Stamp 8: Entering Moçambique

Joseph is a middle-aged, slightly jaded, South African businessman who provides construction equipment for various jobs throughout the southern portion of Africa. He still gets a little disgruntled at all of the nonsense that one must put up with when trying to accomplish something in this part of the world (unnecessary paperwork, useless and unreliable people on the other end of the phone or right in front of you, horrible roads, etc) but he knows his way around and through a few loopholes. With his presence behind us, and his transport, Kyle and I were able to successfully pass through a border post that by the looks of it almost no one uses at all (when I showed the border attendant my passport as I departed Moçambique he had to ask a superior if the entry point he saw on my visa was a real place) and put some serious miles behind us on our way through the less developed northern part of the country. He absolutely refused any cash in return for taking us along, but since we gathered that he was a fan of cold beer, when our caravan came to a stop for the night in a small town Kyle and I bought a few to share with him. We spent an enjoyable evening talking to him about everything he knew of Southern Africa from years of living, traveling, and working, and when it was time to turn in we pitched our tent next to his truck on the side of the road.

We got up bright and early because according to Joseph our agreement with the police was that we could camp by the road if we had packed up our tent by six in the morning. Another seven hours of traveling lay ahead of us before we reached Tete, the city where Joseph and our paths would diverge.

After saying our goodbyes in Tete, Kyle and I struggled in spite of the heat to find a ride to our next stop. Tete is considered one of the hottest places in southern Africa, and for good reason. I was reduced to simply sitting with my head down in the small amount of shade afforded by a car door, and could manage to do nothing else. How anyone in that town accomplishes anything, let alone works in pants, a shirt, and tie, is utterly beyond me. Luckily, one of Joseph’s hired caravan members offered to take us even farther. Our journey with the now legendary (between me and Kyle) “Jordan Boss”, as the decals on the side of his compact proclaimed, came to an abrupt end when he was stopped for speeding. His Portuguese conversation with the arresting officer was incomprehensible except for the word “Americanos” as Jordan Boss pleaded his case. This pitiful attempt failed, and apparently Jordan had a little more than speeding on his record because the police confiscated his vehicle and stopped the next passing Mack truck to carry us to our destination.

The next legs of our journey consisted entirely of brief hostel stays while utterly exhausted and long days of traveling in truck cabs with infrequent stops and little to eat.

Things that happened while in a truck:

1) The driver stopped for over thirty minutes to successfully negotiate the purchase of a goat.
2) The driver stopped for over thirty minutes to talk to an old man.
3) The driver’s wife closed a curtain in front of us and motioned for us to lie down as we passed through a provincial border and weigh station.
4) The driver absolutely jammed out to a mix CD featuring Rod Stewart, Brian Adams, and Sting.
5) The driver turned down our (facetious) offer to pay him in bananas after he offered us what was obviously a tourist price hike.

Our breakneck trek to the Indian Ocean just so happened to contain the one and only incident in which Kyle or I obviously and seriously offended a local (unintentionally of course). In Moçambique bananas are ridiculously cheap. You can buy whole bunches for just a few Mets (which in turn are fractions of dollars), so Kyle and I subsisted on bananas, bread, and banana sandwiches during our truck traveling days. In southern Africa most everyone litters. While I pride myself on staying strong when it comes to paper and other trash, I’ll admit to chucking banana peels and other food remains out of bus, truck, and car windows. Whilst walking through a market on our way to a truck stop Kyle spotted an unlikely open metal barrel on the side of the road. I gave him my banana peel after he held out his hand and said, “Here”, and he nodded at the woman beside the can as he tossed our used peels straight into it. “Oh!” she exclaimed wordlessly, and began clumsily dragging the barrel, which we then realized to be evidently full of something, back from the road. Kyle ran up and learned that this woman had been brewing some substance in this barrel; it was not a trash can at all. After a few awkward apologies we put our heads down and made off for our next truck ride negotiation.