My Trip to Paradise… Also known as Mozambique!

In June 2014, several of my PCV friends, Will, Amanda, Jiggetts, and I, took off for a 10 day vacation in Mozambique. The trip there are back was trying, but oh-so-worth-it the moment we stepped foot in the crystal blue, lukewarm Indian Ocean!

The trip to the coast of Mozambique in south-eastern Africa took us through three countries. On the first morning, we rallied together in Maputsoe, to cross the Lesotho border together and take a taxi from Ficksburg. The trip to Johannesburg was typical, minus an infuriating run in with some corrupt S. African policemen along the way (see my blog-post on Discrimination for the full story)… We arrived in the ever-so-sketchy taxi rank in Johannesburg, where we hired a porter to make the terrifying 5-6 block walk through the dangerous streets of Joburg to the Central Bus Terminal. After a few hours of waiting, we were on an overnight bus to Maputo, Mozambique!

But as all world-travelers know… Nothing ever goes as planned. Our Intercape bus liner refused to wait for us at the border to Mozambique when the border crossing’s computer system went down and we were unable to get our Visa’s. So we stood and watched the giant bus leave, as we waited helplessly in line for a Visa. Luckily, Peace Corps Volunteers are nothing if not resourceful… Ha! We rallied our spirits for an adventure, marveled at our first glimpses of Mozambique as the sun started to rise, pulled on our hiking packs, and started walking! Not far down the road we found a taxi rank, where we used broken Spanish (which, just for the record, is NOTHING like Portuguese! But little did we know at the time… Ha!) to negotiate a driver to take us the final hour drive into Maputo!

Our one day stay in Maputo was brief, but after some quick cat-naps and hot showers at our hostel, we set out to explore the city! Coming from Lesotho, I was SO impressed with the level of infrastructure and architecture. While the Portuguese certainly left most of Mozambique in war-torn tatters when they left, they    

certainly also left behind a legacy of amazing architecture, food, and their language. It was such an incredibly interesting combination of European and African influences, all mixed into one beautiful, tropical country.

In City Hall in Maputo, Mozambique.

The next morning we were back to the road! Only this time instead of a comfortable bus it was a local taxi… But if there’s anything we know, it’s public transport! The taxi to the little beach town of Tofo left at 4:30am, and didn’t arrive until about 4pm that evening… So needless to say it was a LONG day. But we did get to see a lot of the Mozambiquan country-side… Scattered along the lush, tropical landscape were little family compounds and village clearings. Women in brightly colored African-print wrap skirts toted fire wood along the roads, and sold bananas and cassava roots out of giant baskets. The houses, made of sticks and woven grass seemed the antithesis of rondavals in Lesotho… They were built to be breezy and cool in the heat and humidity of this coastal climate. It was truly beautiful countryside.

At some point during the morning, a very old woman slowly boarded the taxi and took the seat next to me… Since I don’t speak Portuguese nor any of the MANY indigenous languages spoken by the people in the area, I simply gave her a smile and moved my giant pack out of her way. But a few miles down the road, I started to feel queasy. “Do you smell fish?!” I whispered to Will. “Something smells awful!” “Yeah… I definitely smell… something?” We started to search, glancing around the old woman crammed between us in the tightly packed taxi. Eventually, we gave up the search. But when the little old lady departed about an hour later, I looked down in horror. On the floor of the taxi sat a dead fish, that she’d apparently dropped and stepped on. The floor was covered in fish slime, that had spread to cover both of our hiking packs that sat in the aisle. Needless to say, it was a rather smelly trip from there on out… Ha!

And let me tell you… When travelling in Mozambique (or actually, just Africa in general) be cautious of your fluid intake, because one pee-break in 10 hours is simply not enough. Ha! About 6 hours into the trip, we all thought we were going to have a seriously embarrassing problem. But just when it was getting “critical”, the bus pulled to the side of the road, just outside a small village. “This is it!” we all rejoiced, as we watched all the locals on the taxi depart. Clearly the women knew where they were going, so Amanda, Jiggetts, and I fell in line and hoped they were going to a toilet! As it turns out they were, just not one like anything we’d ever seen! “What is this?! What do we do?!” Jiggetts exclaimed as we entered the one-room, cinder-block with a concrete trough running around the wall. “I have no idea, but I think bo-‘Me are about to show us!” I said, laughing. As we observed the women squat, right in front of each other, over the trough, we realized this was going to be a very public experience. Women lined up front-to-back up on the trough, squatted, and did their business. Afterwards, they picked up a ladle in a bucket of water near the wall and poured water over their waste to wash it down a drain in the corner… Now I should preface this by saying I have used a LOT of different toilets in my travels, but this was a TOTALLY new experience. But nothing motivates you to forge bravely into the unknown quite like a full bladder, with another 5-6 hours on the road still to come… So in we went! Yet another grand adventure to travelling!

