TravelStream™ news feed for member dcm on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/dcm en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Tue, 27 Oct 2009 04:58:54 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1164884700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1164884700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1164884700/tpod.html Tue, 27 Oct 2009 04:58:54 -0400 Manic Mission: An Intricate Account of a Fleeting Bundu Bash through Ten African Countries

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Harare, Zimbabwe

SOUTH AFRICA to ZIMBABWE to ZAMBIA

Johannesburg to Harare to Lusaka

29th - 30th November 2006

Airport - OR Tambo (formerly known as Johannesburg International)

My backpack was tampered with, the plastic covering was ripped to shreds and it had clearly been 'gone through'. Anyway, I didn't see anything missing, and it wasn't one of my hiding places for money, so everything was fine, that is until I couldn't find my hat. I told the staff that I left my black Nike cap on seat 14B and I would like someone to fetch it for me.

"It's not Mango's problem" said the irate representative.

I freaked out when she told me that the cleaners would have picked it up and taken it by now (it hadn't been five minutes since I climbed off the plane). I had my backpack on and wasn't going to take her shit, so I pulled the "I'm a journalist" routine and a dude ran to the plane and brought my hat back before I could say mango juice.

I was supposed to get a lift to Kempton Park from Aaron (an Exclusive Books employee at the airport) in his dodgy car, but when push came to shove, he escorted me to the taxi rank and told me which one to jump in. It was R4 each (my backpack counted as another passenger as it took up another two seats). Everyone in the taxi bent over backwards to accommodate me and shifted seats from front to back and left to right until I could get in. I collected all the cash from the passengers and gave them their respective change.

I chose to get from Kempton Park to Pretoria by train. There were two classes, either R7 or R12, and the guy at the ticket office couldn't really tell me the difference between the two seats - so I chose the R12 seat hoping it would be more comfortable.

I waited for the train for over an hour until my patience (and options) ran out. I met a young Zambian on the platform, who also wanted to get to Pretoria and had also been waiting for an hour. We ran across the road together to get a taxi, something I should have opted for instead of the train, but I was told the rush hour traffic would be hectic. It couldn't have been more hectic than an absent train. The taxi took 40 minutes and cost R12 each (my backpack).

I arrived at the Tshwane (formerly known as Pretoria) bus station at 10:55. There was no bus. I stressed that I might have missed it, and the fat greasy 18 year old trainee behind the counter confirmed this. He promised me it had left at 10:00. I shook my head at him and reminded him that the bus was only supposed to leave at 11:00. He promised to double check "just after I help the next customer". I had jumped the 30 minute queue and wasn't prepared to get in line. I sat there patiently for 5 minutes watching him issue this woman with a ticket for her daughter. Either he was thoroughly dotting his I's and crossing his t's, or he was purposely taking his time to piss me off.

After that, I stepped in again - and he simply said "it's gone, next customer please".

I went to the next teller and the kind lady told me "it's on its way; it should arrive in the next 15 minutes."

It arrived half an hour later.

There was no place for luggage, let alone me. I learnt my lesson, and vowed in future to always get on a bus at its origin. I complained to the driver because my ticket stated a maximum of 50kg per person and there was clearly tons of baggage being transported. I asked the driver "Is all this luggage being paid for and does it all actually belong to the passengers?"

"It always happens like this - I cannot do anything - they are paying extra".

I thought they were moving house! I'm sure they thought the same about me!

So I broke my hips hauling my pack upstairs and heaving it over the heads of 50 Zambians whose eyes were wide open in disbelief. I sat next to two excited Zambian girls and immediately helped them mathematically. They needed to calculate how much Kwacha they'd spent on clothes for the family.

The back row of seats were reserved for the drivers' beauty rest, so I stretched out on them while nobody was looking. I had to take advantage as I was sure it was going to be my only chance for the next 24 hours. I only managed 30 minutes of sleep and then decided to chat to all the Zambians.

I was the only white man and kind of enjoyed the exclusivity of it.

