Into Mozambique I go...

Word of warning, though this post covers only two days worth, they were very interesting and busy, and so this is a long post. Sorry!

My travels in Malawi had all been relatively easy and had, though often long, gone off without a hitch. I’d almost began to suspect that all the stories one hears about difficulty of travel on this continent had been vastly over exaggerated. Until I got to Mozambique.

As soon as the minibus taking me to the border town Milange stopped, people started grabbing furiously at my backpack that was in the back of the bus. I was in the furthest back seat, so I had to bat hands away and yell a wee bit more than I wanted to get people to leave it alone. They weren’t trying to nick it, but wanted me to take their crappy little bicycle taxi the 300m to the border post and onwards into Mozambique. I guess the best way to secure a customer is to take his stuff.

At the border post I had no problems, which was a relief, though the immigration officer was very suspicious of why I had only traveled in one country, Malawi, previous to Mozambique. She kept insisting – where have you been in Africa? She showed me other people’s immigration forms – lots of foreigners had listed far more than one country. It just struck me as funny that it would seem suspicious that I’d flown into Malawi, as if no one goes there by choice for Malawi, it’s just for transit.

On the Mozambique side, I proceeded by bicycle taxi to the nearest Mozambican town. A bicycle taxi driver had stayed with me for the 30 minutes at immigration. He was pretty patient and desperate for the work. The legal procedure for the Malawians to get into Mozambique for this short term work is quite funny – they buy a scrap of paper from a vender (who literally rips a piece of paper from a notebook) write their name down, sign it and then get it stamped by both Malawian and Mozambican authorities. That’s as easy as bureaucracy gets, eh Brian? Once in the town, he tried to change the fare to double what we’d agreed, citing that the cycle was uphill. I wondered if the landscape had changed since the last time he’d done the trip. I gave him all my remaining Malawian currency (Kwacha).

Once in the Mozambican Milange town, I sought out transport onwards to Mocuba. The only transport was a Chapa (a pick-up truck) who said he’d be leaving if they got 10 passengers. I was number two. I asked what would happen if there wasn’t ten? We might leave tomorrow. ‘Might’. Ah yes – I have patience in my aresenal! We waited around until there were 8 of us, but it was getting on towards 3pm and the drive to Mocuba is cited as 4 hours in the Lonely Planet (though I sensed misinformation) and I didn’t want to get stuck in this town overnight, pay $10 for accommodation, and still not be sure if we were leaving the next day. So I offered to pay double my fare ($15 from $8) if we left right then. The driver thought it over and agreed. Woo!

The driver was awesome. He’s Mozambican, but third generation of Indian descent. He let me sit up in the front with him. He spoke a little English and smokes like he’s got nothing else to put in his lungs. It was a crazy drive, all dirt road, and lasting about 8 hours. He liked to yell passionately about things and to gesticulate as he drove – I kept my eyes on the road for the both of us. Once in Mocuba (the length of this paragraph doesn’t really represent how long the drive really was) he had to drive around town delivering the goods in the back, and making sure he got the price that had been promised by the people who’d loaded it. It was fun, and a little mad. Around 11pm we went to the bus depot where he showed me which bus I’d have to get to Nampula the next day at 3.30am and found a cheap hotel ($8 and not worth a penny of it) right next to the bus. Also, amusingly, Lonely Planet describes Mocuba as ‘Nobody’s favorite town’ but it was this chapa driver’s favorite in the world. Pretty funny.

The next ‘morning’, after barely 4 hours sleep, I got into the bus to Nampula. It was a fairly uneventful 7 hour drive along (mostly) paved roads.

