Moz part1

Okay, for those who don’t know me (or didn’t know this about me) I’m not a girl-person. I usually don’t like girls. I especially don’t like groups of girls. So when I was on my way to Tonga (near Komatiepoort) to meet the rest of the girls who I’m going to spend a week in Mozambique with only one thing went through my mind: “What the hell were you thinking?” and shortly after that “You can still go home!” When I left work I thought about driving to Pretoria and spend my weekend there. Then I passed Nelspruit thinking that I can still take the N4. When I was almost in Tonga I still thought about driving back to Nelspruit, spending the night there and then going home. Oh, did I mention I also don’t like new people as well as being out of my comfort zone. I don’t.

When I got there I was met by some very nice girls. They were so sweet and very willing to get to know me and chat to me. But they were VERY girly. They giggled and hugged me for a very long time and every time a new girl arrived they would giggle and hug again. I don’t like giggling and hugging. Or new people. So, at about 9 o clock that night (after we decided to leave at 5 the next morning) they started packing food. At about 10 they decided to finally pack clothing. The entire process took almost an hour. One girl spread her entire cupboard on the floor and contemplated carefully which pieces to take and leave. This differs vastly from myself, throwing in jeans, short and T-shirts at random, adding my favourite items until the suitcase is overloaded as usual, then throwing a few things out, still needing to sit on it before it closes. I was also finished packing by 8 the previous night. Then it was decided (at 11:30 that night) that we need to go and make copies of our passports at the local police station. Jip. It was suddenly a priority. Getting there the policeman informed us of the fact that the office with the copying machine was in fact, locked. Until 8 the next morning. We wanted to leave at 5. After about half an hour’s conversation with the policeman ranging from criminals and guns to him eventually asking the one girl’s number, we finally left, deciding it was no longer a priority to get copies of our passports. So, finally, at almost midnight, we started packing the car. Two of the girls had decided that we needed no less than 8 5litre bottles of water. No suitcases had been packed yet. No food. No sleeping bags. The entire bottom of the boot was filled with bottled water. (At this point I swore that I was never going on holiday with girls again.) It made sense to them that you need to place it at the bottom since we can pack stuff on top of it. (I imagined for a second 8 bottles of water leaking at the same time due to the sheer weight of 3 suitcases on top) Eventually me and another girl started packing. Half an hour later half of the food was still standing outside and the middle of the backseat had a tower of luggage so tall the passengers would barely be able to see each other. At that point I decided to go to bed.

I now know why guys are important. Despite all the drama and pain the cause, they keep a certain level of normality in our lives. Things such as packing reasonably and not excessively (I’m guilty of not being able to pack concisely), leaving on time, planning practical aspects and being able to read a map are only a few of the loads of advantages of taking guys on trips. Plus they don’t giggle. (Just kidding, I giggle as well. New girls giggling just intimidate me)

So we left just after 5 for the border. In komatiepoort we stopper for petrol. It took about two hours since we needed third party insurance, two triangles (WTF??) and to change money. And coffee. To all of our surprise we could get 3 meticash (Mozambican currency) for ever R1. Which was a pretty awesome deal and made most of us instantly rich. I felt like a drug dealer, except less dodgy. There’s this big Mozambican “mama” with a handbag full of notes who stands at the middle of the garage (she apparently sleeps by the side of the road incase someone needs her) and trades your money for you. We decided that she must be a member of an important family like the gangster mafia, because if I were a thief she would be my first target.

From there we reached the border at about 9. To my huge surprise there was no que. It was an amazing feeling, walking through, getting your passport stamped. And knowing I was now on holiday. Mozambique, being the strange country that it is, has decided that the main role of the traffic police is to exploit unsuspecting (or suspecting, they aren’t picky) tourists in their country by dishing out random traffic fines and having you pay on the spot and trying to bribe you by making the fine a little less, but then you don’t receive a receipt.

My biggest moment of “I am NEVER going on holiday without a MAN again” was when we entered Maputo. After playing goldfish loudly and dancing in the car, we entered a web of traffic like nothing before. Now, I’m a firm believer that guys drive better than girls. It’s a simple fact. They decide on a course of action on the road and take it. Girls look at all the cars around her, become emotional, become scared, looks around at her options, thinks about them again, and as soon as the gap no longer exists, takes it, causing confusion to every car around her and making all the passengers an instant believer. Now the girls driving didn’t drive badly at all. I just feel safe with guys. They know how to drive. We don’t. It’s a fact of life. So, while we’re all trying to help this girl get safely through the traffic we realize we need to search for Maputo backpackers, where we are staying the night. Just to recap: none of us have ever been in Maputo, we have no number for the backpackers, we have no map, only what we think is an address. The one girl’s response “Oh, we’ll just drive around until we find it.” As if it’s not a city with more cars squeezed into one lane than sardines into a can. It’s like driving into Pretoria saying, “ah, we’ll find the (insert random name here)” Oh, plus, no one speaks English. In our broken portugese consisting of “Ola” and “Nao comprendo Portuguese” we try and ask if anyone knows where the backpackers is. Later we try asking if anyone knows where the beach is. Our sign language attempt at communicating looks like we’re doing the funky chicken on a 70’s classic.

So finally we stop at a pizza place. While two girls stay in the car being harassed by street venders, two of us jump out to ask. Thank goodness we find someone who speaks English. He seems to know the place and directs us there, which didn’t sound to hard. But don’t be fooled. An hour and a few close encounters with people in the road later we decide to ask for help again. This time we get different directions. We follow these and finally found the beach. A long strip of street and ocean that one can walk into for meters and still only be ankle deep. It was beautiful. Finally the one girl makes a (much too abrupt for me) left turn as she sees a sign “Maputo backpackers” We finally made it!

After settling in and a quick nap we set off exploring. We walk around and find a man who cuts a coconut in half for us for 5 meticash and gives us a straw to drink the juice from. Bad idea. Those island movies are simply a lie. Coconut juice has this horribly sour smell and no resemblance to the cocktails served in them on these movies. Anyway, we then decide to go out. By now I’ve gotten to know the girls more and they are actually very nice. There are 3 english speaking girls and 4 afrikaans (including me) The English speaking girls are the ones who take their time and don’t plan things, just randomly do what they feel like, and the Afrikaans people are structured and plan things, always being on time. This would set the scene for a few more almost-confrontations.

We then went out for dinner and after searching for the place we were that afternoon for directions for another half an hour we finally found parking. Having lost the other car somewhere we went inside. After about an hour we realized they were still not there. They then enter with the one girl in tears. Turns out the traffic police had decided that if you go one direction, turn right and right again to get to a parking qualifies as doing an illegal U turn. This is also punishable by a night in jail if you don’t dock up 300 meticash immediately. The sheer arrogance and insensitivity of this guy and their absolute exploitation of the law and of tourists makes me so mad I could scream. But they could do nothing, so they paid. We then had lovely pizza and red wine and then went back to the car. One of the funniest moments of the trip then commenced: as we neared the one car we saw that the car guard was doing his utter best to make sure no one stole the car. He was asleep on his back on the bonnet of the car. I laughed so hard I nearly cried.
After a good 15 minutes of cracking up we headed to the backpackers and finally day one came to an end.

To be continued…