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Published: November 21st 2009
The conductor of my Maputo-bound minibus resembles Laurence Fishburne after a career change, and the sound system boasts an impressive array of Billy Ocean, Spagna, and even RAF, but I pay a high cost for these diversions via another hot, lengthy, cramped journey. There's no respite to the disappointment when we arrive in Maputo, with the city host to a series of overpriced hotels with limited availability. I find a room in a place recommended by S but can only take it for one night, and when I later stumble across a pensao with free Internet and availability for three subsequent nights I book a room sight unseen. I take merciless advantage of the fast web access to go on a photo uploading spree.
Maputo has a tediously bad reputation for crime, and a warning notice in my first hotel - when I compare the potentially troublesome streets against my map - suggests that going pretty much anywhere nearby could be a problem. This is without even specifying a time of day as the most dangerous. Certainly there's an edgy feel at night but by day there are so many people on the streets that any crime other than a
stealth one seems most unlikely.
Perhaps more worrying is the ban on photos of "public buildings", the definition of which is unclear to me, so it's as much a fear of the police as of the criminal fraternity that keeps my camera under wraps. The city doesn't exactly grab me anyway, it being the wrong time of year for the many trees to be in flower, and there being few buildings of note (the pistachio railway station, designed by one of Eiffel's disciples, being a notable exception).
Like many African countries that achieved independence by a measure of armed struggle, Mozambique started life with its first government following a Marxist-Leninist philosophy. And like the other African countries that went down this route, it soon realised that such communist rhetoric scared away the Europeans from whom independence had been gained but whose expertise was still hugely critical to the successful functioning of the country. So even though a commitment to free market economics was espoused in 1986, only 11 years after independence, there are still many signs of the days of a purer revolutionary ideology - the national symbol of Mozambique (a Kalashnikov and a ploughshare), and the many
streets named in honour of communist "heroes" (Lenin, Mao, Marx, even a rare extant one Kim Jong Il). It seems like that spirit isn't quite dead either, with Chinese funding and labour much in evidence, particularly in the realm of road-building.
But maybe it's the media now that provides firmer direction for Mozambique and there seem to be two distinct viewpoints on offer on TV. One is from the worrying number of evangelical Christian programs that clog up the cable channels in my hotel. They're from Brazil or Portugal, I'm not sure which, but their promises of "salvation" are as specious to me as any weight loss ad.
More inviting is the world of Brazilian telenovelas. Populated by the hottest of actors and actresses, they portray a life of intrigue, excess, and implied rogering by aforementioned hotties that frankly appears worth risking eternal damnation for.
Though Maputo hardly feels cosmopolitan, there is an obvious white population who would appear to be primarily of Portuguese descent. I'm guessing that many of these people are from families that stayed after independence, and have reaped the rewards of being among the few skilled citizens that remained after the majority of
foreigners had fled, fearing reprisals.
I meet up with S again in Maputo, shortly before she returns to Malawi. She tells me of an armed raid on a guesthouse in Blantyre a few months ago, in which the occupants were forced to strip to their underwear and then all their other possessions were stolen. This just goes to show that if people really want to take your stuff then, however well you may think you've hidden it, a surgical implant or orifice insertion are the only cast iron options.
Maputo has the best selection of souvenirs that I've seen for a while, but sadly space limitations mean I have to hold off on the buying binge I'm tempted by. However I do buy something I've been meaning to get for a while - a Nampula mask in a Congolese style that I'm sure will scare the hell out of me when I wake up to see it on the wall of my future home.
Despite my first day in Mozambique having brought forth comments from Malawians that the country's pepole were evil, that hasn't been my experience. It's definitely a nation of two halves, with the north
Bus to Maputo
Sadly the conductor's resemblance to Laurence Fishburne can't be seen from this shothaving most appeal due to the need to speak a bit of Portuguese, plus the gorgeousness of Ilha de Mocambique. The south has been less interesting, with the exception of Inhambane. But overall it's been an excellent introduction to a country I'd previously only known through the exploits of one of its athletes, Maria Mutola. I'm a little sad to leave.
Dull but possibly useful info i. A minibus from Inhambane to Maputo costs M400. I actually reserved my ticket through Pensao Pachica and the minibus picked me up from there (but then proceeded to the bus station to wait for a while longer ...) You should confirm with the driver where in Maputo it will terminate, so that you can get off as close to the city centre as possible (to keep the taxi fare sensible).
ii. I had no idea where the minibus was going to terminate in Maputo so I got off at the first stop in the city, then paid M300 to get to Residencial Hoyo-Hoyo.
iii. If you intend staying at one of the chain of Africa hotels beloved of the WLP then you will need to book well in advance.
iv. I first
stayed at Residencial Hoyo-Hoyo, paying M1250 for a room with AC, hot water, towel, and included (but negligible) breakfast. Mossies but no mossie net. TVs are advertised but my room didn't have one.
v. Stayed at Pensao Martins, paying M1350 (which went up to M1650 during my stay) for a room with AC, hot water, towel, and TV. Mossies but no mossie net. Fridges are advertised but my room didn't have one. Free, fast web but only one machine. Friendly but incompetent desk staff.
vi. It costs M795 to send 2kg airmail to the UK. The customs guys need to check your stuff before you send it, and you have to seal the package in their presence (i.e. take your roll of tape with you).
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