I got off the bus and had my first ever experience with Police looking for a bribe! I’d read about it, heard about it… I felt kind of like a kid who’s won the raffle – Wow, this is happening to me! A little strange, I know. But because I’d learned what to do in those scenarios, and I had plenty of time so wasn’t being inconvenienced, so thought it was a very interesting experience. Here’s how it played out. I got off the bus and there were two police officers waiting. They asked to see my passport, and since I don’t yet have a notarized copy of it, I handed it over. They checked through the photo and visa pages for about 15 minutes, mulling over the gravity of the problem in my document. Then, they informed me that my visa was wrong. It had a ‘start date’ and a ‘duration amount’ but no ‘end date’. I explained, with the help of the bus driver (which makes two awesome bus drivers in a row!) that they don’t write an ‘end date’ until you leave the country. That I have 30 days from the starting date, and this was day… two. One of the officers was happy with this, the other (shorter and fatter, let’s call him ‘The Fat One’) was not and reiterated over and over that this was not allowed. After a while, the bus driver told me (I supposed my feigned ignorance of what was really going on convinced him) that the police wanted ‘soda’. ‘Soda’ or ‘Fanta’ or ‘Coke’ is the typical way of asking for a bribe. I said that I wouldn’t pay, because I don’t have very much money. Then I offered to go to the police station or immigration office with them. The Fat One eyed me up and then, in an aggressive, pompous manner, declared that yes, we would go to the police station, and turned ready to go. I, just as speedily, grabbed my bag, buckled it around my waist (to show that I was serious about going) and caught up to him very quickly. I think my eagerness and willingness put him off because The Fat One stopped, exchanged a few words with the other police man and handed me back my passport, informing me that I could go.

What fun police interactions are! As long as you have time (i.e. not in any kind of hurry) and patience, it makes for an interesting, not altogether awful experience. It’s certainly not worse than someone badgering you for money or trying to sell some huge wooden table to you as you try to walk (as if I would carry that wherever I’m going).

I was then very lucky as I got to the Nampula bus depot expecting to find out at what time the bus to Pemba was leaving the following morning (predicting 3-4am) but found there was a bus leaving in an hour! So I climbed on and an hour later, when close to sixty five thousand bags of flour and shoes had been loaded into the passenger area, we left! Twenty minutes later, a tire popped like a gun shot. The passengers groaned and, with the familiarity of high schoolers doing the monthly fire drill, exited the bus. Twenty minutes later, the wheel had been changed and we were off again.

About 3 hours later, one of the strangest things ever to happen to me on a bus… happened. We crossed into another province, the bus stopped, and we all had to get out and rinse our hands. Then we got back on and continued on our way. It was so strange. They said it’s to stop diseases from entering the province, which I suppose makes sense in ideological terms… but, as far as I know, diseases can be transmitted via other means as well. Therefore, it seems a waste of time to have everyone wash their hands (with, presumably, unfiltered water) if you’re also not going to brush everyone’s teeth, give everyone a vaccine and search your bags like Australian Immigration. Pretty funny.

Twenty kilometers from Pemba, Boom! Another flat tire. We kept driving, because it was so close. We could hear the loud flapping of the tire for 10km (during which we went a little slower, but still overtook a pick-up truck whilst going uphill). Then they stopped and cut the tire away from the wheel. It was explained to me that the flapping sound would attract police attention. Ah.

I finally arrived at my accommodation at Pemba Magic Lodge 36 hours after leaving Blantyre, with probably 30 of those hours spent on buses. Welcome to traveling in Africa.

Thanks for reading!

Trip to Likoma Island

To sum it up, so you know what you’re about to read – Likoma Island is great. Getting there is awful. Thus, my advice is to visit if at all possible but make sure not to try and get there. I actually found a statistic that rated the ferry service as the absolute worst in the world. You can check the stat here. But don't get distracted! Come back and read!

I left Blantyre in the morning for Monkey Bay, the port town where I’d be catching the ferry, called the Ilala, for Likoma Island. At Monkey Bay I stayed in a lovely little electricity-less hostel called Mufasa’s which was right on the lake. It was pretty idyllic, and currently the staff is comprised of a couple of American girls, an Israeli and a Dutch guy who, how should we put this, like to have a good time? Spend the majority of nights, days the time drunk, stoned not sober, which makes for a great atmosphere, though I didn’t partake in the daily festivities as I had to catch the ferry early the following morning. The lake was wonderful to swim in, until I found out that once in a while a crocodile parks his camboose on the beach and can get a little bitey. Then swimming was less fun. Then, when I found out the last croc siting was in 2009, I felt a little bitter at having cut my swim short.

