Monoglots in Mozambique - 28 June 2002
Return of the Hot Rockers.
Blandtyre with bland weather
Amazing revelation ñ Mozambique is cool
Portuguese ñ Dam nation
We were sat wrapped in blankets watching the TV and Adam walks in. The HRs have caught up with us again. They were planning a party for Manni for his birthday and had decided that it would be an up market affair and the boys headed off to the local second hand market to get kitted out in suits and shirts for the evening.
Pat joined them and returned with a rather teacher like tweed jacket making him look very respectable if a little strange with his hair cut. Now Dave on the other hand was by far the most spiffing with a cream linen suit straight out of Miami vice. Johnny and Mark were in 70ís fashion statements of purple and frog green.
The ladies, of course, could not be outdone and the belly dancing outfits, tucked away since Egypt were floating around the dance floor. I sported a little sun top Iíd run up out of a scarf Iíd bought for the Islamic countries and never used and my newly finished trousers in bright blue. All in all a good effort by a bunch of people who have been travelling for 9 months.
The Hot Rockers had the stamina to keep going till dawn, while the middle aged fogies like me and Pat drifted off a little early. But not before the fireworks that were laid on free of charge by the gay owners, who were determined to make the party go with a bang after they had been so impressed the Hot Rockers drag outfits the previous week. These people know how to party, but I have to say, Iím beginning to feel a generation gap, developing.
There were a couple of lovely people we met, while trying to stave off the cold, snuggling under blankets in the lounge area. Souli, a German cyclist who seemed to be following the same kind of route as us and Gisa a German who is resident in Malawi but currently working in Mozambique. She clearly loves Africa but was very aware of its problems and how it is self-limiting. She admits that maybe she is unusual in not needing or missing the trappings of the Western world, mod-cons, new clothes, supermarkets and so long as she can access cheese once a month she misses nothing from home.
Time drifted on with little happening in Blantyre ñ itís not really a happening place. We spent most of our time snuggling under blankets and hoping that the weather would improve for our passage to Mozambique. There were a few set backs along the way. England didnít have the resolve to dispatch another South American team and tumbled out of the Cup. This was met with great joy by a couple of the locals who claimed to be life long Brazil supporters. Easy to back a winning side, isnít it? Germany made their way through which is adding insult to injury.
The night after ìthe partyî the barman (a white Zimbabwean) played a tape that had us rolling in the aisles. To the tune of ìOld MacDonald had a farmî, the words were ìMugabe repossessed my farm, ee eye ee eye oh.î Each verse described what they had had on that farm ñ tractors, harvesters, water pumps and the like. Each of the items fell to rack and ruin under the new management. The final verse was ìNow on the farm there is F allî Humorous, but sadly true. (We are writing this entry in Harare and just hope that these references get through the Zim firewall.)
At last we seized the nettle and upped and left. Fortunately, having met the Rockers, I managed to get my thermal liners back off Johnny ñ these I had bequeathed to him in Khartoum when it seemed that we would not be needing them in Africa. How naive!
Amazing revelation ñ Mozambique is cool
The Tete corridor is a way through Mozambique frequented by trucks hauling all manner of produce from SA, Zim and all ports south on the way to Malawi and the north. There is little of interest on the way, but we found the rising temperatures pleasing as we descended to cross the Zambeze. By the road, along with the usual collection of goats and cows, there were lots of pigs wandering around. This must have been a major improvement made by the Portuguese ñ fond as they are of charcuterie.
Tete itself came as something of a shock. Reminiscent of South American cities with broad boulevards frequented by scooters and the like, nightlife returned. Seemingly, all of Africa up to here, with the exception of tourist spots, goest to sleep when the sun descends. Here there was a really Mediterranean feel with the buzz starting only as the sun set. We were set to enjoy our time in Mozambique. The only evidence we had seen of the recently finished civil war so far was a single guy by the road with a lower leg missing. This region did not look as though it would have been a hot bed of insurrection as there is so little to fight for. Maybe when we get out to the coast things will be different. Nevertheless we decided against bush camping for the duration.
From Tete we headed north to the town of Songo and the Cahorra Bassa dam. One of the highest concrete dams in the world, it would have been poor form for a sometime civil engineer to pass it by.
