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Published: November 26th 2007
Dusk at Tofo
The nearly-full moon rises above Tofo Beach They are bent, corrupt, rude, xenophobic, and vindictive - and that's just the nice ones. They are, without a doubt, the worst officials I have had anything to do with in the whole of Africa: most of the continent's border guards and cops have been surprisingly friendly and not bribe-hungry in the least.
Then we got to Chimoio, in central Mozambique. Avoid this city like the plague. It sucks arse. It is a shitty place. It has no redeeming features whatsoever. It gets my vote as the arsehole of Africa. And, with some of the contenders it is up against, that is certainly something.
We crossed into Mozambique after a couple of days checking out Malawi's commerical capital, Blantyre, which is yet another of those cities where the Lonely Planet advises you 'not to walk alone at night, careful of muggings under the bridge, avoid the bus station'. Really, I have heard this advice so much for African towns now, that I can't be sure whether the LP is erring on the side of caution, trying
Frelimo sign
The Frelimo symbol in a park in Inhambane to avoid lawsuits, or simply trying to freak travellers out. It's fair enough to advise people to be alert to danger, but if you push them into being paranoid and frightened, then they act that way, and start treating every African as though they are a potential mugger. Telling folks that they should take a taxi for the 100-metre trip from the bus station to the nearest hostel is just being silly.
Anyway, Blantyre turned out to be safer than we had heard, but there wasn't much else going for it, so we pushed on to the border at Zobue, then to Tete, Mozambique's hottest town. We were told it was a craphole, but we actually quite liked it. Sitting on the massive Zambezi River, with a couple of nice bakeries (real coffee and cheese, thankyou Portuguese colonisation), the mercury didn't rise above 33 degrees, and our air-con room was one of the nicest we've stayed, anywhere. The 3.30am wake-up for the only bus headed south was a bummer, but was nothing compared to actually trying to squeeze into the vehicle full of Mozambicans and their bags of rice, and enduring the 6 hours to Chimoio.
Ah, Chimoio.
The hat guy
A hat seller on Tofo beach. I want the one he's wearing! I will remember you for ever, you bastard. We climbed off the bus, frazzled and disorientated, still coming to grips with the Portuguese language, the reserved locals, and the expense of travelling here after Malawi. We walked 100 metres and then heard a hiss from behind. Damn, I thought, as I looked back and saw a guy in a green uniform. A cop. And I'd already heard that you should keep your meetings with the Mozambican constabulary down to a minimum.
'Documentos', he ordered, as he neared us. I knew that if I let him have my passport, I wouldn't be getting it back without having to cough up a bribe, so I held it out for him to read, without letting go. This annoyed him no end, and he ripped it from my hand, read it, and then made a point of politely handing it back to me, as though to say, 'see, I'm not corrupt at all'. Then he took Dad's passport. He glanced at it, and then pointed at Dad's plaited beard (admittedly, not something you see every day), and made it clear that he didn't like it, beards were not allowed in Mozambique, and that
Catedral do Inhambane
The older of Inhambane's two cathedrals he was a 'bandito'. He humiliated Dad by making him unplait it, and then he ordered him to take off his hat so he could see his hair. Realising that he probably couldn't scrounge a bribe by finding Dad guilty of a hair-related misdemeanour, he turned to me and demanded to see the receipt for my guitar. Now, I don't usually travel with receipts for every possession I am carrying, so I couldn't produce it. This angered him somewhat, and he told me he was going to have to charge me with a crime. 'Que es la problema?', I asked, in my best Spanish (I know, they speak Portuguese here, but it's all I had). He didn't speak any English except for 'receipt' and 'charge', so he just pointed at Dad's beard and my guitar again. Fed up by now, we asked to go to the station to be charged. He gave up trying at this point, muttered something about coming to arrest us at our hotel later on, and let us go.
After settling into our accommodation up the road, and being assured by the hotel owner that such run-ins with the police were rare, we decided to
Tofo beach
View of Tofo from the deck bar at Dino's brave the streets of Chimoio again. No sooner had we hit the bus station, than yet another bloody copper wandered over to us, with a request to see our documentos. We decided to call his bluff, so I gave hima cheery, 'Bom dia, obrigado', and started walking away. he cantered over and grabbed and pushed at me, got onto his mobile phone for backup, and ordered us to stop. We waited sulkily, while three more police officers ambled over. We were ordered to show our passports, and yet again humiliated, this time by having to apologise profusely to the first officer.
That was it for us and Chimoio. We hid away for the rest of the day, emerging only to eat, and to get on our 3.30am bus (ouch) headed further south. We decided to get as far as possible from the city, so we did the long journey through to Tofo Beach, which promised sun, sand, spectacular diving, and no hassle from underpaid officials.