We climbed to the top of a rock-island and saw the view at sunset, which was beautiful.

In the evening, when night had fallen, I decided to have a little fun with my camera using the 60-second aperture, along some other obscure settings to get a couple of cool pictures. Here are the results:

There are other photos with two of me. It's fun to play with new discoveries.

The following morning I boarded the ferry. I would be on it for 35 hours.

Most guests stay on the top deck because cabins are too expensive, the lower deck is technically reserved for cargo (goats, chickens, the works) along with their owners, so we were told we couldn’t sit there. The top deck is quite nice – you get A LOT of sun. There’s a little covered area, that often feels hotter than direct sunlight, but other than that you’d better be ready to get a tan. At night, you can rent a foam mattress for $2. I had not brought a sleeping bag because I didn’t have space, so come 3am when the wind picked up, I was freezing. I’d put on my water-proof, and hopefully wind-proof, trousers and jacket, which meant I near boiled when I hit the hay at 9pm, but still near froze at 3am! Also, one has to be weary of the rats. I didn’t kill any, but they know who’s not their friend.

We arrived at 8pm at the island, which has no dock and, this particular evening, had no electricity! I tell you, you haven’t disembarked from a boat until you’ve taken a little dingy to shore, lit only by the moon. I followed my colleague, Peter, to a hotel nearby and tried to get some rest for the night. However, a windowless, concrete room would put Finnish saunas to the test and I’m pretty sure I lost half my body mass in water weight that night.

The next day we visited a bunch of schools – we were here on work after all. We made it to the hostel we’d planned on staying at in the afternoon. ‘Mango Drift’ is another great hostel, has a huge private beach and a lovely bar. The food was also great, but we’ll get to that in a bit. That afternoon, I rested, I slept, I swam. I recharged the proverbial batteries, and the real batteries as the electricity had been restored to the island.

The following morning’s wake up was 5am to catch a boat to a nearby island (12km away) where we needed to visit 3 schools. Why man settled so far from convenience will never make sense to me. ‘Convenience’ has changed it’s meaning over the centuries, but in this day and age it means where one has mobile phone signal, and internet.

After visiting those schools, we had to wait for the weather to calm down before heading back to Likoma Island to visit the two final schools. There, we interviewed a number of the students. It was very interesting to hear how much Mary’s Meals’ daily feeding had changed their lives, from their perspective.

We got done with everything around 3pm and headed back to the hostel where I, once again, crashed for the better part of the afternoon. For dinner, which, having not eaten more than a pack of coconut biscuits and small pieces of fish all day meant I was a wee bit famished, we had crocodile. Oh yeah, I got my revenge from the spoiled swim in Monkey Bay. Crocodile was actually delicious – kind of tastes like a mixture of beef and chicken, and has a texture similar to tough fish (like a tuna steak… but not). It was great.

One thing that never ceased to amaze me was the sky on the island on the way to it. The sky is huge, though not quite as big as in Texas, and so blue. The Lake is an even deeper blue and the way the light, which has a more powerful, luminous quality than I’ve seen before, plays upon the water and the land is simply stunning. Of course, sunsets and sunrises are the best where the colors of the leaves, ground, sky, clouds and water complemented each other delicately and transported me back to autumn evenings in the south of France, which artists such as Van Gogh and Cezanne depicted so perfectly. If only they’d spent a summer here.

The following morning, if 3.30am can be called ‘the following morning’ we had to get up to catch the Ilala back to Monkey Bay. We made it to the ferry at around 4.30am, waited until 6am to board, and then waited till 10am till we left. It’s probably the worst ferry in the world. Cheers to another 34 hours.

