brown rice, a heap of greens, and a spicy sauce poured over everything. Not gourmet fare, but it definitely looked a lot heartier than ours.

The afternoon drifted by: a few dogs here, a few there. One man brought two dogs named Simba (of course) and… Simba 2.  Eyeroll. That reminded me of Goa, where a man once brought three dogs: Whitey, Brownie, and… another Brownie. Creativity clearly isn’t a universal trait.

Getting home was an ordeal, involving multiple team pickups and a cramped van. The hot water in my room has been inconsistent, but thankfully it was nice and hot, and I luxuriated in a steamy shower. After dinner, when the final numbers were released, our 56 turned out to be the third-highest total of the day — right behind our own Mary and Henry, who led the pack. Team Katavi rocks!

Overall, 484 dogs vaccinated today. Tomorrow: our next-to-last day. Door-to-door duty. Physically challenging, but usually pretty interesting — and this time, mercifully, we’ll have our own van.