Welcome to Africa On A Wing And A Prayer

MOZAMBIQUE

Prawns and Calamari, Fish and chips, dhows and speedboats. Kapulanas, Portuguese rolls, palm trees, coconuts.  Obrigada and obrigado. Fisherman, nets and boats.  Beautiful beaches, beautiful seas, beautiful people.

 TETE

It’s another one of those times when we’re having to talk to all and sundry to find out the best road to Mozambique.  Everyone has a different idea.  Eventually we have no choice but to take the Mwaze/Zobue border crossing.  Our need of a new tyre now dictates the roads we have to take. Another country always brings out a bit of excitement, the Mozambique sticker goes on the back of the bike with only Swaziland to follow before we’re home, well not home really because we sold our home of 28 years. I think what we miss most is the invitations we always issued with such abandon to people to come and stay.

The guide book gives Tete one or two lines, but we quite enjoy the little time we spend there.  As usual the people are friendly and the local pub serves a good cold 2M and a lovely Prego roll and chips for about R21  A drive around gets us on some helluva roads in the suburbs.  Donga upon donga and not a square inch of tar to be seen any where.    A lot of the area no different from Beirut all those years ago. Seems that here in Africa that restoration after a war or civil unrest,  for a lot of the buildings etc never comes. The roads in the city centre are fine. We spoil ourselves with breakfast at a brand new coffee shop.  Coffee and cakes to die for.

There is only one campsite and the upside is that it’s on the Zambezi with a good view of Tete’s claim to fame ‘The Bridge’  (which is getting a makeover – structurally that is) I get the most amazing pics at sunset and consider selling them to the Tete Tourist Bureau  (if there is one) for their advertising campaign.(if there is one) Its good to be reacquainted with the mighty Zambezi, its flowing just as strong as ever.  The camp site is called.  Bom Jesus (Good Jesus).  The welcoming committee does Tete proud.  I can see John getting a bit ‘irrie’ as the dozen or so kids insist on helping him unpack, even the things he does not want unpacked.  I distract them with my limited language skills.  We all get a chance to tell our names and how old we are.   I struggle a bit with the double digits in John and my ages and eventually scribble them in the sand.  As usual the camera is a great source of delight until the boys come and start pulling faces and being silly.  The girls send them on their way all except Oscar a white little boy who materialises (we never get to see his folks) from who knows where.  They love stroking Oscar’s silky hair and he obviously love them doing it.

At sunset we’re lying on the banks of the Zambezi marvelling at the sight before us until the mozzies ruin a good time.  I am first in the shower (another cold one)and it’s straight to bed.  A little while later I hear John coming back from the shower.  The cursing and quick splatter of four letter words and more is enough to make the Good Jesus cringe.  I can feel a fit of the giggles taking hold but I swallow and nip it in the bud.

One thing that can make me mad as a snake is a cold shower especially one that runs out half way while you’re brushing your teeth and lathered in soap, I come out cursing because we’re on the banks of the Zambezi in full flow and we cant get a flow out of the friggin taps, uurrrgggghhhhh!!!!

CHIMOIO

The road to Chimoio is another long arduous one. There is a lot of activity in the works department but in the meantime it’s dust for Africa, suffocating the sunflowers and the and all the other vegetation in it’s way and doing a good job of blanketing us at the same time.  I test the theory that the best way to tackle these corrugated roads is to gradually increase speed until the rattles stop.  Never a truer word. Much to John’s discontent because I hold the speed at about 70ks.  John will tell you it was somewhat faster.  When it’s his turn I see him testing the same theory.  OK not to the same extent. Not true, she is just trying to justify her machoism (is there a word like that? Scrabble and his out) while riding the bike and showing off to the locals. My instructions to her are take it easy, no hectic gear changes as we’re trying to preserve the rubber on the tyres, but she is just like her brothers when they we’re jockeys – never rode to instructions! 

The Pink Papaya does not have a camp site and if ever you have seen John excited well here he is.  We have a caravan for the night.  It seems right for the gypsy in us.  It’s painted with pink and lilac flowers and a has that’ if you’re going to San Francisco’ feel about it.  The security guard is classic.  Almost looks like he has borrowed Samora Machel outfit and even though he pitches up after the sun has gone down he wears sunglasses.They too are classic.  We never do get to see him without his sunnies.  We take some pics of him and show them to him on the camera.  Trying to explain that we cannot get them off the camera there and then is not easy.

We still have no luck with a tyre or rather we do but it’s made in Thailand (we actually find out later that our Bridgestone is made in Thailand)and costs double the price of our current Bridgestone.  I’m thinking we’ll try Maxixe or Maputo hopefully for a brand we know.  If not we’ll have to get one sent from Durban to Maputo.

