Demonstrators react after Tanzanian riot police lobbed tear gas during a protest on Oct. 30. Violent protests broke out during the country’s presidential and parliamentary elections.Thomas Mukoya/Reuters

The author of this piece is a Tanzanian journalist whose identity The Globe and Mail is protecting.

The gunfire erupted so suddenly, it left no time to think.

I was in a neighbourhood on the outskirts of Dar es Salaam, near the 6 p.m. curfew hour, searching for food for my family, when a white Toyota Land Cruiser screeched to a halt. Gunmen in black uniforms leapt out with automatic rifles and opened fire indiscriminately.

The shots shredded the air. I saw a young man beside a wooden stall jerk as a bullet hit his chest. He collapsed instantly. Another screamed, clutching his thigh as blood soaked his shorts. A third fell near the pavement, wailing, his legs useless.

The gunmen moved with lethal precision, chasing fleeing youths down the road.

Tanzania charges 145 people with treason for protests during disputed election

I could barely breathe, stunned at the sight of people hunted like animals. I ran blindly, branches lashing my arms, lungs burning, until I reached a patch of bush near a dry drainage channel. I dove into a thicket, thorns scraping my shins, soil in my palms, crawling deeper until I was concealed. A low-hanging branch had knocked my glasses off, the frames shattered, lenses cracked. The world blurred into indistinct shapes. I shoved the pieces into my pocket and lay flat against the earth, helpless.

Then came the sniper fire. Slow, deliberate, tracking every movement. I could see only a few metres ahead. Every rustle of grass, every whisper of wind, seemed like a death sentence. Tears blurred my vision further. Panic gripped me. If the gunmen swept the bush, I was dead.

Hours passed. Darkness fell like a heavy curtain. Gunfire cracked intermittently, near enough to make my ears ring. Without my high blood pressure medication, each thump of my pulse felt like a warning that I might not survive.

The worst part wasn’t the gunfire – it was the voices. Harsh commands cut through the darkness. Their unfamiliar foreign accents seemed to confirm the suspicions that Tanzania had recruited Ugandans to reinforce its police force. Boots pounded the dirt........

© The Globe and Mail