If you ever have a spare moment, go to Mozambique. If not for the turquoise waters and white sandy beaches, then for the plain old cultural experience. I do not think I will be able to type words to correctly explain my experience mostly because it has to do with intangible things. Smells, sights, touches, and those wonderful awkward sensations that come from being one of a handful of white English speakers in a 50 mile radius. Not to mention you are alone, 23, and a female.
My journey started at the border. My final destination was Carlos’s Place in Ponta D’ Ouro, only about 25 km in from the border point. Mike was surprised at how quickly I got through the border control points- was in and out both sides in probably under 10 minutes, so he asked to see what kind of visa they gave me. I proudly showed him my passport with what I thought was a rather pretty orange visitors visa- “Hah, those idiots!” he snorted, “That’s a stamp!” Great, I thought. Now if I get in trouble, I can show the police my passport with a postage stamp inside it. This is going to be fun.
First, no roads exist. Well not in the way that Webster’s Dictionary classifies roads. You leave the nice tarred four-lane highway in South Africa and pass over into green jungle and sand. I see what he means now about needing a 4x4 in order to enter Mozambique. As we go bounding along he looks over at me and says this is their main highway. It was peppered with homemade signs either stuck in the sand or leaning agnist a bush that would proclaim a town this way or that- but as far as I could see it just looked like the biggest road bike dirt path playground in the world. I asked mike how he knew where he was going and he said it’s because he’s been driving here for years but also because most paths generally end up at the same place. How fun, I thought. If it were me driving, I would pick the path with the most curves and hills and go as fast as I could over the dunes just to get a kick. I don’t think Mike would have gone for that though as I asked if he varied the ‘roads’ he took and he just said “Sometimes….if someone is coming from the other direction.” That’s the thing about these sand roads. They are only big enough for one car and are filled with so many hills and blind curves that maybe these other roads came about just from people having to swerve at the last moment in order to not collide with someone else. Anyways- interesting.
As we come into Ponta D’ Ouro, I find myself holding my breath. With each place we go by my head voice is going “please not this one, please not this one, oo or that one, please not that one either” until we finally pull off the road. I really am not a picky person, honestly, but I just wanted to at least feel safe and be in a somewhat stable hut with a non-leaking roof for the 3 days that I would be here. Food and water availability would also be sort of nice. A shower I could do without as I planned to spend the majority of my time on the beach. Okay so we pull off in front of Carlos’ Place and the first thing Mike says is “It’s dirty but it’s cheap” and “Do you have mosquito repellant? Because they are rampant here.” Ohhh, uh “Yes” I say- even though I don’t have repellant and I haven’t been taking my malaria pills but even if I wanted to they are in my suitcase in Durban. Tsk Tsk I know. Off goes Mike, after meeting with Carlos and asking if he’ll take me back to the border post on Thursday. Once that was settled he left with a wave and a “Have fun, explore, it’s mostly safe here”. Hah, that set my mind at ease.
I set my stuff down in a wooden hut that was so poorly put together I could stick my entire hand and wave to people outside if I so choose. The place had two twin beds and mosquito nets (thank you God) but that was it. A tiny window the size of your normal high school textbook was covered in green shade cloth and the hut was about the size of my backyard shed. It smelled as though the door hadn’t been opened in years and the bed had that wet sticky feel you get from constant dampness. I could just imagine the mold that would begin to grow in my lungs by the time I left this place. I vowed to spend as little time in my room as possible. So with that I dumped my stuff, changed into my suit and headed for the beach.
All of my anxiety about being here immediately faded as soon as I got a glimpse of the ocean. It was a huge bay with calm clear waters of the prettiest blue- green I have yet seen. Jungle green mountains curved around two sides of it and the coast stretched out for miles. Big rocks and tide pools made up one entire side of the bay and were just teeming with marine life. The tide came and went here, but it never got rid of the beach- so at high tide you could enjoy playing in the waves and at low tide you could peacefully float on your back for hours if you wanted to. It was perfect. Also perfect was the fact that tents were set up every so often as to provide shade from the sun. It was never very busy for the entire time I was there. I could be by people if I wanted to or not, my choice.
Another thing that eased my anxiety was the fact that dogs were everywhere. The cool thing however, was that not only were there the typical medium sized light brown dog that is found hovering around every third world town, but also small basset hounds, big great danes, powerful ridgebacks and so on. I was in heaven! I lost count of the number of dogs that befriended me, but I am so grateful they did. The cool thing, okay well maybe not cool, but interesting and I must say- yes grateful, is that they protected me. I guess that might be harsh on my part and not fair and I hope not racist, but because I was alone- they made me feel better when they were with me. Okay let me explain. This happened on two separate occasions with different dogs. I was laying on my towel reading when all of a sudden one of the dogs to my right started to growl- just faintly. I looked up to see three black guys coming towards me. Just from the way they looked (run down) and were acting I could tell they probably had been drinking and wanted money or something else from me. They started getting closer (I had three big dogs laying by me) and the dogs started getting louder until they stood up and started barking. The dogs then walked in front of me and entirely blocked the guys from getting closer. I was completely somewhat stunned and just sort of looked at the guys like “uh sorry but you better leave”. The guys started swearing and kicking sand at the dogs but I could tell they were afraid of them. They turned around and left and the dogs settled down. I just sort of sat there and pondered what happened. These dogs are strays. They don’t have an owner that I could tell of and as far as I know have never been trained. So it was amazing to me that they would distinguish and protect me from someone based off of color. I noticed how the dogs reacted to different people from then on, and they pretty much ignored the ‘Portuguese- mozambiqians’, wagged their tails and were friendly with the other white people I saw, and were wary and watchful if not downright mean towards the blacks. It was quite fascinating. It sort of made me feel bad for feeling like I needed protection from these people, maybe the dogs were going off of my feelings of unease of being approached by strange men of a different culture- specially since I was alone and usually far away from others when it happened. I’m not sure, but it happened again the next day. So alas, I did not have any frightening encounters with anybody because I more or less had personal bodyguards for the entire time I found myself at the beach.
Sorry, I realize this blog has gotten quite long so I’ll give it a quick finish! I hung on the beach, explored the beach and ran on the beach- read, took pictures, ate in a restaurant (that was only open once) and slept in my moldy sheets. Oh and from my mid shins on down it looks as though I have the chicken pox. They are tiny red bites from either fleas or bed bugs or something of the kind. And I have blisters on the bottom of my first two toes on each foot. No idea where they came from as they just showed up one morning and I’m really hoping something isn’t buried underneath! Haha, how fun!
My ride back to the border was so interesting that I feel it needs to at least be mentioned before I sign off. It was in this tiny blue pickup that fits every single stereotype you can think of for an old rusty broken down hillbilly truck. No bumper or tailpipe. The clutch breaks off if you pull too hard. No side or rearview mirrors. Fuel gage, speedometer, blinkers, thing that moves when you rev the engine- not working. I had to hold the door closed- literally hold it closed with all my might as we bounded over those sand dunes. Window roll downers missing, and finally I had to make sure my shoes were on tight because of the whole in the floor. This was what took me back to the border. Mike got me here in about 20 minutes and this truck finally wheezed and sputtered me there in about 50.
I feel as though I am living in royalty being back here. The air feels clean and smells good. I have food and water (I lived off of 6 apples, 4 carrots, 4 slices of bread, peanut butter, and the one burger I got in the restaurant). My clothes feel dry and I welcome the sense of security I have here.
Mozambique was a good experience, but next time I will not go alone and will have proper food, insect repellent, and the most important thing of all- dog biscuits.
