Trip Report #16 (5 – 6 July 2009): good bye and thanks for all the fish

The next two days seemed larger than life to say the least.  After weeks of hurrying through sights and venues we had just spent THREE consecutive nights in Pemba due to mechanical, but also practical considerations including the rugby test match and laundry facilities (yeah I suck at hand washing and labour is dirt cheap (10 Meticais = roughly R3 per piece of washing, including bed linen, washed and ironed?!!).  For the first time, a feeling of ‘holiday’ was settling over us.

But, then it was time to move again to the point where our route was to split off from that of the larger contingent of our group: Ilha de Mozambique. A surreal experience of note. 

 

The route from Pemba.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blow up of island.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This tiny little eclectic island was for many years the capital of Mozambique and also the centre of slave trade with the globe.  It is connected by a 3,5km bridge to the mainland, but may as well have been in the Mediterranean or outer space as it differed so greatly from anything Mozambiquan we had seen to date.     

We arrived just after midday in grey clouds and howling wind at the mainland doorstep to the island.  Here we were greeted by an exquisitely beautiful young Muslim boy (Abdul) in the queen’s English, offering us a tour of the island’s main attractions and assistance with accommodation negotiations for a fee “entirely at our discretion”. 

As it turned out, he had oversold his command and understanding of the English language which we only really appreciated well after he had left us, when we had cold showers (where hot showers were supposedly confirmed) and had to pay the negotiated rate per PERSON as oppose to the understood per ROOM rate. 

Abdul did however, in his baby blue tank top, white drawstring pants, gay flag back pack and tight bun bounce (pity!), take us on a whirlwind tour of the Island where he grey up and went to both primary and secondary school and were taught Portuguese, English, French and bits of German over and above his African home language.

	Typical facade
	Typical square
	Slave memorial.  (Pit where slaves were kept prior to being sold)
	Fort (castle) on the northern most point of the island

       

Doing something like an organised tour with an (unofficial) tour guide was surreal to begin with at this stage of our journey.  Seeing (and imagining) the Island and remnants of the opulence and splendour of a past reality and the lifestyle of past generations were surreal to say the least. Hearing from Abdul the rumoured influx of wealthy foreigners buying and renovating waterfront properties on this remote piece of land whilst everything inside the layer one street deep from the water practically lays in ruins, is bizarre.  And topping the surreal (but proving the rumours of wealth I guess) is the spectacular and sophisticated dining experience and wide range of cosmopolitan options for eateries available. I would go back here.

Farwell dinner at the local bistro.

 

 

 

By late afternoon Abdul started shivering and looking pale and admitted to having chronic Malaria undeterred by the medicine he had received from the local hospital.  We offered him a lift the next morning to Nampula where he could get better treatment and wished him a good nights rest.

The next morning started off with a flurry with sharing of provisions, splitting of shared goods and reallocation of critical recovery equipment.  I parked the kombi in the soft sand – literally ‘parked’ – only to be dislodged with all belongings unloaded and towing assistance from the dokka (just short of all wheels being deflated).  In spite of this, we were ready to depart almost an hour earlier than the intended 9am (the time we had indicated to Abdul to meet us for a lift to Nampula). 

Our agreement was to split at Nampula, but having made the commitment to Abdul and driving the only vehicle with additional seating capacity, Carl-Hein and I waited whilst locals went in search of Abdul at his home and Adri, Anita, Hennie and Nerina slowly started towards Nampula.  Abdul was reportedly nowhere to be found although several of the aspiring ‘guides’ recalled and recounted his intention to travel to Nampula for Malaria treatment.  We were then overwhelmed with Alternates offering to travel with us to Nampula which we regretfully declined?!?#*&^?! and left well short of 9am.  I can only hope and pray that Abdul found an alternate mode of transport, is recovered and happily soliciting tourists for a discretionary fee to see the magic of Ilha de Mozambique. 

We failed to catch up with the rest of our group.  Nampula is a large place – much bigger than I had anticipated.  We had people volunteering that they had seen our counterparts marked with the unmistakable Syncro Odyssey stickers, but the last of them stopped us just as we took the road to Cuamba to tell us (for which information compensation was requested) that we were taking a wrong turn as two vehicles with same signage had taken the road to Quelimane.  No wrong turn however and no compensation in it for the news bearer.  I really, really hate goodbyes so I guess this worked out OK for me in the end. 

M-L