But I'm back at Doogles Hostel now. I have my last day at Mary's Meals tomorrow and I leave for Mozambique on Friday! So check next week for another update!

Thanks for reading!

p.s. Photos!

Sunrise as I'm boarding the boat to visit the other island

Sailing a dhow to Mozambique. The land over there... that's Mozambique.

Dramatic sky

Melodramatic sky

Sunset from my hostel

The moon and it's reflection from the boat

Landscape by moonlight

Two weeks working

Hi!

In case you've been checking the blog and seen that nothing's been updated, after I had promised an update or two every week, I thought I'd post to explain why.

The Bulls are in playoff mode and I've entered a comatose state induced by rapidly changing anxiety, europhia and I-Love-Rose madness.

But also, here's what's happening in my life.  The last two weeks, I've been working for Mary's Meals during the week, and spending quiet weekends in and around Blantyre. During the week, I visit schools and under-6 centers etc, which has been very interesting, though I'm not sure how interesting it would be to read about. If you want to know more about Mary's Meals specifically, send me an email and I'll forward you two articles that I've written - one about how Mary's Meals operates, another is a diary-type thing of the days I've worked here.

However (drum roll) next week (louder drum roll) I will be updating (will some please turn up the damn drum roll!) the blog with lots of interesting information and photos! Woohoo, photos! Tomorrow I leave for Likoma Island - a small island in the middle of Lake Malawi (actually, it's quite close to Mozambique, who call it Lake Nyssa). I'm going there for Mary's Meals to take pictures, videos, interview workers and children there, and generally gather more information to be used for donors, fundraising events and the Mary's Meals newsletter.

The lake and the islands are pretty idyllic, from what I've heard. They better be pretty idyllic given that it takes a 28 hour ferry to get there, shiiiit.

Until then, I'll leave you with a short article I wrote for the Mary's Meals newsletter titled 'Width of a Smile'.  Thanks for reading!

The width of a smile

I’d heard and read many things about Mary’s Meals, but until I’d seen it in action on the ground in Malawi, it was impossible to understand the full scope of the project and the vast impact it has.

For starters, seeing the children in the flesh; moving, playing, laughing, singing, eating, is quite an experience.  They look positively full of joy and life – not how I might have expected starving children from one of the top ten poorest nations in the world to be behaving. It was especially striking when driving to a school – I see how hard some children have it along the way; so skinny, no shoes, tattered clothes, doing nothing with the sullen expression of hunger and a deep sadness… it’s heart-breaking. But then you see the school children’s smiles and all the hardship seem to dissipate.  They greet Mary’s Meals vehicles with songs, laughing, and unbound joy.  They too don’t have shoes or clothes without holes – but the despair in their eyes is gone, replaced with shining, dashing pupils that inhale knowledge like the air around them.

For some reason, I always imagine what they’ll be like in twenty years.  They’ll all have a basic education; half might have secondary schooling; a few might go to university.  And then they will be working for this country – for social services; for businesses; for Mary’s Meals.  I see that one cup of porridge a day multiplying into an engine that propels this country forward.  It’s a beautiful thing.

This image is even more striking when I visit the under-6 centres.  These could have been the children I sometimes see sprawling on the ground in and around the street. But here are orphans and needy children being given love, care, education and at least two square meals a day, which means they have the physical and emotional capacity and strength  to learn – to go to school and progress like the other children.  Their leap from despair to hope is greater than anything I’ve seen.  Their potential, once capped at a cruel level, soars.  I don’t think it’s possible to understate the importance of nutrition, attention and education on a child’s development before they’re six years old.  The UN might have statistics to compare or measure the impact of organizations like Mary’s Meals, but the strongest indicators are the luminosity of their eyes, the volume of their voices and the width of their smiles.

I am thrilled by the immediate impact of Mary’s Meals and cannot wait to see what this country is like in twenty years.