T.I.A. This Is Africa.
It is a phrase that we pan-African travelers use just about every day, on those occasions when you've nothing else to do but throw your hands in the air, sigh, and accept the fact that nothing in this continent works like you think it should.
Like when you've just finished writing an email to a lovely Brazilian girl living in London, and the internet goes down before you can send it. And then the internet stays down - for 7 days.
Like when you take a minibus taxi to a town 200km away, and the voyage takes 12 hours.
Like when you order grilled chicken at a restaurant and it shows up 60 minutes later - cooked to medium-rare.
Like when every mosquito that bites you is potentially malarial, and the medication you take to prevent malaria causes you to break out in spots like a leopard, and also gives you the odd night terror.
Like when the local currency is so unstable that the rate of inflation is given on an hourly scale, and the beer that you cost you 650,000 Zim$ at the beginning of the evening was selling for 800,000 Zim$ by night's end.
Like when you go to buy a bus ticket, and the person working behind the counter is 8 years old.
Like when a police officer threatens to imprison you for failing to carry your passport with you at all times, and you have to bribe him. For $2.
Like when you're walking down a dirt road and a hoard of young children begins to follow you, laughing and jeering and chanting racial slurs in perfect unison.
Like when the 12-seater van you're in is carrying 41 people, and you can't move your arms or legs, and the only defense you have against falling over due to the inertial forces is the friction between your head and the corrugated metal roof, and at one of the stops some lady hands you her child so that you can take it outside and hold its hand while it goes pee.
Like when you sit down for dinner at a cafe and they hand you a menu with hundreds of delicious offerings on it, then return some time later to tell you that they only have two things: plain rice and guava juice.
Like when you hire a sailboat to take you out to some pretty islands, and two guys work on the sailboat: one to sail, and another to continually bail water out of the leaky hull.
Like when you're doing conservation work on a farm and you wake up in the morning and walk into the kitchen to make coffee, only to find that a horse is in there nosing through the garbage.
Yep, T.I.A.
You gotta LOVE this place!!!
If and when I return home, you can all bet your bottom Zim$ that I will be the most laid-back, patient cat you ever did meet. Until then, I'll continue to be crazy.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
Mozambroke
So here's the situation: you are going to Mozambique. You know that when you get there, you wont be able to take out any money, so you do the responsible thing and withdraw all the cash you'll need beforehand. Then, shortly after you arrive, you discover that some asswipe has stolen 95% of your stash. Congratulations! You are now moneyless in Maputo. For the next week, you will have $87 to your name.
Seems a petty amount, but in the end my monetary problems made for an interesting stay in the city. I implored the hostel manager to let me stay on credit and he obliged, thus giving me a place to sleep. From there, all I had to do was keep myself fed, watered and entertained.
The watering bit is a cinch. Beer is cheap, but you must avoid the glitzy bars on the main street and head for the dingy local taverns. Prices are half there, and you might even have a drunk guy sleeping under your table! The locals can get on your nerves though, inasmuch as they are incessantly asking you to buy them drinks. By the way, if you are swilling the suds in Maputo, I recommend 2M as the beer of choice.
Unfortunately, being skint meant not being able to eat out much, which was a huge disappointment. Mozambique is famous for its culinary offerings, and after 2 months of eating the bland South African fare, I was quite looking forward to diving face-first into the heaping bowls of curry, the sizzling tiger prawns and the grilled peri-peri chicken. I was relegated to eating bread, tinned sardines and Coca-Cola for most of the time, though I was treated to a complementary dinner out on two occasions by some fellow travelers who were sympathetic to my cause. I returned the gesture of good will by translating the menu for them.
*Quick note on Moz food: on a visit to the Maputo central fish market, I picked up 1kg of prawns for $4, then paid a local restauranteur to cook them up in a spicy sauce with fries, salad and a large beer for an additional $4.
