By Adonis Byemelwa
On any given weekday morning, Dar
es Salaam's roads begin to fill before dawn. By 6:30 a.m., major arteries like
Morogoro Road, Mandela Expressway, and Kawawa Road become scenes of vehicular
paralysis—lanes jammed tight with buses, private cars, bajaji, and the
ever-adaptable boda-boda weaving through whatever space is left.
From Kimara to Kivukoni, it can
take up to three hours to cover a distance that should take thirty minutes. For
those who live this every day, the traffic isn’t just annoying. It’s
soul-sapping.
The congestion has become so
entrenched that residents have adjusted their lives around it. “If I don’t
leave home by 5:00 a.m., I won’t make it to work by 8:00,” says Jacqueline, a
receptionist who commutes daily from Mbezi Beach to the city center. “Sometimes
I arrive tired, before I even start the day.” This is not just her story—it’s
the daily grind for hundreds of thousands.
Yet the cost of this problem runs
deeper than missed meetings or late school arrivals. According to World Bank
estimates, cities like Dar es Salaam lose up to 5% of their GDP annually to
traffic-related inefficiencies.
That equates to over TZS 4 trillion in
economic loss each year for Tanzania’s commercial hub. Whether it’s businesses
suffering due to delayed deliveries or workers spending unproductive hours in
their cars, the cumulative cost is staggering.
Fuel wastage is another silent
killer. A vehicle idling for an hour burns through litres of fuel, and the
average Dar commuter might spend over ten hours per week just sitting in
traffic. Multiply that by hundreds of thousands of drivers, and it becomes clear
why fuel consumption in the city is disproportionately high.
The environmental cost, too, is
dire—air pollution in dense traffic zones like Vingunguti and Keko has become a
public health hazard. Not to mention the stress, anxiety, and general mental
fatigue that comes with it.
What’s frustrating for many is that
they see no real way out. The city’s public transportation system, once hailed
as a potential game-changer with the introduction of the Bus Rapid Transit
(BRT), is failing to live up to expectations.
“The BRT buses are few and
unreliable now,” says Martin, a university student from Kigamboni. “Sometimes
you wait an hour, only to find the bus already full. And they still want to
charge us more to use the fast lanes?”
His frustration refers to a recent
proposal by Minister of Works Abdallah Ulega, who suggested implementing a fee
for private car owners to use BRT lanes to escape congestion. The proposal was
met with public outcry.
“This is just proof of how
disconnected our leaders are,” said ACT Wazalendo in a press statement. “The
BRT was built using taxpayers’ money. Charging citizens to use a service they
already funded is not only unfair—it’s exploitative.”
That disconnection is becoming
increasingly apparent in the rhetoric used by some officials. Former Transport
Minister Athman Mfutakamba, speaking on UTV, downplayed the traffic crisis,
suggesting that it signified economic growth.
“People can now afford cars,” he said. “Even in the U.S., there were
traffic problems during the development phase.”
But this argument falls flat when
compared with developed cities. Tokyo, for instance, has over 3.5 million
vehicles and a much larger population than Dar es Salaam, yet its public
transport system keeps traffic manageable. Trains are frequent, efficient, and
affordable, making car ownership a choice, not a necessity.
Dar es Salaam, with about 1.4
million registered vehicles, doesn’t have the infrastructure to support that
number. The roads were never designed for such volume, and the city has grown
faster than its planning capacity.
Neighborhoods like Kigogo, Mandera
Road, and Keko are a testament to this mismatch—areas that once had minimal
vehicular activity are now hotspots of congestion, with narrow roads barely
wide enough for two lanes of traffic.
Worse still, during school holidays
or when the rains come, the situation turns chaotic. The Jangwani valley, known
for its chronic flooding, becomes impassable. And still, people try to maneuver
through, hoping to avoid the bottlenecks elsewhere.
“When it rains, I don’t even bother working,”
says Ali, a boda-boda operator from Temeke. “It’s not worth the fuel or the
risk.” His words mirror a broader sentiment of resignation and fatigue among
the city’s workforce.
In a twist that angered many,
Kinondoni MP Abass Tarimba recently proposed giving Members of Parliament
special number plates that would allow them to bypass traffic, just like
ministers. “If they can do it, why can’t we?” he asked during a parliamentary
session
Nonetheless, for citizens who spend
hours in traffic daily, this proposal smacked of privilege and inequality. “We
all pay taxes,” said Salma, a teacher from Gongo la Mboto. “Why should leaders
skip the suffering the rest of us go through?”
This inequality in road use—between
those who can afford alternatives and those who can’t—is one of the most
painful aspects of Dar’s traffic crisis. The BRT, which was meant to be the
great equalizer, now operates with limited buses and erratic schedules. Cars
clog its dedicated lanes, and the once-celebrated system has become another
failed promise.
“We needed a solution to reduce the
pressure on the Dar port.” While commendable, many wonder why such long-term
solutions took so long to materialize.
Meanwhile, the city chokes. Traffic
jams lead to increased road rage, more frequent accidents, and a spike in
respiratory illnesses. Doctors at Muhimbili Hospital report a rise in cases of
stress and cardiovascular complaints linked to prolonged commuting hours.
Drivers, too, suffer. Hassan Dede, chairman of
a local truck drivers' association, says, “We waste too much fuel in jams.
Employers don’t consider that when allocating fuel. It’s bad planning, and we
pay for it.”
Interestingly, the congestion
problem isn’t just physical—it’s psychological. As the city becomes more
stressful to navigate, residents’ patience wears thin. Fights break out over
minor collisions, passengers argue with bus conductors, and tempers flare at
roundabouts where traffic police can barely maintain order.
Experts suggest a mix of bold
infrastructure investment and creative urban planning. Enhancing rail and water
transport could offload some of the traffic from roads. Time-based
restrictions—where certain vehicles are allowed on the roads only during specific
hours—might ease peak-hour congestion.
Flexible work hours and remote work
policies could also distribute traffic more evenly throughout the day. But
perhaps most importantly, the government needs to fix the existing systems,
starting with the BRT.
Until then, Dar es Salaam will
remain a city where too many lives are drained in traffic, fuel burning,
tempers flaring, and hours wasted. But it’s not just the gridlock. The endless
construction—always starting, never finishing—feels more like a nuisance than
progress. Roads are dug up, detours multiply, and frustration simmers.
With over 7 million residents
packed into this rapidly expanding city, movement has become a daily mental
battle. Dr. Flora Mshana, a clinical psychologist based in Mwenge, says the
chronic traffic is doing real harm: “We're seeing rising cases of anxiety,
irritability, even mild depression—especially among those with long commutes.
The body may stay in the car, but the mind gets trapped.”
And that’s the truth—people aren’t
just losing time. They’re losing their peace. For a city dreaming of regional
influence, its people deserve more than crawling past the same construction
cones day after day. Progress shouldn't look like this.