The new PC Moz group has arrived in country, and last weekend they were sent out into the world to get a taste of the real (ish) Mozambique.
Conveniently enough I happened to be in Maputo on Saturday, and awoke at dawn to head out and meet my visitor, Amanda, at Junta, the “bus station” in the city. Junta is one of the most chaotic places I have ever been in my life. I would barely even call it a “station,” hence the quotation marks. Rather, it is essentially a big sandy lot (but the sand is oily grey from dirty cars and dirty people), right next to the major road, with loads of busses ranging from little mini-busses to seemingly abandoned 1983 model giants that make trips all the way up north. Not sure I would get on one of those. Whenever I see them pass by my site on the EN1 they seem to be precariously putting along, on the verge of tipping over. How they make multiple day journeys on crap roads I have no idea.
No matter whether I am alone or with Iraque, the minute I step off a city chapa, into the dirty bus lot, I am attacked by a horde of men trying to get me in their car.
Upon entering the “station,” I have to buckle down, stick my phone in my bra for safe keeping, and walk elbows first to keep the crazies off me as they chant a chaotic chorus of:
“Where you go my sista?”
“Tofo? Tofo? Beach?”
“My sista! My sista!”
“Here my car. It very good! Very good!”
Now just imagine the hullabaloo when a group of about 20 whiteys walk into the mess, not really knowing where they are going or what they are supposed to do. At least there were a few Peace Corps staff members there to tame the madness and herd the masses to the appropriate vehicles.
Everyone that was going to my site and farther north was put on a bus to Vilanculos, and I was put in charge of making sure everyone knew where they were getting off. To get to my site, I usually take a Maxixe or Inhambane chapa. Vilanculos is significantly further north, and they are not accustomed to taking people only as far as the Xai-Xai area. So can you really blame them for trying to charge us 100 metacais more than the correct price?
Yes, I can and do. I mean, if, after I had informed them of the appropriate fare, they had simply said, “yes ma’am, of course, I am so sorry for my incompetence,” we could have all been friends. But, they were set on scamming, so I threw a fit… in Portuguese and even a little Changana. There were phone calls involved to the car owner, other drivers, etc. Eventually I made the driver pull over on the side of the road about 30 minutes outside Maputo and told him Amanda and I were getting off and wouldn’t be paying a damn thing.
I huffed my way off that bus, backpack, purse, and plastic bag of frozen chickens (which are like 50 mets cheaper in Maputo so I decided to stock up) and all. But thankfully enough, once I made myself look just crazy enough to the group of about 20 new PC recruits, the cobrador told us we could get back on the bus and he would take us to Chidenguele for the actual price. Yay.
Just another episode in the life of the crazy white lady in Mozambique.
After arriving safely in my little house on the hill in Chidenguele, we grabbed cheese and tomato sandwiches and then headed to the beach to meet the other teachers from my school where they were roasting a pig. So after a very early and semi-rough start, the day ended well with lots of sun, sand, pig and xima which I declined to eat but Amanda liked, and homemade bean and cheese burritos for dinner.
The day 2 plan for Amanda’s visit involved a trip to Xai-Xai beach, to meet up with other volunteers and their visitors. After a beautiful but overcrowded (it was a city beach on a Sunday afternoon, what do you expect) day sipping refresco/cerveja beachside, we headed home at about 4:30… leaving just enough time to arrive in casa before dark in accordance with PC policy.
And then the car went of the road to avoid a pothole, hit some deep sand, the driver lost control, and we crashed into a little sandy wall/barrier, which thankfully kept us from speeding off the road entirely, falling down a small cliff, and most likely crashing head first or even perhaps rolling into a tree. It wasn’t a particularly dramatic car accident, but my first in Mozambique… so we decided to take pictures with the dented car and lifesaving sand hill.
“You know, we are lucky that the car hit that sand hill,” said Amanda, who was sitting up front and thus was more comfortable for most of the ride… that is until she witnessed the accident up close and momentarily thought she was going to plummet to her own fiery death.
“Left-Eye from TLC died in a car accident like this. The car just went off the road and there wasn’t even a big drop,” Amanda continued.
Thank goodness we didn’t fall to Left-Eye’s fate. But as we waited on the side of the major highway making use of the only sustenance we had, bread and bananas (“at least bananas are very nutritious!” – Amanda), we began to realize that our car wouldn’t be leaving again, it was getting late, it was Sunday, and thus there wouldn’t be many cars passing. The prospects of getting home were looking bleaker and bleaker.
Eventually a little truck came by, so we climbed in the back and he took us as far as Chizavane (still about 20k south of Chidenguele). By this time it was dark, we were desperate, hungry, and just plain tired.
A man, beer in hand, in Chizavane offered to drive us in his car to Chidenguele for 300 mets. “Thanks buddy, but we’ll pass. We have already been in one accident today,” I thought.
“If a chapa doesn’t pass soon,” is what Iraque actually said to him.
But luckily, after about 30 minutes in the dark on the side of the most major highway in the country, a chapa came to our rescue! And we made it safely home. To celebrate another day of life we grilled one of my Maputo frozen chickens.
