Sunday, October 5, 2008
Lesotho part 2
So, how are we going to cope with coming back to cold, sleepy, “out-of-the-way” Lesotho after such a holiday? Flying back we are both quiet, in the taxi to Maseru we are both quiet. Seeing capital city Maseru from the air, holiday blues hits us. Three, four high buildings, a few streets, some scattered houses… No funky night clubs, live music, croissants or coffee bars, no white beaches, coconut trees or warm Indian Ocean. We are on such a low!
We get over charged from the airport to Maseru. We’re tired and moody and with our new haggling skills and assumed “Africa experience” under our skin we argue with the driver over the price he’s charging us. In the end he gets the Government set price list out and shows us that the prices have risen from R35 to R40 :/ We decide to become a little less cocky…
I sleep most of the way to M/Hoek. I don’t want to deal with what’s outside the window (mostly grey dust, rusty, broken cars, half fallen down buildings and rough sheppard boys wrapped in blankets, hats and gum boots). The taxi takes us to our new home, a house owned by St.Patricks Catholic nuns. We learn that our security fence will be locked at 6.00 pm and that we can not do any washing on Sundays! 3 empty, white rooms are waiting for us. The heater, cooker and hot water we were promised is not yet there…
Nothing could have prepared us for the freezing cold climate. We’re used to an average of 25-30 degrees, outside it’s about 10. In the night it drops close to 0. We go to bed about 8.00 pm tucked under a heap of blankets and sleeping bags. Its pitch black, with electricity cuts from 7.00 to 10.00 pm. We start regretting our choice of staying on for 6 months…
I wake up at 8 am, quickly write down some thoughts on my next 6 months project, before I get too cold and go back to bed. At 10.00am we psyche ourselves up to face the world and go to say hi to Me Mahathlo, a colleague and friend who is now our nearest neighbor. She gives us delicious, freshly baked bread and coffee. Going food shopping, we meet Thabiso, another friend. He takes us home in his car and tells us that there is a DJ playing in the hotel the following weekend. We realize it will not be so bad to stay on after all…
So why am I here for 6 more months?
I’m here to work on my own project (still under Dolen Cymru, funded by British Council). I’m intending to raise pupils Basic English Skills (speaking, listening and reading) through using story books and games. I’m mainly focusing on STD 1 and 2 pupils in two schools.
In MEMPS, where pupils level of English is high, I also (try to) run an “English/life skills” club for STD 5 and 6, where we discuss issues that concern them (friendship, alcohol/drugs, gender, HIV) practicing everyday English skills.
Three weeks a month I’m based in MEMPS, the private, English Medium “town” school I’ve already worked in, one week a month I’m in Mokhopa Primary School, a rural school, located in a secluded mountain village two hours journey from here. (All depending on transport and state of the road)
Mokhopa – memoirs of another adventure
A 100 year old woman, a drunken man with chicken and a flu medicine tree.
I find myself very alone in the combi on the way to Mokhopa, a traditional Basotho village far up in the mountains. Whose idea was it to run a project up there? People have been laughing and shaking their heads when I’ve talked about it. Only crazy people would voluntarily want to go up there! I’ll be possessed by a witch or kidnapped by the boys in the secret mountain circumcision school they say.
I haven’t been so nervous in a long time. Sitting there I make up my strategy of approaching scary, unknown Basotho mountain village:
Keep quiet, be polite, observe, observe, copy everything Me Lekita does and DO NOT flash up a camera!
Me Lekita, the dep head of the school, is meant to meet me in Holy Cross. If she doesn’t turn up I’ll be left alone by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Luckily she turns up not long after I arrive and after some negotiations, we get a lift with a bakkie going up to the village. The usual transport is not running today.
Home and family
The best way to describe it: the TV series “Heidi”.
First I meet granny Me Mapomolo Leketa, around 70 y old and fit as a fiddle, outside her roundavel hut. She is cooking papa (maize porridge - staple food) in a three legged pot in the courtyard kitchen. Toothless Auntie Me Mathisetho, about the same age, is there too to assist and to chat. I realize quickly that my Sesotho is not up to scratch!
Also there are two cats, two competitive cocks, a heap of chicken, two donkeys, an outdoor toilet, two new square houses, another roundavel housing newborn chicks, three peach trees, a massive flu medicine pine tree and last but not least Ntate Lekita resting in his grave in the corner of the property.
I will be sharing a room in the new house with Me Leketa, and after having our evening bath together (something she didn’t seem to think was strange in the slightest, me a little more reluctant…) I realize that I can’t get much closer to the “traditional” Basotho lifestyle than this. After three days we’ve not only shared bath time, but thoughts on family issues, gender equality, HIV/AIDS, teenage pregnancies, alcohol/drugs, religion, school issues, you name it. I think we are both learning heaps!