As for passing the time, I did what I do best - I walked. Maputo lacks proper tourist attractions, which is to say that there aren't many Kodak moments. However, it is a big, dirty, smelly, hot, vibrant and wonderful city, full of life and waiting to be discovered... literally, since there are very few visitors. I found quite a few spots of interest in my low-cost ambulations. One such place is Catembe, a small village knestled on the opposite shore of the bay from Maputo, reachable by a 40 cent ferry ride. In Catembe you can stroll along the beach and watch as local families trawl the water with their giant fishing nets, hauling in bunches of red mullet and barracuda for sale in the local markets. It was a remarkable sight to see, since Catembe sits right in the shadow of Maputo, and yet seems a world away and 50 years in the past.
A tip from an Austrian girl lead me to the Maputo Cemetary, whose last grave was dug 60-odd years ago. Since then, the place has been ransacked and destroyed by marauders, who've dug up graves, broken crypt doors and stolen every valuable item from the coffins. It's amazing to think that people can still steal from you when you're dead. Anyway, needless to say this period of crime and neglect has left the cemetary in a crippled, and creepy, state. There are open coffins everywhere, and since virtually no other living person was around, I felt as if it was just me and the angry ghosts.
But, all's well that ends well, because I finally got money. A lot of money, actually, since I needed to get everything for the rest of Moz and Zimbabwe all in one transfer (thanks, Dad). The wad of cash that was handed to me by the lady at the bank was nearly 3 inches high, which made for a scary moment. I turned from the counter to find 30-some desperate-looking Mozambicanos eyeing me, and meanwhile here I was about to leave the place with the equivalent of their national deficit in my f%#!ing pocket. Needless to say I booked it out of Dodge.
Have money, will travel. Following Maputo I spent two weeks in Tofo and Vilankulos, doing some surfing and scuba diving. I already miss Maputo, with its curious people and strange smell - one I can only describe as a mixture of sea salt, grilled chicken and piss. I definitely feel like a foreigner here, and the Mozambicanos are sure to remind me of that at every opportunity. Shouts of Branco! (white) and Malungo! (tribal language for White) emanate from every passing car. Well, I've got to admit I like hearing that a lot more than Gringo, which was my moniker in Brazil.
Seems a petty amount, but in the end my monetary problems made for an interesting stay in the city. I implored the hostel manager to let me stay on credit and he obliged, thus giving me a place to sleep. From there, all I had to do was keep myself fed, watered and entertained.
The watering bit is a cinch. Beer is cheap, but you must avoid the glitzy bars on the main street and head for the dingy local taverns. Prices are half there, and you might even have a drunk guy sleeping under your table! The locals can get on your nerves though, inasmuch as they are incessantly asking you to buy them drinks. By the way, if you are swilling the suds in Maputo, I recommend 2M as the beer of choice.
Unfortunately, being skint meant not being able to eat out much, which was a huge disappointment. Mozambique is famous for its culinary offerings, and after 2 months of eating the bland South African fare, I was quite looking forward to diving face-first into the heaping bowls of curry, the sizzling tiger prawns and the grilled peri-peri chicken. I was relegated to eating bread, tinned sardines and Coca-Cola for most of the time, though I was treated to a complementary dinner out on two occasions by some fellow travelers who were sympathetic to my cause. I returned the gesture of good will by translating the menu for them.
*Quick note on Moz food: on a visit to the Maputo central fish market, I picked up 1kg of prawns for $4, then paid a local restauranteur to cook them up in a spicy sauce with fries, salad and a large beer for an additional $4.
As for passing the time, I did what I do best - I walked. Maputo lacks proper tourist attractions, which is to say that there aren't many Kodak moments. However, it is a big, dirty, smelly, hot, vibrant and wonderful city, full of life and waiting to be discovered... literally, since there are very few visitors. I found quite a few spots of interest in my low-cost ambulations. One such place is Catembe, a small village knestled on the opposite shore of the bay from Maputo, reachable by a 40 cent ferry ride. In Catembe you can stroll along the beach and watch as local families trawl the water with their giant fishing nets, hauling in bunches of red mullet and barracuda for sale in the local markets. It was a remarkable sight to see, since Catembe sits right in the shadow of Maputo, and yet seems a world away and 50 years in the past.
