Reflections of Mozambique

Distance travelled: 1225 miles/1960km
Days taken: (actual riding) 13
Days in country: 19

When I was growing up in neighbouring South Africa, Mozambique was always one of those magical places, a place where the living was easy, they spoke Portuguese, had fantastic seafood, made cigarettes rolled in banana leaves and had a wonderful coastline with beaches and islands to die for.
My father was, for a short time, involved in a business based here and I still have fond memories of the few times I visited as a very young child.
When planning this trip I decided very early on that visiting this country was a must, and so it was that with great anticipation I crossed the border from Swaziland into Mozambique.

Day 1

My introduction to Mozambique

A policeman at the border suggested I head for Boane, which was about 45 miles from the border to spend the night. Five hours later I innocently rolled into a place that looked like a scene from Mad Max.
It was absolutely jam packed with shouting people; they spilled off the pavements into the pot-holed road. People were selling everything imaginable on the pavements, the air was full of smoke from a multitude of fires, rubbish was piled waist high everywhere you cared to look, taxis and busses (none of which would ever pass a road worthy test) all belching smoke jostled with the crowds and animals walking in the road, it was absolute mayhem.

As I negotiated my way through the chaos people were bumping and shoving my bike all shouting at me in Portuguese, trying to sell all and everything to me.
“I’m stuffed here.” I thought.
“ How the hell am I ever going to make sense of this train smash?” I wondered.
I was just starting to feel a bit panicky, when a youngster thrust his face into mine and asked in perfect English whether I wanted to buy airtime. (Airtime for your mobile is bought from vendors on the streets in Africa) This was just what I’d been waiting for and I stopped.
“ Yes I do, but I first need to find somewhere to stay,” I shouted to be heard above the din.
“ Come with me, I’ll take you to the hotel, he said.
My immediate thought was, be bloody careful here, you could be setting yourself up for a mugging at best and God knows what at worst.
“Where is it?” I asked as he headed into a packed and chaotic side street.
“Round the corner, it’s not far,” he said pushing through the surging crowd.
True to his word there was a rather rundown seedy looking hotel of sorts around the corner, after parking and locking the bike outside we went into a bar that given the state of it I’ll bet had seen some real action in it’s time.
Albert, as I later found out was his name, asked the woman behind the bar how much it was for a night, as she spoke no English.
“ 600 Meticals (£13.00)”, she said. “ But if you find yourself a “lady wife” it’s 1200 Meticals.” She said without even looking at me.
“ Tell her there’s more chance of me deep frying my genitals than there is of me taking a “lady wife” or anyone else for that matter to my room.” I told him.
I think the significance of what I’d said was probably lost on him as he then proceeded to spell out the dangers of taking strange women to your room in Mozambique.

“I want to see this room before I commit to anything,” I said, knowing full well that as long as it had a roof, shower and door I was having it. We traipsed upstairs to find the woman who looked after the rooms, she took one look at me and said 1800 Meticals for the night.
“What, but the woman downstairs…..” I said, wasting my time; it was pay up or go.
“Let’s just see the bloody room,” I said, starting to get seriously pissed off.
It had a roof, shower, door, air conditioning, TV and a bed and appeared to reasonably clean from what I could see from the door.
“Tell the thieving cow I’ll take it”, I said.
And that was that, Albert sold me some airtime left me his phone number and said if I had any issues I should just give him a call and he would come and help. One of the few really good eggs in Mozambique as it turned out.

Once on my own I looked around the room and discovered that the air conditioning did not work, neither did the toilet, sink or shower, the very new looking TV however did. I pulled back the covers of the bed to discover that there were no sheets and that the mattress looked as if someone had given birth on it. My immediate though was to go and ask for another room or my money back but soon realised that it was a waste of time, as they wouldn’t understand me, and even if they did, they didn’t give a shit anyway.
So instead of a nice shower followed by a couple of ice-cold beers and a good meal, as I’d been dreaming about all day, I sat in a sweaty and hungry state, feeling very, very alone wishing I’d never come up with this bloody stupid idea of riding across Africa in the first place.

Across the street was a shack on the pavement selling all sorts of crap, outside was a set of speakers, the type a band or a disco would use, blaring out music at full volume, they’ll turn it down before long I thought, when I left at 4.30 the next morning it was still blaring!
“I can’t let this get to me or I might as well call it a day and head back to the UK.” I eventually realised, this was Africa, this is the way things were and I’d just have to wise up a bit. Whilst I sat going through all this in my mind an idea came to me.