School
This smallish mountain school with 200 pupils has a good atmosphere. Its main purpose seems to be keeping the children busy for the day, out of trouble and feeding them their daily, free school meal. Wednesdays has the highest attendance, as there is a whole egg each +papa and vegetables on the menu.
The children’s level of English is very low, even the older classes, so many are shy and giggle when I talk to them. My job so far has been to paint the alphabet, numbers and basic shapes on the walls in STD 1 and 2. Now the classrooms are looking colorful and inspiring for the children, and it was great seeing their excitement as they were running over to their new wall pointing and giggling, saying “apple”, “boy”, “cat”. The next step is to work with the teachers in developing learning games and visuals to compliment their teaching.
Looking forward to sharing ideas with them, they seem like quality teachers with a lot of experience.
One lunchtime I was dragged into the tiny staffroom. The dinner ladies wanted to perform for me… Walking in, one of them was playing the drums, while the other three, dressed in heavy bottle top mini skirts were whistling and dancing rhythmically. This was a dance only for ladies (saw a good few STD1 faces peeking through the window). As I got the lyrics translated and had a second look at their moves I understood why… all about making babies basically. (They do not understand how I can soon be 30 and not have children or a husband yet…)
It’s amazing the gratitude the teachers and villagers have showed me. I came back down with more food than I brought up. One being an alive chicken, brought to me by a little boy riding backward on a donkey with the chicken under his arm. The school choir sang and danced for me too.
The village
Most impressive to me was meeting a 100 y old lady living in a neighbor roundavel. She lied crocked and bent together on a mat on the floor. Apparently more or less clear headed still.
I’ve also learnt to collect wood with the children after school, learning plant names and uses of about every green straw in the mountain side. I have visited the new Water Project, where the villagers are damming up a stream to water their fields, and I’ve learnt how to stop soil erosion, by building up stone walls in the “dongas” to hold the soil in place.
We get over charged from the airport to Maseru. We’re tired and moody and with our new haggling skills and assumed “Africa experience” under our skin we argue with the driver over the price he’s charging us. In the end he gets the Government set price list out and shows us that the prices have risen from R35 to R40 :/ We decide to become a little less cocky…
I sleep most of the way to M/Hoek. I don’t want to deal with what’s outside the window (mostly grey dust, rusty, broken cars, half fallen down buildings and rough sheppard boys wrapped in blankets, hats and gum boots). The taxi takes us to our new home, a house owned by St.Patricks Catholic nuns. We learn that our security fence will be locked at 6.00 pm and that we can not do any washing on Sundays! 3 empty, white rooms are waiting for us. The heater, cooker and hot water we were promised is not yet there…
Nothing could have prepared us for the freezing cold climate. We’re used to an average of 25-30 degrees, outside it’s about 10. In the night it drops close to 0. We go to bed about 8.00 pm tucked under a heap of blankets and sleeping bags. Its pitch black, with electricity cuts from 7.00 to 10.00 pm. We start regretting our choice of staying on for 6 months…
I wake up at 8 am, quickly write down some thoughts on my next 6 months project, before I get too cold and go back to bed. At 10.00am we psyche ourselves up to face the world and go to say hi to Me Mahathlo, a colleague and friend who is now our nearest neighbor. She gives us delicious, freshly baked bread and coffee. Going food shopping, we meet Thabiso, another friend. He takes us home in his car and tells us that there is a DJ playing in the hotel the following weekend. We realize it will not be so bad to stay on after all…
So why am I here for 6 more months?
I’m here to work on my own project (still under Dolen Cymru, funded by British Council). I’m intending to raise pupils Basic English Skills (speaking, listening and reading) through using story books and games. I’m mainly focusing on STD 1 and 2 pupils in two schools.
In MEMPS, where pupils level of English is high, I also (try to) run an “English/life skills” club for STD 5 and 6, where we discuss issues that concern them (friendship, alcohol/drugs, gender, HIV) practicing everyday English skills.
Three weeks a month I’m based in MEMPS, the private, English Medium “town” school I’ve already worked in, one week a month I’m in Mokhopa Primary School, a rural school, located in a secluded mountain village two hours journey from here. (All depending on transport and state of the road)
Mokhopa – memoirs of another adventure
A 100 year old woman, a drunken man with chicken and a flu medicine tree.
I find myself very alone in the combi on the way to Mokhopa, a traditional Basotho village far up in the mountains. Whose idea was it to run a project up there? People have been laughing and shaking their heads when I’ve talked about it. Only crazy people would voluntarily want to go up there! I’ll be possessed by a witch or kidnapped by the boys in the secret mountain circumcision school they say.
