On Wednesday evening as I walked the bridge to Tazara departure hall I noticed an unusual gathering of people engaged in a heated discussion outside the hall. I did not know they were planning to give the city some grief.
I was rushing to catch the 1600 hours train to Mwakanga and I hurried to the entrance. Ironically though, unlike on other days, I did not see any more late commuters walking in that direction. As I passed by the group I had a feeling they were workers of Tazara, but I did not see anybody I knew.
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