We finally arrived in Tofo exhausted, hot, and convinced we’d never get on public transport again… But it was all worth it the moment we saw our little bungalow right ON the beach. The weather was gorgeous, a perfect antidote to the freezing cold winter we’d left behind in the mountains of Lesotho.

Our beach bungalows in Tofo.

  My lovely travelling companions… Dominique, Amanda, Will, Jiggetts, and I.

Tofo Beach

 

Families gathering food from the ocean in the early morning.

  

View from our beach bungalow… Talk about paradise, right?!

Each morning we woke up and gorged ourselves on fresh fruit and fresh baked baguettes, that women all over the village sold out of big baskets for nearly nothing. The fruit was amazing… I swear I think I never had a real banana until I went to Mozambique: half the size, but 10 times the flavor. There were mangos, papayas, oranges, nectarines, GIANT avocados, pineapples, bananas, passion fruit, and dozens of other fruits I didn’t even recognize. In the afternoons, as we sunbathed on the nearly empty beach, little boys would come buy selling fresh coconuts. The would take out their machetes and with two whacks crack the tops off for us… Then out with the local rum and pineapple! We added it right to the coconut juice in the shell: our version of a pina colada on the beach! We ate seafood for nearly every meal EVERY day… And the manager of our hotel, Beano, was absolutely phenomenal and tracked us down fresh fish for a braii one evening. The ladies and I spent WAY too much money craft and fabric shopping in the village, where I found an amazing hand-carved wooden mask from northern Mozambique. We spent one whole afternoon getting Swedish massages from a local ex-pat scuba-diving, yoga- teaching couple. The entire week was the definition of what a vacation  should be! Ha!

A beautiful little mosque in Inhambabane, Mozambique. 
 

We found these local men carving along the roadside outside Inhambabane.

  

The boys and I, ready for an afternoon of doing NOTHING. :)

 

The bread woman, who saw us every morning for fresh baguettes! Yum!

Ernesto and his sister worked at the lodge where we stayed, and joined us for a seafood braii one night! Fun!

Did I mention we ate a LOT of seafood?!

The highlight of the trip, however, was Ocean Safari and deep-water snorkeling in the Indian Ocean! A few days into our trip we arranged to go out with a guide to look for dolphins, giant manta-rays (which that region of Mozambique is famous for!), sharks, and whales. We spent several hours going up and down the coat on the dive boat, but saw NOTHING. So  we decided instead to detour to two shallow-dive sites for some snorkeling in the local reefs… I’ve never been snorkeling before, and it took me a few minutes of relaxing to get the hang of my breathing. But once I figured it out, I LOVED it. The reefs were absolutely gorgeous… Covered with bright coral, schools of fish, and other creatures. We had a great time, and really started to get the hang of snorkeling.

 

Shots from our guide’s underwater camera, while at the shallow-dive site.

Launching and landing the speed boat in the ocean surf was honestly the scariest part of the whole experience… They’d drag it in with the tractor, and then it was up to us to get it out, hop in, and then hold on for dear life! Ha!

But we were still disappointed… Our guide said it was nearly unheard of to see nothing, so we decided to give it one last shot… The next morning we got up bright and early, and hit the ocean just after sunrise. This time we got lucky almost immediately! We saw multiple pods of dolphins, and giant manta-rays! Each time we spotted something, our guide and driver would guide the boat as close as possible, without scaring the animals and then we’d flip overboard to try to catch glimpses of them while snorkeling. The dolphins were notoriously skittish, and would dive almost before we could even hit the water…. But one of the giant manta-ray was AMAZING. He stayed, swimming around us in giant circles. He was massive, and glided so effortlessly. I was thankful that we’d spent some time practicing snorkeling the day before, otherwise I don’t think I would have been comfortable enough with the mask and equipment to focus on him… But as it was, we climbed back in the boat with some amazing mental images .

The whole gang on Day 2:
Ready to swim with some giant manta-rays!

You can’t see it… But there’s a manta-ray swimming around us!

We saw multiple pods of dolphins VERY close to our boat!

As we travelled further down the coast on the boat, we had the real find of the day… A pod of three migrating Humpback Whales, two adults and one baby. I can’t even begin to described how amazing it was to watch them swim. They were MASSIVE, and beautiful. They moved so effortlessly, at times swimming close enough to our boat that I could have thrown a ball and hit them. We tailed them for more than an hour, mesmerized by them. Without a doubt, it was the coolest animal encounter of my time in Mozambique.

