African adventure

Journey from Malawi to Zimbabwe via Mozambique (Part IV)

Tete, Central Mozambique’s largest city with about 150,000 inhabitants, was far different from the neighboring countryside. A surprisingly modern city in the heart of an underdeveloped region, its architecture had a Portuguese flavor dulled by the years that followed independence. Situated on the banks of the Tete River, its eastern and western banks were linked by a suspension bridge that had seen better days but was currently undergoing renovation. The city center reminded me of others I had seen during my travels to Maputo, Mozambique’s capital, and Brazil, another former Portuguese colony. An outpost of centralized-style governance, all roads in the area quite literally led to Tete, and virtually all services, from government administration to filling stations, were located within a short drive of the city center. There were no other way stations for hundreds of kilometers. I passed up the opportunity to fuel my car because I had three-quarters of a tank of diesel and did not want to buy the metacais necessary to purchase fuel in Mozambique. I had less than a quarter of a tank left from a fill-up in southwestern Malawi when I finally passed another service station over 250 kilometers down the road in Mutoko, Zimbabwe.

One highlight of a visit to central Mozambique is geography. The landscape changes from stunning to tired and worn and back and gain, growing progressively drier as you drive west. The foliage turns from leafy green to sagebrush and thorny scrub. Most of the rivers in this area had already dried up despite the fact that the rainy season just ended, leaving the land and its people increasingly thirsty and dependent on stagnant borehole wells. The mountains near the Malawian border are wild and forbidding. I reckoned that very few tourists had ever visited this area, most notably due to the lack of tourist infrastructure – roads and hotels – and the fact that the land is still riddled with hidden land mines left over from the civil war that affected Mozambique for several decades before it ended in 1993. While I am an adventurous sort who would gladly lose myself in a place such as this, the presence of land mines made me hesitant to make this wish a reality.

Not far from the Zimbabwe border I saw three small, colonial style buildings at intervals along the road that looked conspicuously out of place amidst the cinder block rondavels and block houses. Featuring stucco walls with tiled roofs, they looked as if they had been transplanted in southern Africa from rural Portugal. I realized that this must have been the ruins of a former estate owned by a colonial Portuguese family that probably grew tobacco, a major crop in the area. The terrain looked as if it had once been cultivated and shaped in a manner more fit for Europe than rural Africa. The estate had most likely been abandoned by its owner either after Mozambican independence in 1975 or during the subsequent civil war. It was now overgrown with wild brush and small, unkempt fields. Locals had moved into the remaining structures and had lost the battle to keep the estate intact; they now spent their time growing maize in small plots and cutting trees to make charcoal. The story of this estate and the underlying tragedy of its demise would make for an interesting read.

Journey from Malawi to Zimbabwe via Mozambique

Journey from Malawi to Zimbabwe via Mozambique (Part III)

I crossed into Mozambique and was confronted by a gaggle of men hanging out near my vehicle. I was a bit apprehensive entering Mozambique for several reasons. My Portuguese consists of “Nao fallo Portugues” (I don’t speak Portuguese), and English and Spanish language skills are of limited use in an area dominated by Portuguese and indigenous languages. The Mozambican side of the border was far busier than either Malawi’s or Zimbabwe’s and primarily consisted of bus passengers stuck at terribly slow border crossings waiting to transit to or from Malawi or Zimbabwe. Central Mozambique is a transit destination for most people, not a destination. A helpful Mozambican gentleman helped me navigate the immigration and customs bureaucracy amidst a throng of people. I made sure he knew I did not have any money to pay him, and he nodded in understanding. I appreciated his assistance and would have been glad to repay the favor if we ever crossed paths again.

Crossing land borders in southern Africa is a “fairly” standardized process – just fill out small entry/exit immigration forms, hand over your passport and immigration form to be processed and stamped, proceed to customs, sign a big “guest book,” and then haggle with customs over getting your vehicle in and out of whatever country you’re in. Pay whatever processing fees and taxes are required and then obtain a form that allows you to drive through the entry/exit gate. It’s not always quick and painless. In my own experience, Zimbabwean customs has been more of a hassle than other countries’ customs regimes. At the Zimbabwean-Mozambican border a plainclothes Zimbabwean manning the gate tried to coerce me into visiting Zimbabwean police camped out next to the gate to “make sure my vehicle isn’t stolen.” This was obviously an attempt to extract a bribe. I politely but firmly told him that customs had already registered my vehicle in Zim and that my vehicle was legally registered in Zambia. I told him that he could not legally hold me at the border, smiled an “OK, you got me” smile and lifted the gate for me. I drove on without further incident. It reminded me that at times at border crossings you need to be assertive and not let pseudo-officials con you into an awkward situation that leaves you cornered and/or forced to pay a bribe.

