The worst bus rides create the best stories

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As I walked back through the aisle of my crowded bus I questioned the driver “Disculpe! No asiento?” (Excuse me, no seat?) The driver gets up and points two rows back and chooses the middle seat, next to a lady breastfeeding on the window side and a guy in a yellow baseball cap on the aisle. I had just finished a tough bus ride and now I was straight on another. Would going out of my way to see (Portugal’s former East African capital) Ilha Mozambique be worth it or would it be just another test to see if my body can physically and mentally tough it out?

Bus rides in Africa are like going into battle for a backpacker you know its not going to be easy. Its long hours and is made that much harder in Mozambique as they all seem to leave at around 4am. I had crossed over from Zimbabwe the previous day thanks to my drunken taxi driver and really helpful and nice Mozambique officials.

The first major town is Chimoio Which happened to have a cultural festival on at the time. It was nice with music, arts and crafts, food including mice but I wanted to see the coast. Mozambique is segregated into 2 parts really the north and the south and the north was out of my way for this part of my trip. To get to Ilha Mozambique I would need to take 3 buses all with its own story.

It was 4am and I arrived at the 30-seater mini-bus (called chapas), which already looked full. These buses don’t accommodate for luggage so luggage is placed into every space possible, this includes the aisles and people. I was the last to get on the bus and climbed over possibly odourless manure (the bags looked like it) and took my seat. I quickly noticed that a step was impeding my legroom meaning I couldn‘t rest my feet in a normal fashion or put my carry-on bag completely to the ground.

As the last bags were put in I am keeping an eye on my lone backpack outside, yet to be connected with the bus. A guy yells out to me through the window. “150!” (about $4.50) I reply back with a stern “Fuck Off!” (To the amusement of the passengers) and reach over the other side of the bus and rip the bag off him and feed it through the window. The thought of 11hours on a bus where I won’t be able to move, I was not in the mood. There is no room to put my main backpack so as well as having my day back - which is about 8kgs on my knees - I have this 20kg backpack on top of me and pressing against my body.

We get started to about half an hour of jovial passengers with piercing laughter. I couldn’t believe the joy these people get from these bus rides. We stop along the way for more people to get on the bus. The door can’t open so they swing in like monkeys through the window and reposition the bags so they can sit. Whilst this is happening I am getting slowly drained of energy, as the weight cannot be distributed to anywhere else but my body. 3 ½ hours have passed and I am slowly losing feeling of my legs and finding it difficult to breath normally. I try everything in this time. The bag side on, upside down. If it were a scene in a movie it would be comedy with short 2-second grabs of the various positions I put the backpack in that time.

My waist strap on my backpack was connected and I even coathanger’ed this poor lady in front of me. My sleeping bag went out of its holder and it was all over the lady next to me. Eventually after helping other people with luggage I felt I had paid my dues and did a dramatic lift of my bag and forced it on top of other bags meaning my bag was on the ceiling of the bus. Resting the bags weight on my head was the last option. By this stage I had ran out of ideas.

Along the way in the villages of the countryside, kids came up to the window and sold fruit and vegies. I bought 10 bananas for 30c and that would be my food for the day. The roads weren’t as bad as I expected but there were enough bumps for the arse to feel numb.

As the bus ride hit the 11-hour mark we hit Quilemane a town on the coast. The weather was ordinary and the town didn’t look too much so as we reached the bus stop I noticed a sign on the front of a big bus. It’s said it was going to Nampula. My guidebook said that it takes 11 hours. I go to the toilet, no food stands and think. ‘This could be my only chance for a big bus, I have to take it.’ I get on the bus and as said before positioned myself next to the breastfeeding mother.

I got a slight rush as I left Quelimane I knew I was testing the limits of my body again. I figured - If I want to do Africa properly, I’d need to get through this trip and still claim my sanity. I looked at the positives - At least there is legroom on this bus; there is an aisle that you can walk on… But it is old. The windows rattle with every bump, which is not that hard on African roads. It’s raining and the windscreen wipers don’t work. The knob that helps you open the window has fallen off and so with that a nice cool breeze is coming through the bus courtesy of the 2 holes that now appear.

A local called Eric starts talking to me from a row back on the other side of the aisle. He said that at the end of the ride I could stay at his uncle’s place. So early in the trip I would judge his character before taking up the offer. I would like to tell you about the scenery but mostly on that first ride there was luggage in the way and for the second ride it was raining and dark. Instead I was telling myself that ‘I know your arse is coping a pounding with every bump and the soles of your feet are feeling immense pressure for a simple bus ride but don’t think about it.’

That thought was broken when the baby cried or when the mother whipped out her tit to breastfeed. Not that it is my first experience on a bus but it is a different experience that can only happen in the 3rd word countries nowadays. I was wondering why are there so many mothers with babies on buses in Africa? I realised it is because most of them are quite lazy. I think they come on buses because they can’t be arsed rocking the baby to sleep. As that thought of light relief crossed my mind the baby was put on (half) my lap and the mother began to change his nappy. Wow what a unique experience this was!!

