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.