I haven’t been so nervous in a long time. Sitting there I make up my strategy of approaching scary, unknown Basotho mountain village:
Keep quiet, be polite, observe, observe, copy everything Me Lekita does and DO NOT flash up a camera!
Me Lekita, the dep head of the school, is meant to meet me in Holy Cross. If she doesn’t turn up I’ll be left alone by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Luckily she turns up not long after I arrive and after some negotiations, we get a lift with a bakkie going up to the village. The usual transport is not running today.
Home and family
The best way to describe it: the TV series “Heidi”.
First I meet granny Me Mapomolo Leketa, around 70 y old and fit as a fiddle, outside her roundavel hut. She is cooking papa (maize porridge - staple food) in a three legged pot in the courtyard kitchen. Toothless Auntie Me Mathisetho, about the same age, is there too to assist and to chat. I realize quickly that my Sesotho is not up to scratch!
Also there are two cats, two competitive cocks, a heap of chicken, two donkeys, an outdoor toilet, two new square houses, another roundavel housing newborn chicks, three peach trees, a massive flu medicine pine tree and last but not least Ntate Lekita resting in his grave in the corner of the property.
I will be sharing a room in the new house with Me Leketa, and after having our evening bath together (something she didn’t seem to think was strange in the slightest, me a little more reluctant…) I realize that I can’t get much closer to the “traditional” Basotho lifestyle than this. After three days we’ve not only shared bath time, but thoughts on family issues, gender equality, HIV/AIDS, teenage pregnancies, alcohol/drugs, religion, school issues, you name it. I think we are both learning heaps!
School
This smallish mountain school with 200 pupils has a good atmosphere. Its main purpose seems to be keeping the children busy for the day, out of trouble and feeding them their daily, free school meal. Wednesdays has the highest attendance, as there is a whole egg each +papa and vegetables on the menu.
The children’s level of English is very low, even the older classes, so many are shy and giggle when I talk to them. My job so far has been to paint the alphabet, numbers and basic shapes on the walls in STD 1 and 2. Now the classrooms are looking colorful and inspiring for the children, and it was great seeing their excitement as they were running over to their new wall pointing and giggling, saying “apple”, “boy”, “cat”. The next step is to work with the teachers in developing learning games and visuals to compliment their teaching.
Looking forward to sharing ideas with them, they seem like quality teachers with a lot of experience.
One lunchtime I was dragged into the tiny staffroom. The dinner ladies wanted to perform for me… Walking in, one of them was playing the drums, while the other three, dressed in heavy bottle top mini skirts were whistling and dancing rhythmically. This was a dance only for ladies (saw a good few STD1 faces peeking through the window). As I got the lyrics translated and had a second look at their moves I understood why… all about making babies basically. (They do not understand how I can soon be 30 and not have children or a husband yet…)
It’s amazing the gratitude the teachers and villagers have showed me. I came back down with more food than I brought up. One being an alive chicken, brought to me by a little boy riding backward on a donkey with the chicken under his arm. The school choir sang and danced for me too.
The village
Most impressive to me was meeting a 100 y old lady living in a neighbor roundavel. She lied crocked and bent together on a mat on the floor. Apparently more or less clear headed still.
I’ve also learnt to collect wood with the children after school, learning plant names and uses of about every green straw in the mountain side. I have visited the new Water Project, where the villagers are damming up a stream to water their fields, and I’ve learnt how to stop soil erosion, by building up stone walls in the “dongas” to hold the soil in place.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Chokas
The following morning Cat and I are woken up at 4.30am by a great, loud, scratchy sound. It’s as the3rd world war has started right outside our door. We jump in our beds, looking at each other totally confused. “What on earth is that?” Then the scratches are followed by a long monologue of “Allah, Allah… blab la bla… Allah” … Argh. “God damn Muslims” we mumble to ourselves, laughing. Didn’t realize their first prayer of the day was this early!
Oh well, we have to get up early anyway. We’re meeting two fisher boys taking us over the bay to “deserted tropical paradise” Chokas in their “Barko do velha” (sailing boat).
I hang over the side of the beautiful wooden boat; reflecting on life, letting my hands dangle in the lunk warm, crystal clear water. This romantic moment of mine results in a 2nd degree sunburn on my hands, as my malaria tablets makes me extra sensitive to sun… For the rest of the holiday they’re bright red and itchy, with blisters all over. Charming! Now I’ve got wrinkly hands like an old woman. Never get too carried away in your own thoughts is the moral of this story…
Chokas is all what was promised to us. Most of the time we were only the two of us on the endless, white sandy beach. There were palm trees, coconuts, fresh fish and fruit, a little beach hut with a shaded hammock all to ourselves and just a few souvenir sellers, soon turned friends, for four long, peaceful days.