We drove through Polokwane (formerly known as Pietersburg) and then onto Messina. The driver dropped us off shouting "short break" and then I followed the other sheep off the bus. It took half an hour for the bus to disappear around the corner and fill up, while we spent our last Rands and made our last phone calls.

I changed my voicemail message to:

"Hi, you've reached David. I am currently traveling around Africa until February. You can contact me on (email address) or visit my blog at www.travelpod.com/members/dcm where I will leave my latest cell number.

Please don't leave a message, as I won't be checking them anyway and my mailbox will just fill up. Now would be the time to put the phone down before the beep..."

We left the country at 18:30 - or so I thought. Three hours later and we were finally through the Beitbridge border into Zimbabwe. We picked up two passengers just after the border. They paid cash. I was told the bus had no license to pick up or drop off passengers in Zimbabwe. My initial plan was to hop off in Harare and continue to Blantyre in Malawi.

On the border I found out about 'Push Money'. I had heard about it happening on the Tanzania-Kenya border between Tanga and Mombassa, where the bus companies pay off the officials, directly into their accounts sometimes, to just wave the busses through. City to City was obviously paying something because nobody touched our bags. I don't think they were paying enough however, as it still took as over an hour on the Zimbabwean side. Apparently it was the South African side that was more corrupt. This was according to the two Zimbabweans I spoke to. They had been waiting in their car for over eight hours because they refused to pay the Push Money.

I slept uncomfortably for two hours until 12:30 and awoke when the drivers stopped for their regular dinner. It seemed that the drivers of three other busses going in different directions always met up at this spot. For the third time I climbed off the bus and looked for something to eat or drink, and for the third time I returned with nothing. I had brought enough of everything with me: three litres of water, a loaf of bread, four boiled eggs, fresh biltong, smarties, an energy bar, raisins and crisps.

We arrived in Harare just before light at 04:30. I opted to stay inside the bus this time when the lanky driver with the scruffy white t-shirt screamed "break time". I didn't particularly want to put my shoes on and wait another half hour outside a 24 hour fast food building. It was cold and I wasn't hungry, so I pretended to sleep.

The bus drove into a nearby scrap yard, apparently for petrol, but I suspected something fishy was up. It was. Minibus taxis, bakkies, jalopies and old woman were eagerly waiting to tear apart the precious cargo which we were transporting. The bus drivers were co-coordinating this precise operation with plenty of experience. The few sleeping passengers still aboard were nonplussed about the on goings outside. I wasn't worried about my luggage going missing because it was all next to me on the seat. We were clearly not filling up with petrol, as we had filled up 20 minutes before, a process which took five minutes to fill up with 189 litres of diesel.

I tried to get out of the bus, but the driver had locked the door and refused to open it. Through the window he said I was not allowed out and should have embarked with the others if I wanted to. I leaned out the window and took some pictures of the cargo being ripped apart and packed into smaller bags and boxes. It was then loaded into various vehicles and the helpers rewarded for their labor with some bright orange caps. The caps were part of a Chinese consignment of cheap counterfeit goods which I overheard had traveled all the way from Cape Town. I recorded the number plates, got blurred undercover pictures of the event, and then excitedly wrote about it in my journal. This was possibly one of my first 'undercover investigative report' about African Corruption. I sat thinking about the pros and cons of exposing this racket while listening to Bob Marley and the Wailers singing: "So(ooo) much trou(uuu)ble in the wo(or)rld" and "Oh what a rat race".

Then the penny dropped and it all made a bit more sense to me. The bus drivers made some money, the border officials got their bribes, the country got no duties, the Zimbabweans could just eke out a living, the Chinese got to sell their goods to more people living in poverty, and everyone else turned a blind eye. I was sure this would be the first of many similar operations. We continued towards Chirundu, the Zambian frontier town.

We arrived at 09:00 and coasted past two kilometers of trucks on both sides of the road, waiting in what seemed to be a never ending queue. I got excited as it looked like the process for us was going to be a quick one.