A tip from an Austrian girl lead me to the Maputo Cemetary, whose last grave was dug 60-odd years ago. Since then, the place has been ransacked and destroyed by marauders, who've dug up graves, broken crypt doors and stolen every valuable item from the coffins. It's amazing to think that people can still steal from you when you're dead. Anyway, needless to say this period of crime and neglect has left the cemetary in a crippled, and creepy, state. There are open coffins everywhere, and since virtually no other living person was around, I felt as if it was just me and the angry ghosts.
But, all's well that ends well, because I finally got money. A lot of money, actually, since I needed to get everything for the rest of Moz and Zimbabwe all in one transfer (thanks, Dad). The wad of cash that was handed to me by the lady at the bank was nearly 3 inches high, which made for a scary moment. I turned from the counter to find 30-some desperate-looking Mozambicanos eyeing me, and meanwhile here I was about to leave the place with the equivalent of their national deficit in my f%#!ing pocket. Needless to say I booked it out of Dodge.
Have money, will travel. Following Maputo I spent two weeks in Tofo and Vilankulos, doing some surfing and scuba diving. I already miss Maputo, with its curious people and strange smell - one I can only describe as a mixture of sea salt, grilled chicken and piss. I definitely feel like a foreigner here, and the Mozambicanos are sure to remind me of that at every opportunity. Shouts of Branco! (white) and Malungo! (tribal language for White) emanate from every passing car. Well, I've got to admit I like hearing that a lot more than Gringo, which was my moniker in Brazil.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Swazi 101
Since our last episode, I have come and gone through the Kingdom of Swaziland. I'll now pause while you all realize that you know nothing about Swaziland...
...
You shouldn't feel too bad though. Prior to crossing the border, I also knew nothing about it! So here are a few nuggets of information to get us all started:
-Swaziland is an independent nation of 1 Million people and is landlocked by South Africa and Mozambique
-The capital city is Mbabane
-A democratic system is in place, though the nation is still ruled by King Mswathi III
-Swaziland has the highest rate of AIDS infection per capita in all of Africa - 39% of the population is thought to be affected
-The official language is Swati, though English and Zulu are spoken
-The international dialing code for Swaziland is +268
Swaziland may be a small country, but there is lots to do. Of course the list includes the usual game watching/outdoor life/Jack Wolfskin/Look Honey! A giraffe! type of stuff, but I think the real highlight of a sojourn to this place is simply to let yourself get drawn in to the local culture. The Swazi people have made a concerted effort to maintain their traditional customs and values, and the country has that distinctive feeling of Africa "as it ought to be".
One such custom that has stood the test of time is the Uhmlanga Festival, which takes place in September of each year. The celebration lasts an entire week and culminates with the King's choosing of a new wife from a multitude of young Swazi bachlorettes. Girls from all corners of the country flock to the Royal Palace to show off their youthful and virile figures, each girl hoping to become the next faithful servant. I say "next" because the King already has 17 wives, and so this year's winning candidate will be Wife #18. 18 wives? Man. Imagine the Tupperwear parties!
To be eligible for selection, each hopeful debutante must perform the Reed Dance, in which giant stalks of wheat are presented to the Queen Mother. Before the dance begins, the thousands of girls congregate outside the Palace, each one dawning traditional dress and wearing an assortment of colourful bangles. Breasts and bottoms are on display - believe me, I checked.
Though we were unable to witness the actual selection, we lingered around outside the Palace for a good while. All the tourists sat in the shade of a few acacia tress, watching as the throngs of women passed with their staccato voices unifed in song. To the chosen girl goes a brand new life, living in the splendor of royalty and virtually manufacturing children. Since his crowning in 1986, King Mswathi III has amassed a family of over 200 people. That's a lot of birthdays to remember!