Our new “friends” made big business on us, as an army of mini non-destructible ants attacked our food supply, and we had to buy everything again. When they offered us fresh fish, and we had to turn down the offer for lack of cooking facilities in our hut, they dished up a fire on the beach in minutes and grilled them for us. Just what we needed after 6 months without a fish in sight in Lesotho. Yum!
Our trip back to Ilha do Mozambique, where we wanted some weekend partying, went through the charming fishing village of Cabaceira Pequena, where we passed wood carrying Mokua women with white painted (beauty masks) faces. We paddled through mangrove forests and shallow waters, before ending on a beach full of fishing boats, one of them zig zaging us back over the bay to Ilha.
We’re back just in time for the Saturday bodybuilding competition. The music is blasting and the islands selections of beefy men are showing their steel on a mat on the beach. Personally I enjoyed the look of the men outside the mat more.
Sunday we spend strolling around the island, soaking up the magic atmosphere of this place, caused by the mix of rustic, Portuguese colonial architecture, local straw huts and markets, Muslim mosques and patterns and a complete sense of safety. No problems for two girls walking around at night in the dark side alleys. What a strange feeling!
I cried when I left this place!
Maputo
The flight to Maputo seemed endless. I’m sulking. What’s the point of having holiday if I can’t stay longer on the island? Don’t think I’ll ever want to be anywhere else…
It lasts for about a day. Then we get invited to Gil Vincente for karaoke night. Meera, our master student friend from London living in our hostel is leaving. It is great fun! The music is funky, mix of rock, indie and reggae… on a karaoke night. I nearly go up and do “Where is my mind” with the Pixies, but luckily for the others I chicken out!
We start talking to some Rastafaris… something resulting in us spending another week in Maputo as Rasta wannabe’s. In this time we learn about 100 different hand shakes, how to always talk in rhymes, how to end all words in –ai (yesai!), the true meaning of Peace, Love and Respect”… or shall we say “how to sit around ALL DAY and talk revolutionary thoughts, but never do anything about it.” Also to mention is swapping my beloved trousers for one of Rasta Butcheka’s brilliant art works, the truest artist of the flock.
We cry a little leaving Maputo too…
Swaziland - Durban
En route to Durban, via Swaziland, to visit friends and to catch the Baz Bus back to Johannesburg and catch our flight to Maseru. What to say about Durban… For not much else than revisiting good old “New Light” bar and the new Rasta bar ”Cool Runnings” it really highlighted how “Africa Innocent” we were last time we visited the city only four months earlier. The experiences we’ve had in the meanwhile and the changes in our minds are almost too much to comprehend. Wonder how it will be to move back home…
The following morning Cat and I are woken up at 4.30am by a great, loud, scratchy sound. It’s as the3rd world war has started right outside our door. We jump in our beds, looking at each other totally confused. “What on earth is that?” Then the scratches are followed by a long monologue of “Allah, Allah… blab la bla… Allah” … Argh. “God damn Muslims” we mumble to ourselves, laughing. Didn’t realize their first prayer of the day was this early!
Oh well, we have to get up early anyway. We’re meeting two fisher boys taking us over the bay to “deserted tropical paradise” Chokas in their “Barko do velha” (sailing boat).
I hang over the side of the beautiful wooden boat; reflecting on life, letting my hands dangle in the lunk warm, crystal clear water. This romantic moment of mine results in a 2nd degree sunburn on my hands, as my malaria tablets makes me extra sensitive to sun… For the rest of the holiday they’re bright red and itchy, with blisters all over. Charming! Now I’ve got wrinkly hands like an old woman. Never get too carried away in your own thoughts is the moral of this story…
Chokas is all what was promised to us. Most of the time we were only the two of us on the endless, white sandy beach. There were palm trees, coconuts, fresh fish and fruit, a little beach hut with a shaded hammock all to ourselves and just a few souvenir sellers, soon turned friends, for four long, peaceful days.
Our new “friends” made big business on us, as an army of mini non-destructible ants attacked our food supply, and we had to buy everything again. When they offered us fresh fish, and we had to turn down the offer for lack of cooking facilities in our hut, they dished up a fire on the beach in minutes and grilled them for us. Just what we needed after 6 months without a fish in sight in Lesotho. Yum!
Our trip back to Ilha do Mozambique, where we wanted some weekend partying, went through the charming fishing village of Cabaceira Pequena, where we passed wood carrying Mokua women with white painted (beauty masks) faces. We paddled through mangrove forests and shallow waters, before ending on a beach full of fishing boats, one of them zig zaging us back over the bay to Ilha.