We snaked in and out of the huge clinical building to get our passports stamped, many of us opting to brush our teeth and wash our faces on the way out. It took all of 15 minutes and I realized the Zimbabweans clearly didn't care what was leaving their country. I suppose there's nothing worth taking out. There was a tiny portrait of Mugabe, taken at least 25 years before, in the middle of a 20 metre high white wall. The rest of the building was barren. On the exit card and customs declaration, was a column asking how many Zimbabwean dollars I had spent in the country and how many nights accommodation I had paid for. I was very proud to enter a big fat zero.

Nothing prepared me for the Chirundu entrance into Zambia. It took over an hour to get my passport stamped, then we had to take EVERY item off and out of the bus, so the customs officers could pick through them with a fine tooth comb. Upon further investigation I was told it would take us at least four hours to get through. I removed my backpack from seat 35 and headed for the border. This time I forgot my shoes and mentally told myself to stop doing this! I walked through the big black metal gates and started searching for a ride to Lusaka.

The pack of money changing vultures were the only ones interested in taking me for a ride.

I found a large yellow luxury bus with aircon, reclining seats and Nigerian Movies. They felt sorry for the pink-faced Mzungu (white person) and let me on board for K20,000 (around R40). I fell asleep on the cool bus, my iPod drowning out the noise of the drunkards drinking Mosi beers and playing "your phone is ringing, pick up your fucking phone" and other irritating ring tones. I sat next to a big Zambian Mama who was more inquisitive than I was. 20 questions became 50, including how religious I was and if I would be interested in black woman. After an hour I shut her up by telling her I was born Jewish, currently an Atheist not practicing any type of prayers, and that I had been married and divorced twice and lost three children. She didn't speak to me for the rest of the trip.

Two hours later and after a much needed deep sleep, I woke up to find that we were stuck at the bottom of a hill. A massive oversize loaded truck was blocking the road ahead. There were kilometers of trucks behind us, and we had already been sitting there for almost an hour, the aircon trying its best to keep us cool, but the Marcopolo bus was overheating as a result.

Finally a digger-loader (thank you CATerpillar) nudged the monstrosity up the hill and we were off again.

I arrived in Lusaka at 16:00 after 29 hours of travel, nine of which were spent at border posts! Leaving the bus in a hurry to get my backpack from the hold, I forgot both my hat and boots inside the bus this time. I only remembered them because three touts ordered me to give them the sandals I was wearing and I noticed that I was wearing sweaty socks underneath them.

I walked the kilometer to the TAZARA (Tanzanian Zambian Railway Authority) office, with gazes of amazement, refusing all offers of lifts, accommodation, moneychangers and 'give me your hat/shoes/money/life' orders.

The TAZARA office was closed, but I saw three Mzungus outside - the first white people I'd seen since Pretoria, 30 hours before. I ran to the door and pleaded with the man inside, trying to explain to him that my bus was five hours late, that I'd traveled all the way from Cape Town, non-stop, without much sleep, and that I had tried in vain to book a seat via e-mail three weeks before. I'm not sure he understood all of that, but he did give it some serious thought.

He gave me a look, let me in, took my money (75,000 Kwacha) and gave me a ticket: Coach # 6, Compartment #4, B21. I was going to share my cabin with six people: two locals and three foreigners. He almost bit my head off when I asked him about the overnight train to Kapiri Mposhi, the one-horse town from where the Tazara train departed. It was leaving at 21:00 and headed slowly but surely northwards to the Copper belt. I thought I would get a nice free sleep and arrive in Kapiri in the morning, to wake up ready for the three day journey to Dar es Salaam. He wasn't having any of it and told me that the train mainly carried freight, it regularly broke down, they didn't care about Mzungus and could sometimes be delayed by 10 hours. He laughed when I told him that was pretty much what the travel guides said about the train I had just purchased a ticket to Tanzania on! Anyway, I followed the old man's advice and decided to stay the night. While trudging along to ChaChaCha backpackers, I saw my original City to City bus arriving, only 30 minutes after I had. The bus drivers and passengers waved encouragingly. I felt they were laughing at but perhaps they were happy to know that I had arrived in one piece.