I arrived in Nampula close to 11pm and stayed at Eric’s uncles place. We went out for a drink and something to eat where unfortunately some guy forced his way into the toilet half way through my piss and joined in. I say “What the Fuck!” And this guy is having a look! “Jesus Christ” as I zipped up.

Eric’s family were nice enough to make me breakfast which took 2.5hours to make. From there I took another Chapa for 3 hours to Ilha Mozambique. This would end up being the most civilised of chapa rides.

There is a 3.5km long bridge that connects the mainland to the island and first impressions are not good. Weather was quite ordinary, very cloudy and the place looked run down. First thing that you notice is the glorified poverty of the place. The island is only small and takes about 15 mins to walk the length. It is segregated into two parts, the old town and Makuti, where the locals live.

The island is heavily overpopulated. I was told that during the civil war the island was used as a refuge and its population has risen from a couple of thousand to 15000. Children roam around the island like it is the local park. But it’s hard to see any future for the majority. The government seems to have just ignored it and its people. It really is a shock coming here. But it still has its charm when you get passed the initial shock.

It’s like walking into a mini Havana, the buildings are falling apart but people are still living there. Maintenance seems to have been missing for the past 40-50 years. The paint has dried up and now is curling with cracks appearing. Apart from the children roaming free. I see men with sewing machines in what would be a disused house in most parts of the world.

Situated around the middle of the island is this former grand building with a series of stairs leading up to it. Combined with the dreary weather and its run down state it is a perfect setting to make a film re: war aftermath. The building is the local hospital where inside is no better with limited beds, very open rooms and surely not clean. I met a western lady that got malaria whilst volunteering here a few years ago and she said that she insisted on getting picked up and carried to a hotel and the doctor can treat her there.

Makuti town is like being live at a World Vision TV commercial. Locals use coal for fire so the aroma surrounds the area. Tarpaulin is used as well as tin for shelter, dirt paths and children with torn clothing that look dirty as if they haven’t changed for months. There really seems to be a bit of abandonment with this place, as if the country has forgotten it.

Children attach to you like glue and are always willing to show you around but at the same time looking for something in return. I walked around the first afternoon with a Dutch couple and the guy was a teacher and he couldn’t help himself and had asked an equation. ‘27+5=?’ 14 kids look up at him and only one tried and got it right. He seemed to be the dumbest of the lot, moments earlier when he was making cut marks with his feet on the sand for 200m.

But that is all first impressions. Isla Mozambique is more than just first impressions its part of an overall point of view that is very unique in world travel. It somehow makes these scenes enjoyable. I think my experience might have been enhanced because I ended up staying in Makuti at the guesthouse where it was bucket shower and a couple of bucket full’s of water to flush the toilet. The island grew on me over the 3 nights I stayed there.

On the weekends the mothers of Matuki set themselves up in the backstreets of town under a blue tarpaulin and sing songs and well wishes to the children and hand out candy. As well as the constant smiles and hellos from the locals you end up appreciating a lifestyle that is really unthinkable. It really is a get by day-by-day lifestyle.

I don’t know how they are going to get out of this lifestyle? Eventually the government is going to have to do something. In the meantime fishing is the only real industry. Tourism is not being taken advantage of. There is no effort to make travel here easy. Although there are rumours that a new airport will be made but that is probably only going to cut out an hour of the 3 hours it currently takes to get from Nampula’s airport.

That is another surprise, the lack of tourists here. It is no wonder you take on celebrity status when you walk around. Only recently some Portuguese and Italians have opened cafes or new hostels, guesthouses but that is not the locals. Instead the locals stick to the staple diets of fish or chicken and rice with some of the best bread that I have tasted. Butter is not needed, just eat it plain.

5am would be my wake up call each morning as the one of many mosques on this small island would go through its morning prayer. When that finished the roosters would soon follow. Islam is the main religion on the island but there are also churches and even a Hindu Temple despite only being one Hindu citizen on the island.

This is where the historical element of the island is realised. Mozambique is a former Portuguese colony and Ilha Mozambique was its main stopover from the spices of the Indian region of Goa. There are two major sights to see on the island. The fort of Sao Sebastian and the Palace and Chapel of Sao Paulo.

The palace is one of the few buildings renovated to its original state. The mainly red building houses some true quality artwork from the furniture to the paintings on the wall. Each bedroom is colour co-ordinated and there is a massive dinning table as well as 4 kitchens. The chapel is nice enough. Also included is the Maritime Museum where only recently divers discovered a shipwreck just off the shore of a ship during Portugals golden era. There are some interesting pieces there. Some really finely cut gold pieces.

The Fort is the oldest completed fort still standing in the sub Sahara and is best viewed in the afternoon. To the right side is a water storage area that is still used today by locals where instead of having a proper water system, locals still go to this place and carry water back. The fort too was recently renovated and it is quite safe to climb around the top of the fort and look down at the locals swimming in the ordinary beach. The entrance to the fort can also be appreciated from various views with its crown carved out in stone.

However the main attraction is at the far left of the fort where the Chapel of Nossa Senhora de Baluarte is. The chapel was built in 1522 and is considered to be the oldest European building in the southern hemisphere. The small chapel is just another photogenic moment with the late afternoon sun creating a golden look on the stones. Despite its shocks and glorified poverty Ilha Mozambique is photogenic nearly everywhere is a photo.