We’re back just in time for the Saturday bodybuilding competition. The music is blasting and the islands selections of beefy men are showing their steel on a mat on the beach. Personally I enjoyed the look of the men outside the mat more.
Sunday we spend strolling around the island, soaking up the magic atmosphere of this place, caused by the mix of rustic, Portuguese colonial architecture, local straw huts and markets, Muslim mosques and patterns and a complete sense of safety. No problems for two girls walking around at night in the dark side alleys. What a strange feeling!
I cried when I left this place!
Maputo
The flight to Maputo seemed endless. I’m sulking. What’s the point of having holiday if I can’t stay longer on the island? Don’t think I’ll ever want to be anywhere else…
It lasts for about a day. Then we get invited to Gil Vincente for karaoke night. Meera, our master student friend from London living in our hostel is leaving. It is great fun! The music is funky, mix of rock, indie and reggae… on a karaoke night. I nearly go up and do “Where is my mind” with the Pixies, but luckily for the others I chicken out!
We start talking to some Rastafaris… something resulting in us spending another week in Maputo as Rasta wannabe’s. In this time we learn about 100 different hand shakes, how to always talk in rhymes, how to end all words in –ai (yesai!), the true meaning of Peace, Love and Respect”… or shall we say “how to sit around ALL DAY and talk revolutionary thoughts, but never do anything about it.” Also to mention is swapping my beloved trousers for one of Rasta Butcheka’s brilliant art works, the truest artist of the flock.
We cry a little leaving Maputo too…
Swaziland - Durban
En route to Durban, via Swaziland, to visit friends and to catch the Baz Bus back to Johannesburg and catch our flight to Maseru. What to say about Durban… For not much else than revisiting good old “New Light” bar and the new Rasta bar ”Cool Runnings” it really highlighted how “Africa Innocent” we were last time we visited the city only four months earlier. The experiences we’ve had in the meanwhile and the changes in our minds are almost too much to comprehend. Wonder how it will be to move back home…
Thursday, July 31, 2008
7 weeks holiday… paid by British Council ;) Part 1
We’ve packed our things, moved them to our new house and said our goodbyes. Now it\s time for holiday! And that on British Councils account (really our saved up stipend).
Kruger National Park
Rachel, Ian (Rach’s boyfriend) and I decided to start off with a trip to Kruger National Park for an African safari experience, while the two others were off to Swaziland to visit some friends of Danielle. We spend two days in the park, all wrapped up in warm blankets on the back of a safari van, soaking up the magic play between animals and nature, whilst humming to Elton Johns “Circle of Life”. 3 teenage lions play fighting and a family of giraffes got the most impressive prize.
Off we go, wedged in between luggage and locals on a bumpy combi (local taxi/bus) to Maputo to meet up with the other Hoekers for a final goodbye. It’s time for Danielle and Rachel to make their way back to Wales. We first make friends with a little boy, and before we know it we are friends with the whole combi and get money exchange, Mozambique SIM card, directions and taxi to the hostel and food sorted for us… Did anyone say to be careful about using local transport?
Maputo
It’s great being in Maputo again. It feels like home. The novelty of coffee shops with fresh croissants, live music, a night life! great architecture, seafood!!! and a tropical climate feels ohh so good! The first days I spend just soaking up the atmosphere, hoping Catherine that I will travel with for 4 weeks in this country will like it as much as me. When the rest of the crew + Claire, Dan’s friend, arrives from Swaziland, we hang out on the beach, eat seafood, drink REAL coffee and go out listening to funky music, before we have to say good bye for real and suddenly its just Cat and me left in the city!
Cat and I spend a few days freaking out. Suddenly it is only the two of us, and that for the next 6 months! We run around, trying to organize ourselves and our lives, our project for the next 6 months in Lesotho, our travels in Mozambique for the next 4 weeks, before we hit ourselves in the head, or maybe each others heads and say… “Hang on, we’ll be all right you know. We’ll be rock n rollin in fact.” From that moment our holiday turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life!
Maputo - Beira
Our bus to Beira is leaving at 4.00am in the morning and we have arranged for a taxi to pick us up at 3.00am, but we go out and have too much fun and have to rearrange our departure for the next morning. The bus stop is pitch black and full of scary drunk men, but our local “Express bus” is there waiting for us, so we toughen up (girl power!?), haggle the prices with the help of our taxi driver, complaining that our seats are not good enough (sticky leather seats in the heat is not to prefer) and get given some better ones. We feel good about ourselves. Holiday here we come!