I couldn't physically make the last 2 km walk to the backpackers, and conveniently stopped at a shoe repair guy named Chombe. He had been operating under that exact tree for the previous nine years. He fixed my sandals for 1,000 Kwacha - about two Rand! I promised to return six weeks later, to fix my shoes again and show him the pictures. On arriving at ChaChaCha, I setup my tent, got naked, and jumped into the swimming pool, floating in it for more than an hour, speaking to the other tired intrepid travelers. I scrubbed my body clean and headed out for some local food. I ate Nshima (a smooth maize staple in Zambia) and vegetables (delicious spinach and beans), with my right hand - the same hand I use while excreting - but he made sure I washed my hands in the green plastic bucket he brought to the table, while pouring water over my hands! The food was cheap and tasty and the atmosphere priceless.

I bought some eat-sum-more biscuits for David, the security guard at 'THE POST' newspaper house. He gave me the days paper, 'the paper that digs deeper', and promised to deliver the next day's to me at 05:30. He did!

I spent the evening typing out my notes, eventually retiring to my tent at 01:00. What kept me up was Louis Berger, a 50 year old, extremely well traveled Dutchman, who had some advice for me. He insisted I get rid of half of my belongings. "give them away, it's not worth your back, you don't need hiking boots, in Africa sandals are fine. You don't need a sleeping bag, a space blanket is enough. You must replace your towel should with a small chamois...".

He was carrying a tiny 5kg day pack, his sheet being the heaviest item in it. He was a keen photographer in his day, but had subsequently got lazy. I showed him all my equipment and he was particularly impressed with my film storage pipes.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1180854180/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1180854180/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1180854180/tpod.html Wed, 14 Nov 2007 02:03:56 -0500 Manic Mission: An Intricate Account of a Fleeting Bundu Bash through Ten African Countries

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Cape Town, South Africa

You can download my book at:
http://stores.lulu.com/manicmissions

Some book reviews:
=======================================================
From Sarah Heddon, USA

Wow. Asante sana. Thank you so much for sharing this
and for embarking upon this journey in general.

Once I began reading, I couldn't stop and found myself incredibly
homesick for Africa, all the different Africas you experienced and
described. Along with homesickness, I felt extremely inspired by your
tenacity and ability to execute this trip and general amazement and
fascination by the width and depth of your experiences.

I enjoyed your sense of humor immensely and found myself in various fits
of uncontrollable laughter, mainly because I've been in similar
situations or could imagine them. You portrayed the corruption,
poverty, and heartache pretty adequately and honestly, but what most
impressed me was the equally poignant descriptions of the incredible
beauty, intelligence, passions, and potential of people in these places.
I truly appreciate this and have so much respect for you as a
journalist! Dang. Amazing.

From one wanderer to another, keep pursuing this type of work, as your
talent, drive, and ability to hang off the sides of taxis or matatus and
take pics will truly "take you places."
=======================================================

=======================================================
From Betty Yeager, CANADA
I have just finished reading your incredible story of travelling through much of Africa, and it was spellbinding!

You write very well and I was totally engrossed in your experiences. I would never have even wanted, let alone dared, to do the travelling you have done in my own youth, let alone now in my senior years.

From my safe and cosy perch in Canada I simply marvelled at the hardships, fun, dangers, beauty, adventures, you experienced on your journey through Africa and told us about so well. My own few journeys were mainly in Europe--safe, beautiful days admiring the beauty of the various arts, museums and ancient buildings, enjoying the food and wines of various European countries, and certainly nothing like what you have experienced! My only experience in Africa was in Morocco, and that was enough of a culture shock for me to realize I wasn't a traveller like you so obviously are, but merely a tourist curious to explore other cultures mostly like my own, and I discovered I really wasn't comfortable in a Muslim country and seeing such poverty amongst the great wealth of the upper regime. Here in Canada we have no ancient buildings, and very few foreigners who still wear their traditional garb, although Canada is a multicultural country. Immigrants here mostly tend to blend into our society sooner or later, so Morocco was a huge shock to me and sometimes I was afraid for my safety. It really bothered me to see the women working in the fields, often carrying their babies on their backs while working with their primitive hoes and rakes to plant the crops, while the men lazed around together and drank their mint tea and then perched on their camels to go home while their women walked behind them...an amazing reality of life there compared to my western country.