While I enjoyed my time in Swaziland, it was only a brief stopver on my way to Mozambique. After 8 hours of travel on 4 different minibuses, I have arrived in Maputo. But before I go, there's two quick things I would like to say:
1. To the person who stole $200 from me in Swaziland, I am going to harm you. Not kill you, for I'd never take a life, even one so miserable and meaningless as yours, so I'll probably just shoot for the knee or something. Whatever you do, don't spend my money on a trip to Mozambique, because I will be waiting for you! And AK-47s are REALLY cheap here, buster!
2. African people are famous for carrying things on their heads. In two months time I've seen everything from sacks of oranges to car batteries, but the first prize goes to the Swazi guy I saw walking along the road with a freshly severed cow's head perched on his noggin. Good on ya, Buddy - that was classic.
Ate mais amigos.
...
You shouldn't feel too bad though. Prior to crossing the border, I also knew nothing about it! So here are a few nuggets of information to get us all started:
-Swaziland is an independent nation of 1 Million people and is landlocked by South Africa and Mozambique
-The capital city is Mbabane
-A democratic system is in place, though the nation is still ruled by King Mswathi III
-Swaziland has the highest rate of AIDS infection per capita in all of Africa - 39% of the population is thought to be affected
-The official language is Swati, though English and Zulu are spoken
-The international dialing code for Swaziland is +268
Swaziland may be a small country, but there is lots to do. Of course the list includes the usual game watching/outdoor life/Jack Wolfskin/Look Honey! A giraffe! type of stuff, but I think the real highlight of a sojourn to this place is simply to let yourself get drawn in to the local culture. The Swazi people have made a concerted effort to maintain their traditional customs and values, and the country has that distinctive feeling of Africa "as it ought to be".
One such custom that has stood the test of time is the Uhmlanga Festival, which takes place in September of each year. The celebration lasts an entire week and culminates with the King's choosing of a new wife from a multitude of young Swazi bachlorettes. Girls from all corners of the country flock to the Royal Palace to show off their youthful and virile figures, each girl hoping to become the next faithful servant. I say "next" because the King already has 17 wives, and so this year's winning candidate will be Wife #18. 18 wives? Man. Imagine the Tupperwear parties!
To be eligible for selection, each hopeful debutante must perform the Reed Dance, in which giant stalks of wheat are presented to the Queen Mother. Before the dance begins, the thousands of girls congregate outside the Palace, each one dawning traditional dress and wearing an assortment of colourful bangles. Breasts and bottoms are on display - believe me, I checked.
Though we were unable to witness the actual selection, we lingered around outside the Palace for a good while. All the tourists sat in the shade of a few acacia tress, watching as the throngs of women passed with their staccato voices unifed in song. To the chosen girl goes a brand new life, living in the splendor of royalty and virtually manufacturing children. Since his crowning in 1986, King Mswathi III has amassed a family of over 200 people. That's a lot of birthdays to remember!
While I enjoyed my time in Swaziland, it was only a brief stopver on my way to Mozambique. After 8 hours of travel on 4 different minibuses, I have arrived in Maputo. But before I go, there's two quick things I would like to say:
1. To the person who stole $200 from me in Swaziland, I am going to harm you. Not kill you, for I'd never take a life, even one so miserable and meaningless as yours, so I'll probably just shoot for the knee or something. Whatever you do, don't spend my money on a trip to Mozambique, because I will be waiting for you! And AK-47s are REALLY cheap here, buster!
2. African people are famous for carrying things on their heads. In two months time I've seen everything from sacks of oranges to car batteries, but the first prize goes to the Swazi guy I saw walking along the road with a freshly severed cow's head perched on his noggin. Good on ya, Buddy - that was classic.
Ate mais amigos.
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