18 hours, many conversations and Portuguese lessons later we meet Miguel, Tania and Thais, their 6 year old daughter, friends of my family, in Beira. We spend 2 days in their house, being treated like queens! It is so relaxing to be in a family home after so long, having a whole house, with internet connection, warm showers, a washing machine (first time in 6 months!) and a big Schaefer dog called Biba and a beach 5 min away to ourselves. We cherish every moment!
Events to mention in Beira are first of all the recording of Manune Jackson’s music video, taken place at “Sunlight Food Court” where we had dinner with the family. It involved 4 black guys dressed in silver and gold Bruce Lee outfits, dancing hip hop, 2 bodybuilders in NOT matching Bermuda shorts and a Rastafari lead singer with constantly changing outfits. Got to get hold of this video when it’s done!
Another one, not so funny, my bag with passport and Cat’s camera were snatched right in front of us on the beach. We followed the guy’s footsteps in the sand and with a (fit) police officers’ and some local souvenir sellers’ help, we luckily found my passport chucked by the side of the road. Unfortunately all our photos and camera were lost!
We owe a big thank you to Tania + Fam for sorting us out with everything, the police, passport photocopies, flight and bus tickets etc etc, and generally for being so open and friendly to us. We had a great time with you. Be sure we’ll come back and visit you!
Beira - Quelimane
Next morning up at 3 again. The bus to Quelimane is leaving at 4.00am. I will never forget Miguel’s concerned look through the bus window as we wave goodbye with our knees under our ears and our luggage where the legs are meant to be, set for our 15 hour bus journey going north.
We drive through stunning Gorongosa National Park, witnessing the most beautiful sun rise over misty tropical forests and reed hut villages. By this point I’m praising myself for all the yoga lessons I’ve done in my life, but I’ve stopped feeling my legs a few hours ago. Hope they’re still there. And yes, I realize they are as an Unidentified Object (feeling a bit like a lizard) is crawling up them. I scream and the whole bus start laughing of the stupid screamish white girl, saying “Ha ha ha, rat, rat rat!”.
Reaching the Zambezi River at mid day, we have to wait for two hours to cross on the small ferry. We spend our time watching the fit men sorting out luggage on the bus roof tops, the young boys selling refreshments to people waiting and the women feeding their many children and smoking cigarettes the wrong way around!?!
We make a friend that promises to help us sort out tickets for tomorrow mornings’ bus, 4.00am again, and to find a place to sleep for the night. His name is Jacinto and is a Mozambiqian, training to be a Catholic priest in South Africa (we think…) He is one of a few people that can speak English, as our Portuguese is not that up to scratch… yet. Two others to mention is two diamond sellers from Congo on holiday… hmmm!?! We go for the Catholic priest. He seems the most reliable. And he’s got big beefy muscles and can look mean. And yes, the guy sorts us out with tickets and a place where we can have a shower and some food, and after we drink most of the bottle of wine that the owner offers to us and later asks us to pay for, he sort things out so we don’t have to pay and escorts us safely back to the bus that’s departing in a few hours.
We learn quickly that playing vulnerable little girls pay off ;)
Quelimane - Nampula
Quelimane to Nampula, beefy priests’ home town, is 11 hours away. Another breath taking sun rise over Mocuba, a rustique, colonial architecture mixed with African reed markets town. I fall head over heal for this magic part of the world. Since hitting Gorongosa National Park yesterday my heart has sunk and I can’t do anything else than stare out of the window and soak in every smell, sight, and sound of this place. The colours changes from deep red to okra to bright greens to yellow to red again. I have to go back here!
Reaching Nampula the landscape changes from tropical forests to mountainous terrain. Apparently some of the peaks are over 2000m high. Jacinto teaches us a about the types of food we see drying in the sun outside the straw huts, lagosht(?), cassava, and about the crops we see in the fields and the names of the mountains and the rivers and the villages and provinces. He also goes into detail on how to open and scrape a coconut and how to separate the milk and the meat. All very useful, but we’re start looking forward to having our own peaceful hotel room all to ourselves…
I wake up very excited in the morning. This is the day we will reach Ilha do Mozambique, the goal for our trip to the north, somewhere I’ve wanted to see ever since I saw my parents’ pictures of the place. I have felt bad about dragging Cat with me all this way, not really knowing what to expect. What if it is a disappointment after all our travel efforts and money spent? I’m nervous!
Before we set off, we visit Jacinto’s former job, as a radio reporter on the local Catholic radio station. They report in Portuguese, French, English and the local tribe language Mokua. We meet DJ Silva while he’s on air and see the evening news being recorded in another studio. Interesting!