Lesson learned: don’t go chasing waterfalls.
Conveniently enough I happened to be in Maputo on Saturday, and awoke at dawn to head out and meet my visitor, Amanda, at Junta, the “bus station” in the city. Junta is one of the most chaotic places I have ever been in my life. I would barely even call it a “station,” hence the quotation marks. Rather, it is essentially a big sandy lot (but the sand is oily grey from dirty cars and dirty people), right next to the major road, with loads of busses ranging from little mini-busses to seemingly abandoned 1983 model giants that make trips all the way up north. Not sure I would get on one of those. Whenever I see them pass by my site on the EN1 they seem to be precariously putting along, on the verge of tipping over. How they make multiple day journeys on crap roads I have no idea.
No matter whether I am alone or with Iraque, the minute I step off a city chapa, into the dirty bus lot, I am attacked by a horde of men trying to get me in their car.
Upon entering the “station,” I have to buckle down, stick my phone in my bra for safe keeping, and walk elbows first to keep the crazies off me as they chant a chaotic chorus of:
“Where you go my sista?”
“Tofo? Tofo? Beach?”
“My sista! My sista!”
“Here my car. It very good! Very good!”
Now just imagine the hullabaloo when a group of about 20 whiteys walk into the mess, not really knowing where they are going or what they are supposed to do. At least there were a few Peace Corps staff members there to tame the madness and herd the masses to the appropriate vehicles.
Everyone that was going to my site and farther north was put on a bus to Vilanculos, and I was put in charge of making sure everyone knew where they were getting off. To get to my site, I usually take a Maxixe or Inhambane chapa. Vilanculos is significantly further north, and they are not accustomed to taking people only as far as the Xai-Xai area. So can you really blame them for trying to charge us 100 metacais more than the correct price?
Yes, I can and do. I mean, if, after I had informed them of the appropriate fare, they had simply said, “yes ma’am, of course, I am so sorry for my incompetence,” we could have all been friends. But, they were set on scamming, so I threw a fit… in Portuguese and even a little Changana. There were phone calls involved to the car owner, other drivers, etc. Eventually I made the driver pull over on the side of the road about 30 minutes outside Maputo and told him Amanda and I were getting off and wouldn’t be paying a damn thing.
I huffed my way off that bus, backpack, purse, and plastic bag of frozen chickens (which are like 50 mets cheaper in Maputo so I decided to stock up) and all. But thankfully enough, once I made myself look just crazy enough to the group of about 20 new PC recruits, the cobrador told us we could get back on the bus and he would take us to Chidenguele for the actual price. Yay.
Just another episode in the life of the crazy white lady in Mozambique.
After arriving safely in my little house on the hill in Chidenguele, we grabbed cheese and tomato sandwiches and then headed to the beach to meet the other teachers from my school where they were roasting a pig. So after a very early and semi-rough start, the day ended well with lots of sun, sand, pig and xima which I declined to eat but Amanda liked, and homemade bean and cheese burritos for dinner.
The day 2 plan for Amanda’s visit involved a trip to Xai-Xai beach, to meet up with other volunteers and their visitors. After a beautiful but overcrowded (it was a city beach on a Sunday afternoon, what do you expect) day sipping refresco/cerveja beachside, we headed home at about 4:30… leaving just enough time to arrive in casa before dark in accordance with PC policy.
And then the car went of the road to avoid a pothole, hit some deep sand, the driver lost control, and we crashed into a little sandy wall/barrier, which thankfully kept us from speeding off the road entirely, falling down a small cliff, and most likely crashing head first or even perhaps rolling into a tree. It wasn’t a particularly dramatic car accident, but my first in Mozambique… so we decided to take pictures with the dented car and lifesaving sand hill.
“You know, we are lucky that the car hit that sand hill,” said Amanda, who was sitting up front and thus was more comfortable for most of the ride… that is until she witnessed the accident up close and momentarily thought she was going to plummet to her own fiery death.
“Left-Eye from TLC died in a car accident like this. The car just went off the road and there wasn’t even a big drop,” Amanda continued.
Thank goodness we didn’t fall to Left-Eye’s fate. But as we waited on the side of the major highway making use of the only sustenance we had, bread and bananas (“at least bananas are very nutritious!” – Amanda), we began to realize that our car wouldn’t be leaving again, it was getting late, it was Sunday, and thus there wouldn’t be many cars passing. The prospects of getting home were looking bleaker and bleaker.
Eventually a little truck came by, so we climbed in the back and he took us as far as Chizavane (still about 20k south of Chidenguele). By this time it was dark, we were desperate, hungry, and just plain tired.
A man, beer in hand, in Chizavane offered to drive us in his car to Chidenguele for 300 mets. “Thanks buddy, but we’ll pass. We have already been in one accident today,” I thought.
“If a chapa doesn’t pass soon,” is what Iraque actually said to him.
But luckily, after about 30 minutes in the dark on the side of the most major highway in the country, a chapa came to our rescue! And we made it safely home. To celebrate another day of life we grilled one of my Maputo frozen chickens.
Lesson learned: don’t go chasing waterfalls.
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