At the end of our seven day trip, I boarded the bus back to Maputo relaxed and rejuvenated. Our trip was exactly the reprieve I needed from winter in Lesotho, and I will always remember is as lush, green, and gorgeous. Truly an adventure in paradise…

With Love from Mozambique… –Mary E.

What discrimination looks like...

While on the way to Mozambique last month, I was traveling in a public taxi from the Lesotho border to Johannesburg, South Africa with several PCV friends. About 30 minutes into the five hour trip, we encountered a police checkpoint along the highway, run by two black South African police officers. The officers flagged down the Quantum, which was carrying about 25 people (all Basotho and us) and packed to the rim with luggage. From the moment the driver pulled us over, something told me this wasn't a good situation. The officer who came over to open the sliding door was immediately confrontational. He rudely demanded in Sesotho that everyone get off the taxi with their luggage. As his gaze searched the taxi, he suddenly came across 5-6 white faces, buried with Basotho under bags in the back. Almost immediately his demeanor changed... He started to speak only in English, mocking our Mosotho driver who clearly had difficulty understanding him.

As we waited in line with our bags outside the taxi, everyone seemed resigned to the non-optional search, and Basotho willingly presented their bags. Without even the pretence of asking permission, they began digging around in people's bags, tossing them aside haphazardly after their search. As an American, this invasion of privacy immediately struck me as uncalled for and illegal. I stood to the side, quietly evaluating the situation, and pointedly avoiding the obvious line Basotho had made to have their bags searched. I had no intention of submitting to an unwarranted search of my luggage without a  good reason. As it turned out, however, I had no need to worry... I'd almost forgotten. I'm white. 

As I watched the Bastho passengers submit to the unlawful search, one of the officers sidled up beside me. "What's your name?" he asked, with a little too pointed interest. After a few minutes of answering his questions with patience, despite the unraveling situation in front of us, he leaned over and said, "Can you believe these Basotho? They're so stupid." I was immediately affronted. As I turned to him, I switched over to Sesotho in a pointed act of solidarity. "Ke lula Lesotho, Ntate, le batho ba mo." I said, harshly. "Ke ruta bana ka Lesotho. Hape ke tseba Basotho ba bohlale haholo... Ha u tsebe Basotho, Ntate." I said, moving away from him. Shock and surprise washed over his face, at my defense of "these people." Had I been almost any other white person in South Africa, he would have likely found me a willing ally... Ready to lambaste Basotho and rail on about their stupidity and incompetence. He couldn't have known that he'd stumbled upon the only 5 white people in all of South Africa who live with, work beside, and truly care for Basotho. He immediately realized he'd made a huge error in judgement about us. 

Yet these two particular police officers seemed to enjoy the attention, and proceeded to press the issue.... Making an obnoxious show about saying that they had the right to search any Mosotho they wanted to, with or without permission. It was the definition of a power trip. We eventually boarded the taxi again, ready to get  back on the road and leave these two pompous officers and their prejudices behind. As we settled in, however, we noticed that a young woman from the front of the taxi, and a little boy and his older brother, who had sat beside me in the back, were still standing outside. The officers were yelling at them in Sesotho, and even without any knowledge of the language, I could have told you something was wrong. As the minutes dragged on, and the three passengers outside pleaded with the officers for leniency, the woman next to me leaned over. "The man and woman don't have a valid passport on them, and the officers are saying they have to arrest them," she said with a regretful shake of her head. "Is that legal, 'Me?" I asked, confused at what seemed like a fairly severe punishment for a minor infraction "Technically they are supposed to have a passport if they are Basotho citizens, but the young man says that he and his little brother are actually South African citizens who live in Ficksburg and he doesn't have a passport." As I listened carefully to the yelling and pleading outside, I caught that the young man who had been sitting beside me was taking his little brother home to their mother, who lives outside Johanneburg. They were coming from their grandmother's house in Ficksburg, near the Lesotho border. 

When the officer heard this excuse, he laughed meanly. "They are Basotho!" he railed on. "Of course they are Basotho... Look here." He said, roughly jerking the little boy towards the window near my seat in the back. I watched as he pulled the boys left arm up, and slid up his shirt sleeve. He searched the skin on the inside of his fore-arm for something I couldn't see. "Aha!" he said. "See! Basotho!" He shouted triumphantly. I looked towards the place where he pointed and saw a small scar. It made a tiny, almost unnoticeable bump on the inside of the boy's arm. The 'Me beside me leaned over again upon seeing my confused look. "All babies born in Lesotho are marked on the inside of their left forearm." "Why?!" I said with a little more force than I'd intended. "So that people will know they are Basotho." My jaw almost dropped in shock, as I turned to look at my friend, Amanda, who also had a look of horror plastered on her face. We both thought it immediately... "It's ethnic branding." I whispered to her, appalled at this new knowledge. The tiny mark on every Basotho's forearm was used to distinguish them from other peoples in southern Africa. It was a tool of discrimination. And we were witnessing it firsthand. 

