The most recommended books about Tanzania

I read this book after working in Malawi and carrying out my first safaris in Kenya and Zimbabwe. I saw hyenas and found them fascinating despite the generally held view that they were despicable parasites and vermin. 

Kruuk’s book opened my eyes to their success as hunters, not mere scavengers, to their complex, matriarchal social systems, and to the role, when not hunting, as what one could call the sanitary engineers of the eco-systems in which they live.  It influenced me to research them and eventually write a book on human attitudes toward hyenas.

National parks have long been the bedrock of nature conservation efforts. For most Westerners, their vision of Africa is built on images from iconic parks like Tanzania’s Serengeti or Kenya’s Masai Mara. Those parks, however, were imposed on the African landscape with lasting and often devastating consequences, among them the pernicious notion that Africans themselves are little more than part of the fauna and are an impediment to conservation efforts that can be swept aside. Roderick Neuman reveals that far from a simple means to protect nature, parks are a complicated intersection of ecological, economic, political, and cultural issues. His analysis of Arusha National Park in Tanzania, not far from Mount Kilimanjaro, melds careful scholarship with passionate and vivid writing and is an essential text for understanding the promise and limitations of long-established conservation practices. 

This book changed my world. Jane’s work exploring the behavior and ecology of chimpanzees was simply inspirational when I first read it as a child. I wanted to do what she did—study animals.

It was only when I returned to it that I realized the significance of her ability to tell stories about the animals she met, introducing their characters as well as the data. Additionally, her work went on to break the barriers of personhood. If we accept human exceptionalism—that we are so special because of what we can do—then we need to remember that there are many other species that can do much of what we can—and many other things we can’t. It is good to embrace some humility.

This pioneering book was one of the first to place the history of East Africa within the context of the environment. It has been used continuously for student teaching. The book puts people at the centre of events. It thus serves as a modification to nationalist history with its emphasis on leaders. Helge Kjekshus provides evidence to suggest that the nineteenth century was a period of relative prosperity with well-developed trade. He questions the view that warfare was pervasive and that the slave trade led to depopulation. He points to a balance between man and the environment. Helge Kjeskshus’s book has, for a long time, been the sole reference on environmental history in East Africa, with a focus on Tanganyika. 

I don’t know about you, but I’ve always had a rather complicated relationship with exercise.

It always felt like something I was *supposed* to do and as a person who’s never been particularly athletic, I just didn’t like it. Until I read The Joy of Movement. This is a love letter to exercise. And it’s all based in science. McGonigal is an absolute whiz at making research interesting and accessible.

By the end, I finally found my joy in movement and now I look forward to exercising most days of the week!

Between periodic news reports of fatal eruptions and an array of films in which lava, landslides, and ash are used to provide dramatic effect, volcanoes, as Andrews points out, have a dreadful reputation. However, these enigmatic phenomena are also fundamental to the very structure of our planet, not to mention others beyond. 

In this book, Andrews provides a lively and informative defence of volcanoes and illustrates some of the most intriguing stories and enduring mysteries surrounding these natural wonders.

More than just exuding the author’s palpable enthusiasm for his subject—an interest I quickly found myself sharing—the book additionally challenged many of my preconceptions about how volcanoes work and broadened my horizons as to their sheer diversity. 

This book is exciting in many ways. It tells a story of Tanzania’s socialist experiment in 1967-75, which was known as “ujamaa” (“familyhood” in Swahili). It shows how Cold War politics intertwined with local situations, and how Tanzanian leaders and common people used Cold War rhetoric to envision and enforce their own national agricultural development program. At a glance, thus, the book can be seen just as another example of the recently growing literature that explores the crossroads between Cold War politics, decolonization, and developmental politics, such as Artemy Kalinovsky’s Laboratory of Socialist Development: Cold War Politics and Decolonization in Soviet Tajikistan (2018) and Begüm Adalet's Hotels and Highways: The Construction of Modernization Theory in Cold War Turkey (2018), to name a few.  

However, what differentiates Lal's book from these others, and what I like most, is that the author conducted more than 100 interviews with ordinary Tanzanians, and documented… show more.

Goodall is part scholar and part saint, a scientist seer. When her husband Derek Bryceson died after a protracted battle with cancer, Jane was spiritually bereft. Following a bleak year of grief, she encountered a mystical moment of healing.  “It seemed to me, as I struggled afterward to recall the experience, that self was utterly absent: I and the chimpanzees, the earth and trees and air, seemed to merge, to become one with the spirit power of life itself.” In that window of altered understanding, time slowed. Perception sharpened. Space seemed more spacious. The forest and its wild creatures, she found, had given her the peace that passes understanding.

“Once in Africa, I got my @ss handed to me by a king…” That’s a direct quote from my review, and it will make a lot more sense once you’ve read the book. Jack is the epitome of the tortured hero—angry, terse, godawful at times—but you accept it because, Oh my God! Think of what he’s suffered! And then you get to that part where said hero begins to soften toward the heroine and shut up! This book absolutely gutted me, and the pain was physical. No, seriously. My chest and stomach literally ached. I felt tingly, overheated, exhausted, and drained. And that was just from the prologue! 

This book broadened my understanding of what it means for the outdoors to be a place where everyone feels they are welcome and belong. I felt Whitely’s discomfort and shame at being a tall, overweight woman among slender, fit climbers on Mt. Kilimanjaro.

I celebrated how she transformed shame into motivation. I could also feel the effort of lifting heavy legs at altitude. I appreciated her attention to the world around her, the guides, the camp staff, and the local language. She gave me a picture of the landscape, people, and sound of the place.