Now that I am finished reading about your african adventures I doubt that anything else I read about others' adventures in far more civilized countries will ever be as thrilling as yours.

I wish you the best of luck and pleasure on your next and every other journey you take.

Betty

=======================================================
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1178899860/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1178899860/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1178899860/tpod.html Thu, 14 Jun 2007 06:03:57 -0400 Manic Mission: An Intricate Account of a Fleeting Bundu Bash through Ten African Countries

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Cape Town, South Africa

HELLO EVERYONE

Below is the last chapter of my book which I've called


Manic Mission: An Intricate Account of a Fleeting Bundu Bash through Ten African Countries
I have updated all the blog entries above, so that they now contain exactly what's in the book.

If you would like to purchase the book, (or if you're a cheap skate I will e-mail it to you) please drop me a line or SMS at +27 73 833 7775 or mail me a request at manicmissions@gmail.com

Please tell ALL your friends and families (or just bulk email EVERYONE in your address book) about my book and blog.

Hopefully I can get some validation and appreciation for me efforts (it was all fun, I promise)!

Over and Out
Dave




Epilogue

Excerpt from Blog: Sunday February 11th 2007.

So I finally made it home - in one piece.
I have gone straight back to work and will be updating all the missing stories and pictures over the coming weeks.
Over the past few days I have been rapidly "de-Africanizing". My hairstyle has gone from multi-colored braids, to wiry dirty dreadlock-thingies, to a general untidy mess, and I am contemplating shaving it all off (I'm still undecided about the fate of my tri-colored beard - some people actually quite like it!)
This morning I looked at my Michelin 955 Southern and East Africa Map which I placed on my empty bedroom wall. I wasn't sure if I should put it back on the wall, as it had been on several walls for several years. I didn't realise how much of Africa I had covered and the exact nature of my achievements, until I stuck pieces of prestik at all my stops and joined the dots with black cotton. I measured the lengths and it turns out that:
I traveled 22,500 km in 75 days averaging 300km per day.
Busses, Trains, Cars, Planes and Ferries took me to destinations most people don't even dream of.
I spent less than $2000 averaging $30 per day
I slept an average of 4 hours per night!
I cannot explain the amount of data that my mind has absorbed - I am still processing it all and the slides I just got developed take me right back to those special unforgettable moments.
Some travelers I met along the way send me emails explaining how much they miss Africa. I tell them I'm still in Africa, but that I miss them and the Africa we enjoyed together.
Thank you all for your kind wishes and continued support - I wouldn't feel as guilty as I do
(for not updating the site regularly enough) if it weren't for you lot.
If you have contact details of anyone that knows me (from my travels or otherwise), or anyone who may be interested in my travels, then please forward them a link ( http://www.travelpod.com/members/dcm ) to my travel blog or better yet, send me their details. Over and Out.
David, Dahoodi, Dawie, Daveeed, Mzungu, Wazimu, Cheezi, Clinton Marcus

20 years ago I used to write the same line at the end of my school essays:
I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it!

What else can I say?

You've (hopefully) read the entire thing instead of just looking at the pictures
(I purposely didn't give them captions).
Africa is ............ Africa.
People keep asking me "How was Africa?" and I don't know how to answer them.
I could come up with hundreds of fancy adjectives to explain it, but I think my experiences I have explained above, along with their accompanying pictures speak for themselves.
I spent six months planning, one month preparing, three months executing and two months documenting my journey.

My initial planning was both precise and unrealistic. For the first six weeks I was pretty much on target. After that circumstances dictated otherwise. Accommodation options either no longer existed or were too expensive. I met other people who I enjoyed travelling with. I got invites. I could stay for free.
I tried to make up for time and stick to my original plan as much as humanly possible. I think I did a pretty good job - considering all the warnings I had before I left.

Other Manic Missions will follow, no doubt. I'm currently planning 52 Countries in as many weeks - around the world! A motorbike would be nice, but probably too expensive and with all the shit I'd carry I would definitely break a few bones on the way. Public transport will probably be the best bet and I have already bought myself a smaller backpack!

