6 SEPTEMBER 2011

MOZAMBIQUE – Country number 15 – Second time

NORTHERN MOZAMBIQUE

A long day today after I manage to drag myself away from Monkey Bay heaven for the rigours of travel!! LOL  Firstly I get a taxi/mini bus to Mangochi  which takes a while then I get a bicycle taxi over the river to where Matolas are filling up for Chiponde. First the bicycle taxi – a regular push bike cycled by an incredibly strong young man – the passenger or cargo sits on the pack rack! Now guess how many people can you fit on a Matola? TOO F*CKEN MANY I SAY, grizzling away to anyone who wants to listen. We sit in the open sun as the numbers sell from twenty to thirty to ‘I LOST COUNT’. They tried to talk the nun in the front cabin to give up her seat for me, but nothing doing there and I really didn’t blame her. “Petrol is expensive”, they say so they have to cram folk in – I argue that the heavier the truck is the more fuel it will use – reasoning that is lost on everyone. “This is Africa” “Transport is difficult” But why that gives licence to treat old, young and in between people worse than cattle is a concept that I cannot adjust to. I wonder why people don’t band together and demand a better deal – perhaps they are just so worn down?? Beats me, but that truck was very, very crowded and went very, very fast for several hours.

Amazing scenery through the north

Eventually we arrive near Chiponde where we change again to another matola that is heading all the way to the border: read more sitting in open sun while they get organised, which means getting gasoline, working who owes who for how many passengers who are going which way etc etc. Eventually we get there to the border where another treat awaits me – bicycle taxi touts! And man, they were aggressive. I ignore them and then when they persist I refuse the lot and start the process of exiting Malawi. One guy quietly follows and I hire him to travel between the border posts. Easy immigration here but he did ask hopefully ‘You have visa?’ hoping I didn’t which would allow him to make extra charges etc. But I did and soon my bicycle taxi took me into right Mandimba and took the last of my Malawian Kwaitcha for payment, which suited me down to the ground.  I still had some Metical left from my last visit so that was handy to pick up some lunch at the taxi station before the car filled up – the cabbage and chips combo again - and then we’re on our way to Cuamba, on one of the worst roads I have been on yet! I cannot believe they are getting worse. The driver speeds over the corrugations the whole way, making the drive akin to a roller coaster ride. Three hours can seem very long when you are bouncing up and down on a dusty road. I get chatting to Rose, seated next to me who is also headed to Nampula – buying up on plates cups etc to take back to Chiponde to sell. I ask her about places to stay in Cuamba and she tells me where she stays ‘its only for Africans’. When we eventually arrive shaken but not stirred in Cuamba, we both buy tickets for tomorrows train – she third class, and me second class then she insists on walking with me to check out a place suggested by the travel guide – 800Mtc and way too expensive.

The train is a little rough around the edges

We walk back to her pensao and we take the last two rooms. Yes it’s a dive, but I reason it’s only for one night and with a bit of luck, for most of that my eyes will be closed sleeping. After checking the door a few times I find that I cannot lock it. The boys there are super helpful and end up taking the lock off their door and putting on mine. I ask Rose to wake me as we are both catching the morning at 4am. I regretfully recall Mozambique seems to be very unique in its very early starts. But at least its not cold as well. In the morning I discover my trousers ruined with more holes than swiss cheese! Umpteen holes eaten in them by what I can only imagine to be cockroaches! BLAH!!!

By 4.30am next morning, Rose and I arrive at the station to find a few hundred folk already lined up for the third class seats. My second class seat is ticketed and I enter the carriage and my compartment to promptly lay down on my bunk and go back to sleep again. After a couple of hours of rest I decide to tackle the world, check out the train and go looking for the promised dining car – and my word it did exist. And serves lovely tea in a real tea cup! Now I’m a happy traveller again as I watch the world zip past sipping a lovely cup of tea. The train is a little rough around the edges and I’m told that it has been donated form India. The day passes through the countryside past soaring inselbergs with many, many station stops at poor and impoverished villages whose daily customers arrive via the train on a daily basis.

Sugarcane anyone?

And my word, don’t the passengers buy up!  There’s a brisk and hearty trade at each station with bags and trays being proffered up to the windows for your selection. Then there’s the comedy of passengers continually late and running to catch the train as it moves off again.  Vegetables, fruit, sugar cane, cooked snacks, cold drinks, people, colour and noise all mixed in with poverty, malnourishment and very, very young children working. Passengers were happy with their bargains, villagers were desperate to sell whatever they could and sales were always final. lol I can only sum it up by saying it was a FANTASTIC train ride from Cuamba to Nampula and worth every metical to luxuriate in the relative comfort of second class, watching the drama, life and countryside unfold before me.  After 11 hours we arrived in Nampula and Rose had found herself a friend (read bloke) but wanted to walk me to a hotel. I reassured that I’d be ok and wished her all the best while thanking her for her halp and friendship. I tried a couple of places but Nampula turned out to be more expensive than Cuamba! Eventually I found Residencial A Marisqueira who came down from 1800 mtc to 1000 mtc on the proviso that it was for one night and I’d leave early! Odd proviso but that was my plan anyway. Nothing in Nampula but it is a main transport hub for the region. Around 2am I was woken by folk wanting to party in the corridor outside my room and knocking at my door for me to join in. I tried yelling a couple of times but apparently drunkenness leads to deafness. So up I get to open my door and watch a bloke reel back in horror as I give him a serve!!!

A tiny one room school

Better to be on the front foot, I think in case they get aggressive! Then the hotel manager turned up and ushered them off somewhere else other than outside my door. I can still picture the bloke’s frightened face as he took in the fact that I wasn’t his friend nor anyone he would ever know, let alone what I looked like at two in the morning and it makes me laugh still. 4 hours later I’m checking out to look for the bus station and in very bad portuguese I ask directions. A lovely old lady takes me directly there and I’m shown the right bus to travel to Ilha de Mocambique. It was nearly empty so I have quite a few hours to wait while we fill up so a bloke standing outside my window takes the opportunity to find out all about who I am, where I am going and what I am doing. He has many ideas for businesses but I quickly put that thought out of his head. Then he wants my telephone number, but due to moving so fast the last couple of days I haven’t had time to buy anew sim card. Well with that info, my new friend Tony is off to get me a sim card and we exchange numbers, much to his delight. He insists that my plans should include returning to Nampula (in his dreams) and he would like to take me about to visit nearby places – perhaps he should ask his wife first? I take it all with a pinch of salt because I know I’m never coming back to Nampula ever again.

FACT: Mozambique gained independence in 1975 after a long struggle of nearly 15 years. The Portuguese left in a huff, sinking ships and pouring cement down wells as they went, leaving the country in a state of chaos with virtually no infrastructure. This of course sent them on a radical socialist program that ultimately failed and the country was bankrupt by 1983. Of course this was reinforced by a Rhodesian destabilisation program supported by South Africa’s military and a severe drought that only served to aggravate the seventeen year war against itself.