 INHASSORA

The tyre is holding out.  Every now and again we get off the bike to inspect it and I think half the time we kid ourselves that it  will get us a little further.  Dare I say it now but Oh! this Kawasaki and side car is doing just bloody beautiful.  Hope I have not jinxed it.  It’s more than just a little disconcerting each time we pass ribbons of shredded tyres or even those places in the villages that build pyramids along side the road seemingly to taunt those passing with the evidence of those ill fated who came before us.  After all what other possible reason could they have for this display. We try our best to avert our eyes at times like these but even a quick glimpse aggravates John’s heart palpitations and gets me clutching my rosary.  Boy have I said a couple of hundred this trip.

The kms are mounting up, were on over 11 000 for the trip and its time for a bit of tlc for the bike. I do an oil change and clean the air filter which has changed colour to a dark brown, it’s only the battery I can’t get to.I need a small Phillips screwdriver for that. The chain also gets a spoilt with some old engine oil, now its just a case of nursing the tyre. Once again we are in another bit of paradise, we are sitting in a local pub/restaurant with a thatch roof and a small bar type building, we’re on the stoop under a tree, the sky full of stars and the whole bill for two fish dishes, four beers and including the tip comes to R71 plus its shorts and tee shirt weather.  

Throughout this trip we have been the source of much amazement and even at times of great laughter. Here in Mozambique the people have this way of waving with both hands up in the air.  At times it feels as if we have just crossed the finishing line, coming first of course amidst much cheering and fan fair. 

Boy do we meet some characters on this trip.  Inhassora brings us Roger, big in life and big in stature and he is with three ladies whom he calls the Witches of Eastwick.  He supplies truck and bus parts and travels the whole of Africa.  His main clients being Coke and SAB and he being their main client as well.( A rum and coke  man.) From The Sudan , to Ethiopia, Djibouti, you name it.  A book could not hold the stories, a maverick of our times.  And a little advice he parts with,  ‘Make sure you know the names of some government officials of each country you visit.  Make it the Minister of Justice or the minister of foreign affairs.  You never know when you might have to get the harasser to phone the said dignitary to tell him the reason for your delay’

We’re in luck, the pub has DSTV and it’s time to watch the Boks slaughter the Lionesses, the Boks are looking good up until half time and so are we in the pub until we get a request to change over to the soccer from the locals, Mozam playing whoever. I am flabbergasted. Luckily a chap on contract for a construction company has a cottage just down the road, well track really, has DSTV so we shoot off down there faster than it takes Bakkies Botha to down a Lion and we are in another part of paradise watching the game. Rob the construction guy runs us back to our campsite for more drinks and scrumptious meal of 2 minute noodles mixed with instant soup, Rob declares it’s the best meal he’s had for months, shame he’s really missing home!  

MORRONGULU

There’s no doubt in our minds that Morrungulu is going to be on our top ten places o visit.  John’s already making plans to return with the kids and grandkids, when they are older.  Malaria makes me think twice of bringing them here. The camping area is brilliant.  The beaches beautiful, the whole setting out of this world.  They could make us the PRO’s for this place.  Well John gets to have a look at the chalets and there goes any thought of camping.  It’s father’s day and it’s his birthday soon.  So we splash out.

The place is magnificent plus there is even a bit of surf about and I am missing my fishing rod. The biggest danger here is getting one on the head from a falling coconut.  We have not banked on staying here for 2 nights and are desperately low on food stocks. We have a packet of cheap biscuits and soup and that’s it but luckily for us the only other people in the camp provide us with a salad every night to go with the fish and crayfish we buy on the beach, I tell you life on the road is not easy. Talking about the roads, they have finally taken their toll on the bike and one of the struts supporting the sidecar has broken right through.  I should have known that my little song of praise a few days ago was going to be our undoing.The bad roads have been relentless especially in northern Mozam, plus the smooth tyre is making life interesting for the road ahead, but we’ll make a plan I think.   

 XAI XAI

We try and gather as much info about the roads before we set off, just to psyche ourselves up for the day.  There roads are getting better, the pot holes are not as big and serious work is being done.  Along the way we pass Inharrime, the sea is a colour which has no name, and we make a mental note to come back this way.  Maxixe brings back memories of a previous  trip across to Magaruque on a dhow, with my mom being helped into the said vessel by John, her bum up in the air and John heaving her up and over head first, much to the delight of all gathered to watch this spectacle. It was a time of bailing water and much laughter and a helluva lot of sun with not a tree on the little island for shade.

The camping spot in Xai Xai is one of those bare necessity kind of places.  Seems like they have spent all the money on the green roofed wooden chalets peeping out from the bush above us.  Te security guard warns us of the’ skelms’ in the area but he will keep good watch.  And for us he does.  Not so lucky one for one of those ‘peeping houses’.  But the ’skelms’ get caught trying to nick a cell phone and a computer.

Once again the beach is idyllic, plus the showers are hot. We’re getting spoilt. That night we dine on prawns in the restaurant and watch the emerging Boks humble the Lions. Early the next morning we break camp.  And then what looks like the local mafia arrive in a car with tinted windows and block our exit. You could have knocked us down with a feather for out pops Maz and Fred (friends) from Durban. They’re slumming it in their mansion overlooking the beach and invite us to stay with them. After the initial shock we accept and let the good times roll, because one thing you sure miss are your family and friends.  