We turned off the main road to Zimbabwe and followed the procession of pylons stretching off into the distance towards the dam on the Zambezi. The irony was that beneath the pylons were local hamlets of mud and thatch completely powerless. So much electricity and so many people without power.
Mozambique returned to the tracts of nothingness that we had experienced before Tete, as we rose and rose up to the Mozambique altiplana. So much so that our arrival in Songo gave us yet another surprise. Laid out in a modern town style, you could have been in Ramsey Street in parts, but in others there were empty pockets of wasteland waiting for some development. Trying to find somewhere to stay was a complete nightmare as our Portuguese varies between limited and non existent and their English was similar.
Giving up for a while, we carried on up to the dam only to be turned back at a barrier where we were informed that we had to walk the rest of the way. An unappealing prospect bedecked as we were in a full complement of biking gear. So we returned to our quest for accom.
This time we blundered into a helpful chap, Rose ñ for that was his name, who displaced Hippy from the back seat to give me directions using his hands ñ so much easier than all that derecha and isquierda business. Our destination turned out to be the social centre for the employees of the hydroelectric company that owns the dam. After a bit of haggling they let us set up camp round the back for a paltry fee. So cheap was it that we had a meal of steak in the Portuguese style. Indeed everything about this place was Portuguese ñ vinho verde and Mateus Rose and all. In the restaurant there was a huge display of wines all of which were from that pays. Strangely, all the tables had a bottle of ketchup on top of beautiful table linen. Heinz has a lot to answer for. Are you reading this Mr Dyszynski?
Today is Independence Day. A time for Mozamibiquans to celebrate freedom from their colonialists. But somehow being in Songo where the whole town is reliant for its school, hospital, supermarket, not least to say income on a Portuguese owned dam. It all seemed a bit of a hollow victory.
We realised that our plans to spend a while in Mozambique would have to be cut short if we were to catch the Rockers at Etosha Park in Namibia (motorbikes cannot enter to safari parks and the fees are prohibitive unless you latch onto a group, so meeting up with them seems prudent). Now we have the problem that we have too much Moz currency and are unable to change it because itís a bank holiday. But where thereís a will thereís a way. Filling up at the garage, which luckily had not yet succumbed to the petrol shortage, we bumped into a South African with a few dollars to change. He was able to solve half our problem and we now had fewer Meticals to change at the border.
Rested and well fed, we rose the next morning to complete the aborted mission to see the dam. This time, we were more successful in breaching the security on foot and started the long haul down the windy service road. Loads of pickups full of security guards passed us and we were getting a bit porked off that none of them stopped to offer a lift when another passed and screeched up ahead of us. The very nice man gestured for us to hop in the back and then set off down to the dam with gusto, passing security barriers with no hesitation on the way.
We pulled up on top of the dam and the guy introduced himself to us ñ Guilherme Dias, the chief engineer fro the project. He kindly took us on a guided tour of the facility including the generator room which was like a gleaming cathedral with a complement of Homer Simpsons gazing at uninteresting dials on the wall. Doh. He filled us in the operations which in fact generates electricity for South Africa (strangely, transmitted in D.C. for all you techno fans) and Zimbabwe. He bemoaned the lack of availability of even the simplest spares which have to be sourced through South Africa or Portugal with a lead time of about 6 months. Difficult to keep a 400 megawatt facility going under such circumstances.
He invited us to lunch at a little place hidden away in the village (thankfully with a map to guide us) and took us back up to the bike again. What a nice man. Lunch was delightful peasant-style Portuguese food ñ something like a cassoulet. We ate with gusto ñ only to go down with serious indigestion later. It seems that the restaurant is his own run as a hobby. We chatted about the chances of the plant surviving if it falls into Mozambiquan hands (slim) and his plans to retire in a yearís time, buy a boat and sail around the world. Good call.
Our plan was to try and leave early and make it all the way to Harare, through a border and 300 miles away. Things went to plan and we arrived at the border before noon. Even the wild life by the side of the roads had been obliging ñ the pigs anyway which looked left and right before crossing. We left Mozambique regretting that weíd spent so little time there and resolving to return one day. Pat was offered a job at 8000 USD a month building hospitals in Maputo so it may be sooner rather than later. If I can persuade the lazy lout to do some work that is.