Quickly, before you read on - there are THREE new posts here! But this is the most recent one, chronologically, but maybe consider reading from the bottom post up.
On Saturday the 4th of June, it was time for me to head to Quelimane. I had to meet a Save the Children team there on the 6th and wanted to make sure I wasn’t a day late, so I left two days early. The journey was pretty memorable, so I felt I should share.
First, here’s a list, in order, of the transport I used:
Minibus
Chapas (pick up truck)
Local bus
Mini Coach
Minibus
Motorcycle
Small pick-up truck
Hiking
Smaller pick-up truck
Bicycle
This was to go about 500km and I did it in about 17 hours. Here’s how it went down.
I got into a minibus on the island around 3.30am. We faffed around, picking other people up for about half an hour before we set off. My backpack was strapped to the roof. In the minibus was the typical assortment of people, children, chickens and bags of flour. Along came a man with a couple of goats, which didn’t surprise me, until he put them on the roof! He put a rope around each goat’s neck and tied the other end to a small bike rack on the roof, and left them there! Goats… on the roof… What?? These goats have amazing stability and have seen and done things that most goats could never dream about. About two and a half hours later, we broke down. So we all got out (or off the roof) and waited by the side of the road for another form of transport. An already full chapas hurtled round the bend and stopped for us. When we all got in, there were 35 of us in the back of the pick-up. This was not an 18-wheeler neither, still only 4 wheels. 35 people! There is no personal space. We got to the first checkpoint, Nampula, where I asked around for a bus to Quelimane. I was told that there were no direct buses there until the following morning at 4am. Reluctant to spend time in that awful town, and keen to keep moving, I kept investigating. I found a guy who was nice enough to take me by public city bus to another bus station where we asked around. We found a mini-coach that was going towards Quelimane, and we could catch a ride the rest of the way with another bus. There was a guy there who was also trying to get to Quelimane, so I stuck to him like butter on a tuxedo sleeve.
Four hours later, we arrived at the town, Alto Molocue. Here, we got into another minibus (no goats). We rode this for about 90 minutes on a road, and then 90 minutes on a dirt road. This bus had less suspension than a 1980s stroller. We arrived at a town called Mocuba (a town I’d mentioned in an earlier blog post as being awful). Here, the minibus saw that there were only three passengers left wanting to go to Quelimane, so decided it wasn’t worth it to go. Great. Stuck in Mocuba. We found a couple other people who were also trying to get to Quelimane and waited around for a Chapas. None turned up. Suddenly, 5 motorbikes roar up and tell us they know a guy who’s going to Quelimane and offered to take us to him. Awesome! I hope on the motorbike, giant backpack and all, and roar off into the dead of night. My driver decided to race another driver and I don’t think my knuckles have ever been so pale. The following thought was on repeat in my mind ‘if we slip, it’s all over’. We get to the edge of town, and there’s no transport. Turns out, the guys were just saying that this is an area where you can hitch a lift. Nothing guaranteed. Awesome. A few cars go by. Nada. An 18-wheeler stops and picks up two guys (that’s all he has space for). Nada. Eventually, a small pick-up… picks us up and drives us about an hour towards our destination. Then, up ahead, he sees a police checkpoint. He was quite nervous about this and told us he had to leave us there, but we could get another lift further on. We were still a 45 minute uphill hike from the police! Big backpack and all! But trudge on we did. The military at the police checkpoint (military police, woop) tried to give me jipp about my my notarized photocopy of my passport, which is a totally legit form of ID, but I think they pretty quickly could tell they weren’t getting ‘soda’ and I was not having any of it. We walked on another 15 minutes before getting to a junction where we waited for another ride. We got another, smaller pick-up, who was kind enough to drive us the rest of the way. In the back of the pick-up, with the stars overhead, I thought to myself ‘wow, what an adventure’. And it was. But that good feeling wears off after two windy, cold rides in the back of a cramped flatbed. We got to the bus depot at Quelimane, from where I got a bicycle taxi (backpack and all) to an overpriced, mosquito net –less hotel.
Oh man, what a trip.
Thanks for reading!!
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