After a few minutes, the Basotho on the taxi started pleading with the officers. "Please, bo-Ntate... Pease forgive them. They will get passports. They won't do it again. Please have mercy." The officer approached the door to the khombi, glancing into the back of the taxi with a leer. "What do you think I should do?" he said directly to us, with a smirk that said he was enjoying this show of power a little too much. "We think you should have a little compassion, Ntate," Amanda said gently. "These people have said that they wouldn't do it again, and this boy needs his brother to take him to his mother." "I don't care what these people say!" the officer laughed mockingly. "They broke the law and I can arrest them all, if I want!" he said, gesturing to the entire van full of Basotho. "I understand you may have cause to take the woman and young man, but the little boy has a valid passport," Amanda's husband, Will, chipped in. "Surely you wouldn't arrest him when he's done nothing wrong."

This conversation went around in circles for the next ten minutes. Eventually, the officers put the three Basotho into their police van, including the little boy who had not broken the law. "Ntate, don't do this... Have a little compassion." the Basotho and we pleaded. "At least give us the little boy to take to his mother in Johannesburg," I said. "My friends and I will take responsibility for getting him to his mother." Everyone understood that, false charges or not, the expense of traveling to some police outpost 5 hours from Johannesburg and paying the bribe to have the boys released could easily break a poor family financially. The officers completely ignored the pleas of the Basotho, but we knew that as white people we held some sway in this situation. They clearly loved the attention, especially from Amanda and I, the only two white women on the khombi. And neither of us were ready to walk away from this situation without a fight, when we knew we had the potential to make a difference. 

So we adamantly argued that the police release the boy to us. Eventually, after playing to their egos, they agreed to release the boy from custody. As he settled back into his seat next to me, tears streamed down his face. I gave him a gentle pat, "It's going to be okay. Let's call your mother in Joburg and tell her." I said. This only upset him more, and Amanda took the opportunity to make one last push in defense of the young man and woman still in handcuffs. "Have a little sympathy, Ntate. This poor child is scared without his brother, and it may be that his story is true and he IS a legal South Africa citizen." we argued. "What will you give me for my kindness?" the man said with a sneer. "Nothing, Ntate." I responded angrily. "We won't give you anything... But it's the kind thing to do. These people have done nothing to you, and yet you have terrified this boy and threatened them all. We're done, Ntate." I said, closing the window beside me firmly and turning away from him to face the front.

At this clear signal from us that this 45 minute negotiation was over, he suddenly and unexpectedly gave in. "Fine... I'll release them this once, but ONLY to show you what a generous person I am," he said, directly to Amanda and I. I swallowed my disgust. "Thank you, Ntate. We appreciate your compassion." We turned around determined to end the conversation. 

When the young man and woman finally got back on the taxi, they both looked shaken. The little boy immediately grabbed his brother's hand, as he took a seat beside him. The poor boy continued to sob uncontrollably for the next five minutes, as his brother whispered assurances that everything was okay now.

As we finally pulled back out onto the road and left the two police officers behind, I was also slightly shsken to realize that I'd just defied and argued with the South African police. It was an action that was ENTIRELY uncharacteristic for me. But as we all agreed while discussing it afterwards, these were specific circumstances... There was safety in numbers for us, and an added influence as white Americans in a country where race is still a very present issue. We had pushed our luck this time, and it worked out. But when Basotho turned to thank us, we assured them that we never would have argued with an authority figure like that in America. At the end of the day, I felt good about standing up for Basotho. I knew that we had been on the right side of the moral line. It made me sad to think that black South Africans, who just decades ago were treated horrendously by whites, would treat Basotho with a similar disdain. The horror of Basotho being ethnically branded and discriminated against stayed with me for several days afterwards.... When I thought about it, I pictured the little bump on the forearms of all my kids. A mark that was put there without their consent, just minutes after birth. A mark that might one day be used to justify their poor treatment or humiliation. Now when I hear the word discrimination, I'll think of that day on the taxi... Of the injustice that some people endure, for no other reason than their place of birth. 

With Love from Lesotho... Mary E.