You hold back at times because the faces are full of character and the lifestyle even with a person walking down the street surrounded by these archaic buildings just needs to be stood back and appreciated. Very few places in the world have the vibe like Ilha Mozambique. What too is rewarding is the knowledge of what you have put up with to get here and then there are the concerns of what is ahead.

I did a quick calculation as I was heading south pretty quickly. It was better that I fly instead of taking 3 buses and possibly two nights accommodation. The buses rarely connect and leave at 4am each day and domestic flights are cheap enough. So I flew to Beira Mozambique’s second city. From there I’d cut two buses and catch a bus to Vilankulo.

4am arrived and the typical story of too many passengers and luggage that will engulf the bus. I managed to join up with a Spanish couple from the flight. They pre booked the bus and when they got there the seats were taken. They forced themselves on the chapa whilst I gave up. But the guys say “No, no come.” The bus is now at the petrol station, my bags get in and I follow and take my seat, a metal pole on the stairs.

At 5am we leave squashed and on top of each other. About an hour in the police stop us and the driver says that the “tourists haven’t paid.” We show our passports and eventually allowed to continue. The driver than tries to pick up more passengers. But there is no room; we are so tight that a bump could mean a knee in the groin. We readjust and I am now sitting on a potato sack.

Unlike other bus rides the windows had a metal bar cutting the window in half meaning no-one could get in or out. This meant the only entry and exit is the door (which from my experience is unheard of!). But the door too is blocked off and to open it, myself and the conductor had to lift this 10kg container of water and than force the door to slide open. This container had a leak in it so every time we stopped I would have wet stains all over me.

Now, whilst all this was happening we didn’t realise that we were going awfully slow. At the 5-hour mark we had covered only 130km (about 20% of the journey covered.) We stopped at a village and were swarmed by locals selling fruit, drinks, sandwiches and corn. I bought a small water and a dry corn.

These rides are kind of like family trips everyone is looking out for each other whilst laughing and arguing within minutes. Again we stop and I am kind of reluctant to move but I am the first one to get out so I have to. Water spills all over me again and I hear commotion, which I can’t understand.

Confused I look back and I smell a hint of smoke. I grab one of my bags as the bags are in the way of the exit. I throw it off the bus and try to grab some more but I can’t as people are trying to get out. But no one is coming out as they start clanging into each other. Next to me on the trip was a mother with her baby and I see her freaking out and stands up, hands in the air. She has let go of the baby and the babies head is now dangling over the edge of the aisle. I reach out through the door but realise that someone will probably hit me and I could drop the baby on the floor. I am in the way so I go towards the back of the bus to see if I can help them. I look up and the people inside are sliding the window one way whilst the other person is pushing it the other way. I tell one of them to stop. By this stage the bus is starting to empty out.

Part of me is thinking is it really that bad? Is everyone panicking over a perceived Hollywood explosion? Are we really going to be pushed a hundred metres forward? I see my backpack on the ground and decide its best to be safe and pick it up and walk 150m down the road. Soon after another mother with a baby comes stumbling down the road about to faint. The Spanish lady talks to her and she comes back to her senses. I hang a piss in the trees and walk back to our bags. I notice flames coming out from the bottom of the bus followed by bits of metal falling from the body of the bus. I yell out “AGUA! AGUA!”

I can’t remember what happened after that but soon after they are talking about fixing it. I say to my fellow backpackers that, “I am not going back on that. I heard hitch hiking is pretty safe I am doing that.” By this stage an Argentine 50 year old man had joined us and we agreed to start walking. 1km down the road a flashy 4WD stops and soon after a truck with a lorry of sacks, goats and roosters stops. We agreed to split up 2 on the 4WD and 2 on the lorry. The mine and the Argentine eyes light up. “You take the 4WD, we’ll take the truck.” We both say.

Up we go passing goat shit and piss and sit next to the roosters on a bunch of sacks. It would be the most comfortable bus ride in all of Mozambique. The breeze against our face, the soft cushion of grain on our arse, locals waving hello, the sun setting in the distance - It was bliss. The only negative was that the Argentine had a goat nibbling on his leg, I had a rooster that was a bit shitty trying to have a go at me. One roosters wing got caught in the wind and ended up flopping to the side I thought it was dead but it wasn’t. But the big one was whenever the goat did a one or two it would appear quite rapidly and forcefully on our face and body.

It didn’t finish there as we got dropped off 20km on the main junction and took a Ute taxi with locals. They offered us food for the short 15minute ride and we joked as this food, which looked like a branch created a facial expression of dislike. I met someone weeks later who said that he was disappointed because his African trip has run pretty smoothly. He would be jealous of me telling this story… but that could be because it wouldn’t be the last one of this kind.

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Photos

The palace
Highly recommended - As well one of the few things to see as classed as a 'sight'

The Main Mosque
Ilha Moz.

Hop scotch
Local style - no chalk just a finger in the sand for the lines

Comments

[anonymous]

a kid is a baby goat.