My initial routing for the RTW trip:

South America (7)
January: Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina
February: Chile, Peru, Ecuador, Colombia
Central America (5)
March: Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, Guatemala
North America (3)
April: Mexico, United States of America, Canada
Far East Asia (8)
May: Russia, Japan, South Korea, China
June: Taiwan, Philippines, Malaysia, Thailand
South Asia (5)
July: Myanmar, Bangladesh, India, Pakistan, Iran
Europe (3)
August: Turkey, Greece, Italy
North Africa (5)
September: Tunisia, Algeria, Morocco, Mauritania, Senegal,
West Africa (11)
October: The Gambia, Guinea-Bissau, Guinea, Côte D'Ivoire, Ghana
November: Togo, Benin, Nigeria, Cameroon, Equatorial Guinea, Gabon
Southern Africa (5)
December: Congo, DRC, Angola, Namibia, South Africa



If anyone has any advice about or contacts in the above 52 countries, please let me know and tell them I'm coming!!! Better yet give me their e-mail and physical address so they can feed and house me, or else I'm never going to make it around the world on $7,500

Donations and sponsors will be greatly appreciated (& very necessary). You can reach me at manicmissions@gmail.com

Kingsley Holgate, Ted Simon, Ewan McGregor, Charley Boorman and Messrs Theroux:
I'm following in your footsteps!

The End
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1168734600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1168734600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1168734600/tpod.html Fri, 11 May 2007 19:53:41 -0400 Manic Mission: An Intricate Account of a Fleeting Bundu Bash through Ten African Countries

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Kabale, Uganda

Kabale
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1168625520/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1168625520/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1168625520/tpod.html Fri, 11 May 2007 19:48:22 -0400 Manic Mission: An Intricate Account of a Fleeting Bundu Bash through Ten African Countries

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Mbale, Uganda

Abayudaya
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1170853621/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1170853621/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1170853621/tpod.html Fri, 11 May 2007 19:43:51 -0400 Manic Mission: An Intricate Account of a Fleeting Bundu Bash through Ten African Countries

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Praia de Tofo, Mozambique

Inhambane - Tofo - Bamboozi
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1170853620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1170853620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1170853620/tpod.html Fri, 11 May 2007 19:42:10 -0400 Manic Mission: An Intricate Account of a Fleeting Bundu Bash through Ten African Countries

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Maputo, Mozambique

Maputo

7th - 9th February 2007

Thursday 8th
I woke up at 05:00 after just three hours of sleep and went on a mission to take photographs of my favorite city. I had taken many great shots three years before and wanted to add to my collection.
I put on my photographer's jacket and filled all its pockets with lenses, filters, film, cleaning brushes and three cameras slung around my neck.
I first went to the local market to take early morning shots of all the stallholders getting ready for the day's trading.

