At the Border:

They warned me that I should go back. This wasn’t a proper entry into Mozambique. There was nowhere to get a visa. I’d be deported. They said if I wanted to cross here I should get a visa in Dar. I said I understood all this.
‘Is there a way?’
‘Yes, there is a way.’ He said, making it clear it wasn’t an easy one.
‘That’s ok. I’ll take a shot.’
‘You pay new visa coming back.’
‘Yes,’ I said. You never think about turning round.

--

Wading across with the Somalis

--

We walk over to the Ruvuma and wade across it, water up to our knees.
‘This, my friend, you will never forget!’ Someone says.
‘Is this legal?’ I ask another.
‘No.’ He says, laughing at me.

At one point, the water becomes too deep and canoes take us across. We cross it and wade over shallows again to get to the bank. Some people start running, there’s some gasping and a couple of yells.
‘What’s the hurry?’ I ask my friend, but he doesn’t understand. (How I drove across the country, guided by a guy who I couldn’t understand and couldn’t understand me is not something I can easily explain.) The man next to him does, and says:
‘Crocodiles.’
‘Oh.’ I say. We slowly walk over to the bank. I look over my shoulder a couple of times, just to make sure.