Central Mozambique was fascinating. Save the bustling regional capital city of Tete, the region felt isolated and disconnected from the outside world. I saw nary a single tourist or muzungu except for a local in Tete who was of mixed Portuguese descent. The local culture is similar to what you find in neighboring areas inside Zambia. The towns are small with clusters of circular rondavels and block houses interspersed with small fields, paths and trees. As I headed west, I saw more and more baobab trees, which, along with the acacia tree, is one of the staples of the African landscape. The distinctive baobab trees accentuated the quaintness of the villages. I enjoyed watching the locals as a drive-by tourist, snapping a few photos now and then to capture the trip for my memory banks. I am one of the lucky few to have had my own vehicle. Most vehicles I saw on the road in central Mozambique were transporting products such as fuel to market. A few others were private vehicles or motorcycles owned by the lucky ones with wealthy. Some were trucks that served as makeshift mass transit transporting villagers to nearby towns. Undoubtedly these drivers were making a killing selling rides for a few metacais (the Mozambican currency).

From my experience in neighboring Zambia, I drew a mental picture of what life must be like in rural Mozambique. Work all day in the fields, children spending most of their time doing supplemental work like carrying water. No electricity means that entertainment consists of playing with whatever makeshift toys can be fashioned, and cooking is done using wood-cured charcoal. In the center of it all stands the church (or mosque) beckoning worshippers to take breaks from life and give time to God. As the dry season drags on, the locals undoubtedly pray more frequently for rain to ensure they have enough drinking water and abundant crops, mostly maize (corn).

Journey from Malawi to Zimbabwe via Mozambique

Journey from Malawi to Zimbabwe via Mozambique (Part II)

After I dropped my Malawian passenger off at the highway junction near Monkey Bay, I drove south away from Lake Malawi. I stopped at a service station to fill up my rig with diesel, but they told me that it was “finished.” Monkey Bay did not have any diesel either, the station attendant told me. He said that the nearest station was in Mangochi, which was a bit out of my way but a necessary stop if I wanted to avoid running out of fuel. I felt a twinge of anxiety driving in the heart of Africa low on fuel and chastised myself for not bringing the fuel can I had bought months for times such as these. Anticipating a fuel shortage in Malawi did not cross my mind days before when I was in Lusaka preparing for this trip! I made it to Mangochi in short order and spent the remainder of my Malawian kwacha buying half a tank of diesel. That’s not enough fuel, I thought, and asked the attendant whether I could pay for a full tank of diesel in U.S. dollars. He agreed. Paying for half a tank set me back over $60.00. The attendant examined the $100 bill to make sure it wasn’t fake and paid me change in kwacha, which I used to refuel at the Malawian-Mozambican border. Crisis averted. For now.

I made my way back to the route I had planned to take to Mozambique. Local highways are not clearly marked, and I happenchance found the right route courtesy of a local advert that pointed me in the right direction. I headed in a general southerly direction, hurtling to the border. The area of Malawi bordering Mozambique is stunningly beautiful, with weathered mountains rising high enough to inspire breathtaking views but with signs of age that reminded me of just how ancient this continent is. The large boulders and smooth jagged peaks poked up from the greenish hills covered with swaths of African trees, the kind depicted in safari caricatures.

I exhausted my Malawian currency buying a bag of Lays potato chips and a can of Pepsi. I tried to trade for a few Malawian kwacha bills and coins, but the cashier at a Metro Cash and Carry market in the border Mwansa looked at me as if I were speaking a language other than English. Obviously she was not accustomed to an American accent, I observed. I tried using simple phrases such as “here is 100 kwacha; I want to trade for coins” to no avail. She took my 100 kwacha and gave me back a handful of oversized 10 kwacha coins. Mission accomplished, sort of.

The border crossing was fascinating. As the only muzungu (foreigner) in sight, I was particularly attractive to the local vendors, money changers, and those who came begging for money and food. I made sure my vehicle was thoroughly secure, valuables safely hidden away, and my official documents close to my chest. Sellers greeted me as I exited my vehicle. “Boss, you want metacais (Mozambican currency)? Rand (South African currency)?” No, I firmly replied. One man tried to help me “find” the immigration office even though I was parked in front of it. No thanks, I told him. While I know these vendors were merely trying to make a living, I also know that in a way most earn a decent income waiting to ambush naïve motorists who must stop to do their official duty of checking in and out of immigration.

Journey from Malawi to Zimbabwe via Mozambique