Ilha do Mozambique
And then we’re on our way to the Island, Ilha. It takes us 2 hours, again getting to know people on the bus to help us further. There is always someone that wants to talk, share food and stories. In the dark we+luggage get shipped over to the back of a bakkie, together with bags of rice, groceries and a handful of locals. “Casa do Gabriel, por favour” we say hopefully. It is dark, we have no idea, but everyone seems friendly.
We see contours of buildings and palm trees, a mosque, the sound of the sea. The bakkie’s hooting. We get dropped off outside a massive double door with big round handles. Shit, we didn’t book. Wonder if they’ll open for us…
Doors open into the most beautifully designed hostel I’ve ever seen. The owner is an Italian architect that fell in love with the Island and decided to move here. He is not just an architect but an interior architect as well. Every room is carefully put together in a mish mash of Mozambiqian/tropical island style mixed with Italian/Greek classicism. Stepping into the bathroom for the first time I feel like a Greek goddess missing her toga. Here I have a shower while watching the stars through the open reed roof. In the morning we wake up to freshly baked rolls, papaya jam, REAL butter and coffee… All this to no more than a bunk bed in a dorm in Maputo!
More adventures to follow…
Kruger National Park
Rachel, Ian (Rach’s boyfriend) and I decided to start off with a trip to Kruger National Park for an African safari experience, while the two others were off to Swaziland to visit some friends of Danielle. We spend two days in the park, all wrapped up in warm blankets on the back of a safari van, soaking up the magic play between animals and nature, whilst humming to Elton Johns “Circle of Life”. 3 teenage lions play fighting and a family of giraffes got the most impressive prize.
Off we go, wedged in between luggage and locals on a bumpy combi (local taxi/bus) to Maputo to meet up with the other Hoekers for a final goodbye. It’s time for Danielle and Rachel to make their way back to Wales. We first make friends with a little boy, and before we know it we are friends with the whole combi and get money exchange, Mozambique SIM card, directions and taxi to the hostel and food sorted for us… Did anyone say to be careful about using local transport?
Maputo
It’s great being in Maputo again. It feels like home. The novelty of coffee shops with fresh croissants, live music, a night life! great architecture, seafood!!! and a tropical climate feels ohh so good! The first days I spend just soaking up the atmosphere, hoping Catherine that I will travel with for 4 weeks in this country will like it as much as me. When the rest of the crew + Claire, Dan’s friend, arrives from Swaziland, we hang out on the beach, eat seafood, drink REAL coffee and go out listening to funky music, before we have to say good bye for real and suddenly its just Cat and me left in the city!
Cat and I spend a few days freaking out. Suddenly it is only the two of us, and that for the next 6 months! We run around, trying to organize ourselves and our lives, our project for the next 6 months in Lesotho, our travels in Mozambique for the next 4 weeks, before we hit ourselves in the head, or maybe each others heads and say… “Hang on, we’ll be all right you know. We’ll be rock n rollin in fact.” From that moment our holiday turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life!
Maputo - Beira
Our bus to Beira is leaving at 4.00am in the morning and we have arranged for a taxi to pick us up at 3.00am, but we go out and have too much fun and have to rearrange our departure for the next morning. The bus stop is pitch black and full of scary drunk men, but our local “Express bus” is there waiting for us, so we toughen up (girl power!?), haggle the prices with the help of our taxi driver, complaining that our seats are not good enough (sticky leather seats in the heat is not to prefer) and get given some better ones. We feel good about ourselves. Holiday here we come!
18 hours, many conversations and Portuguese lessons later we meet Miguel, Tania and Thais, their 6 year old daughter, friends of my family, in Beira. We spend 2 days in their house, being treated like queens! It is so relaxing to be in a family home after so long, having a whole house, with internet connection, warm showers, a washing machine (first time in 6 months!) and a big Schaefer dog called Biba and a beach 5 min away to ourselves. We cherish every moment!
Events to mention in Beira are first of all the recording of Manune Jackson’s music video, taken place at “Sunlight Food Court” where we had dinner with the family. It involved 4 black guys dressed in silver and gold Bruce Lee outfits, dancing hip hop, 2 bodybuilders in NOT matching Bermuda shorts and a Rastafari lead singer with constantly changing outfits. Got to get hold of this video when it’s done!
Another one, not so funny, my bag with passport and Cat’s camera were snatched right in front of us on the beach. We followed the guy’s footsteps in the sand and with a (fit) police officers’ and some local souvenir sellers’ help, we luckily found my passport chucked by the side of the road. Unfortunately all our photos and camera were lost!
We owe a big thank you to Tania + Fam for sorting us out with everything, the police, passport photocopies, flight and bus tickets etc etc, and generally for being so open and friendly to us. We had a great time with you. Be sure we’ll come back and visit you!
