You are never really prepared for the worst, even though you think you are. For more than five years, I have been the crisis centre for many abductions and disappearances in Tanzania.
I have interviewed and talked to survivors who were lucky enough to get back alive like Mdude Nyagali, Edgar Mwakabela “Sativa” and Deusdedith Soka. I knew the drill, I thought, until I became the victim.
A calm and sunny Sunday. I had wanted to spend some time on myself, go have my hair cared for at my regular spa.
I left home at around noon, ready for some pampering. I had my hair treated and had a manicure and pedicure too; it had been fun, and time flew by.
I realised that I was going to get home later than I initially told my husband, so I indicated to him that I should be done by around 3pm. Later, when I was finishing up, I sent him a text saying that I was paying and on my way home.
Just then, a woman walked in wearing a baseball hat, her face concealed by a phone she was holding. She looked at me, then looked around and left.
At that moment, I had thought this was strange and out of place. But I did not ponder, my focus was on getting home quickly. I paid, called a cab, saw it arrive, left the building, walked across the compound, and got in right outside the gate.
That is when my nightmare began. A black van pulled up and blocked the car I was in. Two men jumped out and ran to the doors. I knew immediately what this was. I screamed at the driver: “No! Do not open the door!”. I was terrified; but, also, my mind was racing.
I knew I must call for help, but as soon as I touched the phone, I realised that if I unlock it, my abductors will have access to it. I also knew immediately that, whatever I do, I must not be put in that van.
I heard Mdude’s voice: “Usikubali kuchukuliwa, usibebwe kama gunia la mchele” (Don’t allow yourself to be taken, carried away like a sack of rice). But, despite my best efforts, despite kicking and screaming, despite rolling on the ground, despite trying to bite one of the brutes on the ankle, I was put in the van and a rag was tied around my eyes. I was abducted.
To me, the next, about four hours, until my release, can be divided into three distinct periods. The first, the worst, had been the car racing while these aggressors screamed questions at me and inflicted pain, primarily by twisting and tightening the metal handcuffs they had slapped on me, but also by choking me and kneeling on me.
The purpose of their interrogation had been to ascertain who I was, by confirming that I was Maria and that I spoke Kiswahili and gaining access to my phones. They failed on all counts. I gave them a false name and only spoke English as well as giving them made up pin numbers.
Another thought that had occurred to me, and had guided me, from the interviews with victims: do not give them information. In fact, throughout I had asked questions, even at the cost of pain being inflicted.
A question I had asked several times had been: “Are you taking me to Tanzania?”. Because I knew, already then, without any doubt, that this abduction had been at the behest of Samia Suluhu Hassan.
No one in the world had motive to have me silenced, disappeared and out of action other than the Dar regime, which is desperate to survive the upcoming general election..
Next was a period of uncertainty. The vehicle stopped more and more often and for longer and longer. One, two, and once three of my four abductors would leave the car. Strategising? Getting instructions? I don’t know.
Occasionally, they would shove my head into the seat and tell me to be very quiet and very still. But otherwise, they seemed to lose interest in me. I, since then, know the pressure had been building. The cabbie had rushed to Kilimani Police Station, the City Hoppa driver had tried to stop them, and my Hubbie had acted swiftly to raise the alarm.
In droves, Kenyans, Tanzanians and others from around the world had spoken up, online and otherwise, to demand my safe release. I am extraordinarily grateful to each and everyone of you. You are all my heroes! Were it not for you, I would be now facing a kangaroo court à la Kizza Besigye in Tanzania, or, more probably, rotting away in some dark, damp, filthy dungeon, my whereabouts unknown and only if very lucky alive.
Then came the period of appeasement. They asked if I was OK. They gave me water and wanted me to confirm that they had not hurt me.
I really don’t understand what goes on in the minds of some people. They abduct you, torture you and then turn around and expect you to forgive and forget. I cannot forget and there isn’t forgiveness in me, not for those who issued the orders and not for those who executed them.
They let me go at the fifth stop of the vehicle. They told me not to speak to anyone and to go straight home. You would think that, at that point, I was relieved. In fact, I was not. I kept thinking: “please don’t change your minds”.
It was dusk then turned dark very quickly. I walked for some time then found a parked cab. They had kept my phones but returned my other belongings including my wallet; so, I could pay my fare. Relief came when I walked into my home and locked the front door behind me.
To those who are skeptical about my view that the Dar regime had tried to have me abducted; only the cross-border part is new, the rest is routine for them. I personally have compiled a list of 80 people who have been abducted since 2021; less than half have been released.
Everyone needs to understand that Samia Suluhu’s Tanzania, despite the veneer, is a dangerous place for anyone who wants to express his or her opinion, to be critical or to demand change. I have been doing all this tirelessly through my social media account in particular on X (Twitter).
A few examples of recent abductions: Shadrack Chaula, from Mbeya, drew a picture of Samia and burned it on Tik Tok. First, he was arrested, then after his release (we organised on X to pay the fine), he was abducted. He has not been seen since.
And Ali Kibao, a Chadema (opposition party) operative, who was removed by armed men from a long-distance passenger bus, at night. He was found dead the next day, his face burned by acid, presumably to hinder identification.
Signs were that he had succumbed to torture. Also, Deusdedith Soka, a young, dynamic, capable activist and political leader, who was called to a police station to discuss the issue of his stolen motorbike. He, and two others who had accompanied him, have disappeared to date.
Unfortunately, my ordeal is not over. I have nightmares. I find it difficult to leave the house. When I do, I am hypervigilant, maybe even paranoid. One thought keeps bugging me: What have I missed? When that woman was checking me out at the saloon, I had a gut feeling, but I dismissed it.
Five days before my abduction, political hack and propagandist Cyprian Musiba suggested to the government that fellow journalist Eric Kabendera and I should be found abroad and be “dealt with”. I also dismissed this. So, they have managed to unnerve me.
Nevertheless, I will keep doing what I do. I will speak my mind, I will criticise, I will organise. That is my basic right by all civilised norms. And if the Dar regime has a problem with this, well ...
Maria Sarungi Tsehai is a Tanzanian activist, and media & communications expert.
