Sahidi, Fazira, Behind the Bar

--

It was late and the only guests still awake were the mother and daughter sitting at the bar. We were playing the post-it game again.

‘I’m a real person, living, a man.’ I said, organizing my thoughts through that whisky haze. ‘So. Do I travel?’

‘Yes, a lot,’ said the kid.

‘Do I have a normal job? I mean what’s normal... Do I have an office job?’

‘No, no... definitely not.’ Says the mother.

‘I like this man,’ I announce. It makes the kid smile a beautiful little smile. I’m paid in sunsets and sunrises, but I’m tipped in smiles.

At the end of the night, many drinks and questions later, turned out I was Osama Bin Laden. Beats Michael Palin, I suppose.

It’s late and the only guests still awake were the mother and daughter sitting at the bar. We were playing the post-it game again.

‘I’m a real person, living, a man.’ I said, organizing my thoughts through that whisky haze. ‘So. Do I travel?’

‘Yes, a lot,’ said the kid.

‘Do I have a normal job? I mean what’s normal... Do I have an office job?’

‘No, no... definitely not.’ Says the mother.

‘I like this man,’ I announce. It makes the kid smile a beautiful little smile. I’m paid in sunsets and sunrises, but I’m tipped in smiles.

At the end of the night, many drinks and questions later, turned out I was Osama Bin Laden. Beats Michael Palin, I suppose.

Sunrise

Sunset

--

‘You know what? A job like this, we are paid in sunrises and sunsets.’ Eli said.

‘And they couldn’t pay us any better.’ I said.

NB: It took me a while to trace this find. It is Barbara Krueger's 'Untitled (thinking of you)'.

I had been in bed for hours trying to sleep.

I heard a car drive right into the courtyard. I heard doors slamming shut and then loud voices. I heard them shouting and threatening Mzungo (the manager) and his wife.

'Give me the keys,' They shouted, again and again. I could hear threats, I could hear insults - some things you don't need to speak dialect to understand.

'Do it,' Mzungo agreed, eventually.

I could hear them rattling the keys, trying to find the right key to each keyhole, and always shouting.

They came down the corridor.

One room at a time.

The man was standing just outside my door.

I lit up my candle, sat up, put on my shoes and waited. Putting on my shoes seemed like an important thing to do.

I waited, God knows how long for, listening to the keys ring, trying to follow the conversation outside.

I remember that a kid was crying.

I heard them get back into the car and drive away. I waited for about a minute, kicked off my shoes and went back to bed.

--

In my mind, the complicated part had always been getting to Mocimboa.

I had never suspected leaving would be so hard.

Mocimboa da Praia

--

It was a week ago today when I invited the chief of police to the bar. It was a tiny place. The heat was intense. The beer was served boiling.

All the town had been warned of my arrival. The policeman had me in his nice little cage - I had to sing.

‘I lived for seventeen years in Cuba. It’s a great country. Its poorest soul owns a car, a radio and a Tv set, did you know that? The government says that at all times a man should have transport and access to information.’

‘Must be a great country,’ I agreed. ‘I read that Fidel has survived 600 attempts.’

‘He must have a great witch!’ He said. ‘I was there when his wife tried to kill him. Everywhere in the country we had flags at half-mast. Such a tragedy. Women, women are the cause for all the world’s problems. Women and money.’

‘Yeah? Maybe,’ and I took another swig. ‘But I wouldn’t want to live in a world without women.’

‘Women and money!’ My friend assured me. As if to prove a point, he called his wife saying he’d be late, told his mistress to meet him at the bar, flirted with the bartender, and took from me what little money I had left in my wallet.

But now, at least, I know what to look out for.

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.

The First Leg

The Scanlink Express

Chum smiled all trip long. And used his Tetris console to shoot everybody in the bus. Loudly. Nothing whiles time away like a little mischief.

Lunch Break at Nangurukuru:

Something fishy...

Because you can't carry food in your hands, these kids sell paper bags to the hungry.

What was on the Menu

My Journey in a few words and pictures:

Saturday, Dar-Mtwara : A 13hour ride on the Scanlink Express

Sunday, Mtwara to a ford on the Ruvuma: the Kimodo Minibus (5hours)

Crossing the Ruvuma: Canoes

Namoto-Mocimboa da Praia: Pickups! (six or seven hours)

Monday: Mocimboa da Praia-Vamizi, Dow (10 hours)

(Other means of transport used between Thursday and Tuesday included: caravan airplane, car, and an off-road motorcycle, besides covering substantial distances on foot - will somebody call Charlie Boorman and tell him he's lost his job?)

This is the just the basic outline of my journey, when I review my notes I'll post up some new pictures and writing.

God, it must be a beautiful, lonely thing being normal.

I hope that I will grow up too, and become an adult, just like you. (-on the Virtues of Being Normal)

Bob Dylan, Mozambique


(You can listen to the original here.)

Words from the Bible:

Everything Is Meaningless (/Overrated)

Ecclesiastes 1

¹ The words of the Teacher, son of David, king in Jerusalem:

² "Meaningless! Meaningless!"
says the Teacher.
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless."

³ What does man gain from all his labor
at which he toils under the sun?

⁴ Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.

⁵ The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.

⁶ The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.

⁷ All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.

⁸ All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.

⁹ What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.

¹⁰ Is there anything of which one can say,
"Look! This is something new"?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.

¹¹ There is no remembrance of men of old,
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow.

Early Morning Blues

--

Being a Beach Bum: Rule #1
Always go for a swim in the morning. Failing this, people give you weird looks during breakfast and ask you why you have sand on your face.

Society, Live, Eddie Vedder and Johnny Depp.

--

'If you want to get on that dow trip, you're taking a life jacket.'

'I'm not taking a life jacket.'

'I'm serious.'

'I'm not taking a life jacket.'

'Ok, then you're taking sunscreen. And lots of water.'

'I'll take some water.'

'And a hat, at least you have to take a hat.'

'I’ll take a hat.'

(Hey kid,) Don't get lost in Heaven.

Oh, please, a binge drinker is such an ugly word. Come on, call me an alcoholic.

I guess it's time to.

--

'Man, I know you,' Mustara said, in awe as the mechanic fixes the hobiecat. ‘That you are a master.'

'Yeah, bro, you know, here I’m being paid next to nothing. But back in Pemba, I’ve got a lot of opportunities.'

'You leaving?'

'I don’t know man,' Nuro said. 'Love and fate you can’t force - know what I mean?'

'Yeah, man, yeah - I know what that means.'

'God knows. But what I’m saying is that the best dish is the one you haven’t eaten yet.'

Beauty in the Banal

--

Making plans and dreaming should not be considered two very different acts. Don't expect to remember either when you stop, or for them to make sense when you think back.

"But you do understand: everyone ... must follow the rules."

He tips his head back and gives that wink that she isn't fooling him any more than I did, that he's onto her. He looks up at her with one eye for a minute.

"Ya know, ma'am," he say, "ya know - that is the ex-act thing somebody always tells me about the rules..."

He grins. They both smile back and forth at each other sizing each other up.

"...just when they figure I'm about to do the dead opposite." (-Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest)

All we do

Stocking up my fridge

Caipirinha, with a touch of Michelangelo

--

This island is like an old inn at the last crossroads or the port where all lost sailors stop. Everyone here is going somewhere. They're just waiting for the right wind to blow.

She’s going to quit her job.

He’s going to move for good.

All the guests are going home.

At the bar everybody talks of destinations, future and past, and wait for that wind to change. (-Reveries)