After this I found interesting buildings and people to shoot, including a drunken vagrant passed out on a bench. After taking a dozen shots of him, he moved slightly and almost in a trance, started playing with himself while having a mini epileptic fit. I was shocked, as the pedestrians didn't bat an eyelid and the nearby police didn't care either. I found two old buildings framed by two really special trees, and while taking pictures of them I saw a 'banana man' pushing his huge cart piled high with the bright yellow cargo. I took a picture of him and his cart, and was then accosted by two policemen, the same two who didn't give a shit about the masturbating vagabond. They arrested me without supplying any reasons (they couldn't speak English) and took me across the road to the police station. Once inside, a plain clothed policeman explained the nature of my crime: I took pictures of the police station. I completely lost it, especially when they demanded I remove the film from my cameras. I informed them I was a journalist, taking pictures of their city that I'm in love with, and that they should rather focus their attention on masturbating drunkards and petty thieves than harassing tourists for no apparent reason other than to illicit a handsome bribe!
I showed them pictures of the masturbating culprit, as well as the banana man and buildings.
The police station wasn't in them. The debate got heated at one stage, and then I told them to listen to my story from 3 years before:
I was in Maputo after driving three weeks from Cape Town with seven Europeans in my massive 1966 Forward Control Land Rover. We were on this very road buying some Nando's fast food, parked in front of a bank avec security guard.
My phone disappeared during the 5 minutes I was inside, and the security guard refused to divulge any information other than "I look after bank, not car. Bank pay me little, you pay nothing!" I freaked and almost throttled the poor guy, making him spill his guts and tell me what he saw. He refused to give details, but pointed in the general direction of an informal car wash operation diagonally across the street. We ran after the culprits (two members of the group, the guilty ones obviously, had made a run for it). Not being able to run far in sandals, we jumped in the truck dragging a hijacked car wash thief with us, and he led the way to his friends' house. After following the trail from one house to another and from one purchaser of the phone to the next, we knew exactly who had it and what the sale price was. They were just too scared to come out and do the deal as they were warned about my state of mind. It was at this stage that I decided to involve the police - a bad option but a highly entertaining one nevertheless.
They were so eager to help, that five of them jumped in the back of my cavernous Landy and enjoyed my reckless driving around the city. One of them found my police-issue handcuffs (used for sexual and vigilante purposes) and thought it was his duty to confiscate them, for ever! They needed search warrants and court cases and sworn statements and I was leaving the next day and they were too lazy to catch the fuckers with my phone!
So after I reminded them about this experience, told them I had just driven the entire length and breadth of their country and only encountered corruption, and threatened to report them to my embassy (I chose the British one for added effect), they agreed to let me go with a warning.
They still wanted my film though, at which point I stood up and walked out. On the way out I asked if I could take a picture of the plain clothed officer, for my own personal memories, to which he laughed and declined. I explained to him that he wasn't in uniform, there was nothing in the room indicating it was a police station, and I liked his smile. He agreed, but asked for money. I shook my head in disgust and left the police station with uncontrollable laughter.

Once I'd got back to Fatima's backpackers, I relayed the story to some of the staff, to their horror, and couldn't believe I had displayed such a brazen attitude towards them. It was risky, but in the end it worked, and I kept my slide film containing award winning shots, including one shot of the banana man in front of the police station.
I visited a travel agent in the hope of finding a direct cheap flight back to Cape Town. MTS 8,500,000.00 was the best deal I could find - roughly $320! Even if I wanted to, I didn't have that sort of money, so I investigated other options, including get a lift back home with some Germans in a Cape Town registered car.
I joined some backpackers for an espresso and Portuguese patisseries and bought a brick of butter and the biggest mango I'd ever seen from the deli.
It weighed 2kg and cost MTS 4,200,000 - about $2 - quite steep compared to Maputo-mango-prices. It was truly the best mango of my life and a memorable gastronomic experience. After gorging myself I was a sticky bearded, sticky fingered, content backpacker.
I helped Kiwi's Steve and Tarryn with planning their journey through Africa - they had eagerly read my blog and came to the decision that I knew how to plan a trip, especially a budget one.

We walked Maputo together visiting travel agents, markets and a brilliant Lebanese falafel restaurant (we all ordered a second falafel it was so good).

It was hot, we were tired, and we couldn't resist getting a ride in an MCEL yellow tuc-tuc type taxi that looked like a giant motorcycle helmet. He took us down to the fish market where we had planned to buy enough seafood for a banquet.
This is exactly what we did, splashing out on 2kg of giant Lagosta (Langoustines), LM (Laurenço Marques) King Prawns, 1kg of clams, a squid and a cuttle fish for calamari.
The taxi broke down on the way back home, seizing its tiny engine trying to get up a steep hill. The driver radioed in for a replacement while we sat in the shade looking at the diplomatic palaces in the suburb of Sommerschield.
For the next three hours Tarryn and I cooked up a storm and the three of us ate slowly for two hours while the rest of the back packer residents had to deal with the tantalizing aromas emanating from the open-plan communal kitchen. We gave them the leftovers once we were done.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1138957380/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1138957380/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1138957380/tpod.html Fri, 11 May 2007 19:40:37 -0400 Manic Mission: An Intricate Account of a Fleeting Bundu Bash through Ten African Countries