And that was exactly what we got. Tofo was a beautiful spot, not quite in the league of Zanzibar, but blessed with white sand, swimmable ocean, and plenty of places to drink Manica
Mo diver
Me kitting up for our dive to Hogwarts reef, Tofo beer and eat grilled calamari. We decided to do a spot of diving while we were there, as the two of us have never dived together before, and the Indian Ocean around Tofo is chockers with large sealife - manta rays, whale sharks, dolphins, sharks and the occasional humpback whale.
After doing our scuba refresher course in a filthy swimming pool, we hit the open ocean, and did three dives - Simonstown, Manta reef, and Hogwarts. We saw all manner of amazing stuff - a few gigantic mantas, potato groupers, honeycomb morays, and schools of stunning reef fish - but the highlight was managing to snorkel with a pod of playful dolphins on the return from our last dive. In fact, I don't know what was better about Saturday, November 24th: swimming in the ocean alongside a smiling dolphin, or hearing that John Howard lost his seat and the election. What a bloody awesome day.
It was all so wonderful that I drank too much at the Full Moon party that night, and only barely made it onto our (hopefully last) 4 o'clock bus to Maputo. Poor old Dad had the displeasure of sitting on a crowded minibus
Tofo beach
View of the headland from Tofo beach, Mozambique for many hours, with me passed out on his knee, reeking of beer. Sorry, Kev.
Maputo, the capital of Mozambique, didn't impress us at first. Arriving on a Sunday, it had a desolate and dirty vibe, and my hangover didn't help matters. However, today has been quite wonderful - we have seen pretty parks, interesting museums, bustling cafes, well-stocked cloth stores, tree-lined boulevards, and Portuguese fortresses. Even the faint air of menace, and crumbling, pot-holed footpaths, haven't put us off. Maputo is a shambolic, yet characterful, city. And, with South Africa coming up soon, it's probably one of the last big cities that we can walk around without feeling like we're going to be mugged...
Tom's Top Six of Malawi
1. Chizimulu Island. A sleepy and innocent speck of land on Lake Malawi, with a great place to stay, and super-friendly locals.
2. Likoma Island. Almost as idyllic as its near-neighbour, but this one has eight cars, compared to the zero on Chizi.
3. The Illala ferry. A great way to chug up and down the lake, enjoying the sunsets, and the absolute chaos as it pulls close to port, and every man and his bunch
Bob's Law
The sign next to the Bob Marley flag reads - 'In Bob we trust - the rest pay cash'. Brilliant. of bananas gets on.
4. The Malawian people. Very polite, very cheerful, very friendly, very welcoming. Diamond folks.
5. The backpacker hostels. Malawi seems to be full of laid-back, cosy hostels, where you can run up a tab, lie in a hammock, and eat good tucker.
6. Nali sauce. The best chilli sauce I've had in Africa, and a Malawian institution.
Tom's Bottom Two of Malawi
1. The local food. Stodgy nsima, greasy egg and chips, bright-red, sugary ketchup.
2. The border crossing from Tanzania. Don't EVER change money with the legion of guys who hassle you as you walk across.
*****
Africa Country Count: 15
Malawi Overland Kilometre Count: 1195km
Africa Overland Kilometre Count: 28,570km
Next Country: Mozambique *****
Tom's Top Four of Mozambique
1. Diving and snorkelling at Tofo. Swimming with manta rays and dolphins was absolutely magical.
2. The peri-peri sauce. Almost as good as Nali. Almost.
3. The food. The Portuguese certainly left a better culinary legacy in Africa than the French and Brits did.
4. Maputo. One of the more charming capitals I've visited on the
AIDS sail
A dhow in Maxixe, Mozambique, promoting AIDS awareness continent.
Tom's Bottom Four of Mozambique
1. The police. Corrupt. Rude. Racist. Bastards.
2. Chimoio. Never go there.
3. The cost. Large numbers of South African tourists means the prices for food and accommodation are some of the highest in the region.
4. The bus system. Why does every long-distance vehicle have to leave at 3.30 or 4am?
*****
Africa Country Count: 16
Mozambique Overland Kilometre Count: 2000km
Africa Overland Kilometre Count: 30,570km
Next Country: Swaziland
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Chani
non-member comment
Almost brought a tear to my eye...
Hey Tom, I don't suppose you managed to catch little Johnny's farewell speech??? Moving, inspiring and thought-provoking it wasn't, but I nearly felt sorry for him. Nearly. And not sure what is going on at home, but Clare Martin, Syd Stirling and Paul Tyrrell (head of Chief Mins department, allegedly more affectionately known around the department as "the anti-christ") have resigned... am digging for gossip but no one is spilling. Yet. Watch this space.