Beira - Quelimane
Next morning up at 3 again. The bus to Quelimane is leaving at 4.00am. I will never forget Miguel’s concerned look through the bus window as we wave goodbye with our knees under our ears and our luggage where the legs are meant to be, set for our 15 hour bus journey going north.
We drive through stunning Gorongosa National Park, witnessing the most beautiful sun rise over misty tropical forests and reed hut villages. By this point I’m praising myself for all the yoga lessons I’ve done in my life, but I’ve stopped feeling my legs a few hours ago. Hope they’re still there. And yes, I realize they are as an Unidentified Object (feeling a bit like a lizard) is crawling up them. I scream and the whole bus start laughing of the stupid screamish white girl, saying “Ha ha ha, rat, rat rat!”.
Reaching the Zambezi River at mid day, we have to wait for two hours to cross on the small ferry. We spend our time watching the fit men sorting out luggage on the bus roof tops, the young boys selling refreshments to people waiting and the women feeding their many children and smoking cigarettes the wrong way around!?!
We make a friend that promises to help us sort out tickets for tomorrow mornings’ bus, 4.00am again, and to find a place to sleep for the night. His name is Jacinto and is a Mozambiqian, training to be a Catholic priest in South Africa (we think…) He is one of a few people that can speak English, as our Portuguese is not that up to scratch… yet. Two others to mention is two diamond sellers from Congo on holiday… hmmm!?! We go for the Catholic priest. He seems the most reliable. And he’s got big beefy muscles and can look mean. And yes, the guy sorts us out with tickets and a place where we can have a shower and some food, and after we drink most of the bottle of wine that the owner offers to us and later asks us to pay for, he sort things out so we don’t have to pay and escorts us safely back to the bus that’s departing in a few hours.
We learn quickly that playing vulnerable little girls pay off ;)
Quelimane - Nampula
Quelimane to Nampula, beefy priests’ home town, is 11 hours away. Another breath taking sun rise over Mocuba, a rustique, colonial architecture mixed with African reed markets town. I fall head over heal for this magic part of the world. Since hitting Gorongosa National Park yesterday my heart has sunk and I can’t do anything else than stare out of the window and soak in every smell, sight, and sound of this place. The colours changes from deep red to okra to bright greens to yellow to red again. I have to go back here!
Reaching Nampula the landscape changes from tropical forests to mountainous terrain. Apparently some of the peaks are over 2000m high. Jacinto teaches us a about the types of food we see drying in the sun outside the straw huts, lagosht(?), cassava, and about the crops we see in the fields and the names of the mountains and the rivers and the villages and provinces. He also goes into detail on how to open and scrape a coconut and how to separate the milk and the meat. All very useful, but we’re start looking forward to having our own peaceful hotel room all to ourselves…
I wake up very excited in the morning. This is the day we will reach Ilha do Mozambique, the goal for our trip to the north, somewhere I’ve wanted to see ever since I saw my parents’ pictures of the place. I have felt bad about dragging Cat with me all this way, not really knowing what to expect. What if it is a disappointment after all our travel efforts and money spent? I’m nervous!
Before we set off, we visit Jacinto’s former job, as a radio reporter on the local Catholic radio station. They report in Portuguese, French, English and the local tribe language Mokua. We meet DJ Silva while he’s on air and see the evening news being recorded in another studio. Interesting!
Ilha do Mozambique
And then we’re on our way to the Island, Ilha. It takes us 2 hours, again getting to know people on the bus to help us further. There is always someone that wants to talk, share food and stories. In the dark we+luggage get shipped over to the back of a bakkie, together with bags of rice, groceries and a handful of locals. “Casa do Gabriel, por favour” we say hopefully. It is dark, we have no idea, but everyone seems friendly.
We see contours of buildings and palm trees, a mosque, the sound of the sea. The bakkie’s hooting. We get dropped off outside a massive double door with big round handles. Shit, we didn’t book. Wonder if they’ll open for us…
Doors open into the most beautifully designed hostel I’ve ever seen. The owner is an Italian architect that fell in love with the Island and decided to move here. He is not just an architect but an interior architect as well. Every room is carefully put together in a mish mash of Mozambiqian/tropical island style mixed with Italian/Greek classicism. Stepping into the bathroom for the first time I feel like a Greek goddess missing her toga. Here I have a shower while watching the stars through the open reed roof. In the morning we wake up to freshly baked rolls, papaya jam, REAL butter and coffee… All this to no more than a bunk bed in a dorm in Maputo!
More adventures to follow…
Monday, June 30, 2008
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