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Nova Golega, Mozambique

Nova Golega
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1170493380/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1170493380/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1170493380/tpod.html Fri, 11 May 2007 19:38:18 -0400 Manic Mission: An Intricate Account of a Fleeting Bundu Bash through Ten African Countries

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Quelimane, Mozambique

Quelimane & Zalala Beach

3rd - 5th February 2007

Silva heard of a trendy night club that was supposedly still happening and jumped in the truck eagerly trying to find the place. The girl (I can't remember her name, but will refer to her from now as 'Farida') and I were still in the back and everything was a mess. We continued our fun nevertheless, ending up on the floor with coffee grinds all over the place. The club turned out to be a meat market, and the only two white men were immediately propositioned by all and sundry. Drunk girls simply grabbed your arse, and I'm not talking about a pinch, it was a proper grope! As much as I tried, I couldn't shake them off.
I wanted to go swim in the sea and pass out on a desolate beach. Farida told me there was one only 30 km away.
By now, Silva was too pissed to drive, so we crammed four of us into the front of the truck. Farida's friend (who I will call Lina), came along for the ride (and to satisfy Silva) and drove a palm tree lined single track road at 100 km/h with bicycles and pedestrians jumping for cover. I was only following the example of the local kamikaze drivers.
Zalala was a small village with an attractive beach.
We arrived there at before 06:00 and were treated to a spectacular sunrise behind dark stormy clouds. With the exception of a few fisherman, we had the entire beach to ourselves. It stretched as far as the eye could sea, and had a 100 meter thick line of pine trees separating the beach from the mainland. After a skinny dip in the warm salty ocean, we setup camp under the canopy of the trees, surrounded by thousands of these tiny luminous frogs.
I stole Silva's swimming trunks and gave them to Farida, instructing her to wait in the middle of the beach waving them around. Silva wasn't in the least perturbed, and walked up to her nonchalantly collected his boxer shorts.

Like most Africans living on the coast, Farida and Lina refused to jump into the sea. I'm not sure if they couldn't swim.

It wasn't because they didn't want to get naked, as they had no problem flaunting their sexy bodies!

The heavens opened up again so we walked over to the local canteen, dodging all the frogs, for a giant seafood breakfast.
While we were waiting for the food, Silva arranged immaculate accommodation, a stones throw from the beach, fully furnished and with aircon! The house had just been renovated and it cost a paltry $20 each. We escaped the rain and had a great sleep in our separate refrigerated bedrooms, that is after Farida and Lina had performed their magic once more.
It wasn't long before the fisherman came to our doorstep offering freshly caught delights from the sea. Camarão, Langoustines, and a big fat fish called Pedra, took up some space in our cavernous freezer. We spent the next two days cooking seafood, enjoying sunsets and recuperating from the harrowing long distance road trip. I made a makeshift chess board out of foil, coins, onions, cashew nuts and garlic. One day we drove on the hard beach for kilometers.
On the second day we were joined by a rowdy group of young Pakistani adolescents. They were drinking and driving and acting the way I used to when I was that age. Mohammed, their leader, bragged about his sister earning $12,500 per month from their property portfolio in Nampula. He was clearly getting access to these funds judging by the flashy 4x4 he was driving. They didn't make too much noise as they mainly partied in town
Our butler, who came with the place and organized us anything we wanted, taught us how to grill Langoustines on the coals. His condiments were simple: garlic, salt and limes. To him, the seafood wasn't even a delicacy, it was his daily bread.
At 05:00 on the morning before we left, I discovered a small bird on our freezer. It was truly mesmerizing and allowed us to stroke it and take pictures. I fed it some water thinking it may have a damaged wing or foot, but after 10 minutes it simply flew away. Perhaps it was someone's pet on a joy flight. We had our last swim on the beach, packed up and left Zalala.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1164956460/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1164956460/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dcm/africa-2006-07/1164956460/tpod.html Fri, 11 May 2007 19:26:15 -0400 Manic Mission: An Intricate Account of a Fleeting Bundu Bash through Ten African Countries

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Lusaka, Zambia

Lusaka
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