All we can say is you should have seen the size of the prawns.  Bigger than John’s hand, much bigger.  Well I bet you’re thinking, John does not have such big hands anyway. Then you should see Fred’s, and they were bigger than his as well.  The long way home is getting easier now.  Beds and clean linen, dining in fine style with friends (almost family).  Two more stops to go.

A little bit of useless information that we have gleaned along the way.  You know how those bikers we often see around and about with all those accessories that one thinks are just for show.  Well we find out that a good few of them are more necessary than one realises.  Way back we bought those balaclava type thingies , because the wind wriggles in who knows where, causing lips to chap and dust to get into every nook and cranny.  And by the way the are called buffs and cost more than a whole days budget.

The gloves, those too are absolutely a necessity and we should know even though we sport one pair between us.  Those little freckles on our hands have taken on new proportions and are now fully blown liver spots ‘yecch’  thanks to the wind and sun.

 CATEMBE

More good times as Joe and Lorraine welcome us to their home and their ‘extended family’ of orphans who now know the meaning of hope and family.  Set up in their own little ‘village’ with ’parents and siblings.’  Our hearts ache, with the joy these children have found and we live in hope for their tomorrows and the people like Joe and Lorraine and their benefactors that make it all possible.  The old people’s village, too is an inspiration of how people manage to live together with pride and with the most meagre of means.  Yet still they manage to give to people like us a little of themselves in their welcome  amidst warm handshakes and real loving hugs and kisses and in the farewell songs  they sing to accompany us on our way.

Our emotions get the better of us and later Lorraine tells us to consider these emotions a gift, and to give thanks for them.  And we do.  John and I talk about putting in some time there next year. As the man in Luderitz said – pass it on.

We don’t give up on finding a new tyre and at long last we find one for a slightly inflated price, now the next challenge to get it fitted. Back at Catembe we find James who seems confident of doing the job. I don’t know why but I believe him but it all goes wrong, with the tube fitted they botch putting the wheel back on and I have to supervise the whole procedure from start and eventually its fitted correctly and I breathe a sigh of  relief. (bragging about his newfound skills) But the sigh turns to a groan the next morning when I wake up to find a flat tyre. Either our dear James has fitted the valve incorrectly or as I suspect he has pinched the tube. I try tyre weld and keep my fingers crossed but when we return in the afternoon it’s  a deflated back tyre we find. Back to James and with his brightest smile tells me to return the next morning. But my fears are confirmed and James is nowhere to be seen so we take our chances on a wing and a prayer and head out for our next stop and South Africa.

On our trip we have picked up the vibe and the talk on the street that China is going to take over Africa. In Mozam they are building a new soccer stadium which was behind schedule so they have imported 350 Chinese prisoners, got rid of the locals,  of course they don’t have to pay the prisoners either, work them to death and in the evenings house them in containers, wonderful. (That’s the story we are told) We also wonder about our own government’s handling of the Dali Lama incident and it leaves a stink in the air. But on with the trip.

We stop every now and so often to pump up the tyre and to inspect the broken strut.  Another few border posts and we sail through them. Still don’t get to stop over in Swaziland.  Another time.  It’s a bitter sweet time.  Can’t believe another journey at our backs and almost time to be with family and friends again. 

 First stop, Mtuba with John’s guardians , at very short notice we pitch up.  It’s a home filled with love and welcomes and we wallow in the comfort and warmth.

It’s a nailbiting finish to reach Mtuba before a cold front hits us and I push the bike to the fastest it’s been on the trip, its cold and getting dark, the wind is blowing straight at us and its starting to spit as we reach the farmhouse. It takes a bit of time to stop shaking from the cold but a lekker koffie kapital settles all. My cousin Alan is out from Ireland and he’s been there for about 4 years but he announces he’s out of their after another six months, no way jose, finish and klaar.

It ain’t over till we reach home and the next day we have to make an emergency pit stop in Empangeni to repair the puncture. How we got so far is a miracle, the tube has to be replaced.(and as the guy explains it could have started off with just a pin prick but the longer you go the bigger the hole gets.  We learn a little more each day) As we get closer to Durban the traffic is already starting to irritate me and I say to Arlene the Budapest to Bamako Rally looks a good thing, any sponsors please, we’ll win it, well almost.   

It always takes a little time getting back into our skins of our other life.  It’s the traffic and the speed, it’s reading the papers and listening to the news – a reality check in essence until we’re off again.

The bike is going into the intensive care unit and we’re off to the London on the 26^th July   Another change of plan.  Instead of shipping the bike over to the UK (a costly affair – in excess of R20, 000 something for crating and shipping) and then crossing Europe and Eastern Europe and making our way down Africa we will spend our money a little more wisely and backpack parts of Eastern Europe in between our visit to Tarynn and her family. John’s dying for a few train trips and also no longer wants to spend more than three to four months away from the kids and grandkids,family and friends.

So we will soon start planning the East Africa trip – anybody out there keen to join us?

Until next time.