The Legacy of Colonialism: Unveiling the Story Behind Tanzania's Dinosaurs in Berlin
Imagine standing in awe beneath the towering remains of a Brachiosaurus brancai, a dinosaur skeleton that seems to reach for the heavens. It's an awe-inspiring sight, but it also confronts us with a complex web of historical narratives and ethical dilemmas.
This dinosaur, known globally as the "Tendaguru dinosaur," originates from the rich soils of southern Tanzania. It hails from one of the most significant paleontological sites ever discovered, a place that has reshaped our understanding of prehistoric life.
Between 1909 and 1913, during the era of German colonial rule, Tendaguru yielded thousands of dinosaur fossils dating back over 150 million years to the Late Jurassic period. These discoveries placed Tendaguru on the scientific map, but here's where it gets controversial: more than a century later, Tendaguru remains far more visible in European museums than in Tanzanian educational institutions.
Tanzanian students often learn about Tendaguru in passing, as if it were a mere footnote in history, rather than a living testament to knowledge, debate, and national pride. This contradiction is a stark reminder of the long-standing imbalance in who gets to learn from and benefit from Tanzanian heritage.
The Tendaguru excavations were not solely the achievement of European science. African workers, particularly from the Ngoni and Wamwera communities, played a pivotal role at every stage. They identified fossil-bearing layers, excavated massive bones by hand, prepared them for transport, and even carried plaster-wrapped fossils for days on foot to the port of Lindi. From there, nearly 800 crates were shipped to Germany.
Despite their crucial contributions, African workers were largely erased from scientific narratives. Only a handful of names survive in archival records, such as Abdallah Kimbamba, Boheti bin Amrani, Seliman Kawinga, and Mohammed Saidi. Early German paleontologists occasionally used informal names like Abdallahsaurus or Mohammadisaurus, but these were never officially recognized.
And this is the part most people miss: most formal names honored German scientists, patrons, or colonial figures. One dinosaur species, Dysalotosaurus lettowvorbecki, still bears the name of Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck, a German colonial commander responsible for immense suffering across East Africa. International taxonomic rules prevent renaming such species, but the continued presence of these names raises ethical and educational questions: whose history is celebrated, and whose is silenced?
There has been some progress. In 2007, Australodocus bohetii was named in honor of Boheti bin Amrani, a Tanzanian fossil preparator. In 2019, Wamweracaudia keranjei recognized both the Wamwera community and fossil preparator Mohammadi Keranjei. These decisions acknowledged the fundamental role of African expertise in Tendaguru's scientific success, a truth that had long been ignored.
This complex history is often better explained in Berlin than in Tanzania. The Museum für Naturkunde presents Tendaguru with remarkable honesty, openly addressing colonial labor systems, nationalist scientific ambitions, and the political use of paleontology during empire. Visitors are told that Tendaguru fossils were once described as discoveries made on "German soil," a narrative designed to legitimize colonial rule. Today, the museum teaches this history rather than hiding it.
Tanzania faces real challenges in hosting major fossil collections and large-scale exhibitions due to infrastructure, conservation, and funding limitations. But scholars warn against using present limitations to justify permanent exclusion. Maximillian Chami, Adson Ndyanabo, and Holger Stoecker argue that efforts to reclaim or access Tendaguru fossils must go hand in hand with investments in infrastructure, education, and community participation.
Using lack of capacity as a reason to delay action risks reproducing colonial patterns. If Tendaguru could educate Europe in the early 20th century, it can educate Tanzanians in the 21st. Tendaguru offers more than just spectacular dinosaurs; it's a gateway to teaching deep time, climate change, biodiversity, scientific labor, and colonial accountability. It sits at the intersection of science and the humanities.
At a time when Tanzania is rethinking education, heritage, and decolonization, Tendaguru is not an outdated colonial excavation but a contemporary challenge. Tendaguru should be as accessible in Lindi as it is in Berlin. While the fossils may physically reside abroad, their scientific, educational, and ethical significance belongs to Tanzania.
If heritage from Tanzania can educate the world, it can and must educate Tanzanians, especially students. This is not a technical failure; it's a choice. And it's a choice we can still change.
Mariam Gichan, an archaeologist and journalist based in Dar es Salaam, invites further discussion on this topic. Contact her at mariamgichan@gmail.com or +255 754 215 690. The opinions expressed here are the writer's own and do not necessarily reflect those of The Chanzo.