If the old crone that had screwed 1200 Metical out of me thought that she had won she was sorely mistaken, I was going to get even. So to the blaring music, if you could call it that, coming from across the street, I dismantled her new TV set. Once apart, using my nail clippers I removed all sorts of colourful interesting looking bits and pieces, thus ensuring it would never again entertain men and their “lady wives” again.
Realising that it was probably still under guarantee and that it would no doubt end up back at the supplier I decided to leave a love letter inside which would be found by who ever tried to fix it, and given that the chances of them being able to read English was good, she would get my message.

The note I left read.


I hope you haven’t spent the money you screwed out of me on toy boys or some other daft thing, because I’m afraid you’re going to have to spend it plus a whole lot more on a new TV set. I hope that every time you see a TV set you think of me and the money I cost you. Now you have a nice day.

I signed the note with a smiley face just to let her know I’d forgiven her for being her, and that I could also play the game.

Such was my introduction to Mozambique or Mozambique’s introduction to me.

Mozambique has been a massive disappointment to me, it is without doubt more expensive than the UK where the cycling tourist is concerned but unlike the UK here you get third world service, in other words none, the quality and standard of their hotels, lodges, campsites and restaurants is appalling, yet they feel they can and do demand top dollar. With the exception of one or two places that I stayed, an Eco Lodge and a lodge called “The crazy cucumber”, the rest can best be described as expensive and not even third rate, you couldn’t complain about the standards as there weren’t any.
An example is a hotel that I was forced to stay in due to really severe weather. I was charged $110 p/night, there were no towels, no toilet paper and no plug for the bath not that it mattered as the lights in the bathroom didn’t work anyway. When I went into the restaurant the waiter kept trying to introduce me to a prostitute, when I kept politely declining the offer, he became more and more surly and the already crap service became non-existent.

The following day I decided to buy a few more puncture repair kits as I’d had 7 punctures the previous morning, due to the amount of glass on the roads, people do not use litterbins in Mozambique, they just throw it out of the window. So I went to the local market looking for a bicycle shop. A bloke wearing a badge that said he was a tourist guide said he could organise the 5 kits I required, he returned with the said kits and demanded the Mozambique equivalent of £50.00.

Now these kits cost £1.50 in the UK, so once I had got over my initial disbelief and shock, I told him I was not interested at that price, his response was to get animated and aggressive, to which I happily responded with a demonstration of what animated aggression really was.
This was certainly not what he had expected from a tourist and was visibly shocked, this umlungu (white man, as they call us) had finally reached the end of this tether with the constant rip off and lack of basic decency and had decided to bite back. Needless to say I got my kits at a reasonable, although slightly inflated price, and hopefully he learnt a lesson.

There are many more examples that I could give of the attitude towards foreigners and the issues that I believe this country face’s, some of which will no doubt find their way into the TV series.
How long do these people actually think they can carry on ripping us off like this, and when will they realise that they need us far more than we need them?

The impression I’ve been left with is that they think we are all idiots with more money than brains. In fact one charming bloke told me that because I am a white man “I must, no have to give him money,” when I told him there was no chance he demanded my shoes. When I told the only way he’d get my shoes was in a swift kick up the backside, he was offended, this idiot obviously believed what he was saying to me.
Riding a bicycle brings you very close to the people, far more so than driving a car. I was constantly getting stopped in villages and along the road by people wanting me to give them something. The mantra is always the same “you must give me ……” This seems to be the belief and it does not bode well for the future I’m afraid.
I must say it did not take too long to wise up to it all and nothing short of a roadblock would stop me. I think I understand why and where it is all coming from but that is for another blog. An interview I did with a chap who runs an Eco Lodge goes a long way to explain it, but you’ll have to wait for the TV series to see that I’m afraid.

There is no denying that the coastline is very special but it is laden with rubbish, the roads are like landfill sites, I’ve never seen so much litter in my life, if this country wants to become a tourist destination, which I believe it does, it certainly needs to get it’s act together.
I have no issue with third world standards, this is Africa after all, but don’t treat me with contempt, expect me to pay 1st world prices for third world amateurism and be happy about it. As I was leaving Mozambique to enter Malawi I let my guard down slightly and was screwed out of about £40 worth of Malawian Kwacha by a delightful character from where, you guessed it, Mozambique.

To say that all people in Mozambique are like this would be unfair and hurtful to the many fantastic people that I did meet, and when they read this they will know who they are, and I thank them for the warmth, friendship and kindness that they showed me and I wish them and their families well for the future.

In conclusion

My advice to anyone thinking about visiting Mozambique is don’t. Go to Greece or Turkey if you want lovely beaches; if diving is your thing go to the Red Sea. If you really want an African experience then go to S Africa or Namibia, Namibia is a fantastic country with warm welcoming people as is Swaziland and Botswana.
The fact that I now probably hold the world record for cycling almost the entire length of the country whilst carrying 64kg says it all I think.