Finding a Balance

The more I travel in Mozambique, the more aware I become that each day is made up of a see-saw-like pattern of goods and bads, which in the end, allows me to stay sane in what most well-traveled people would consider a somewhat chaotic place.

Almost daily, I experience the sensation that the person I am dealing with is trying to take advantage of me. Most frequently this has to do with transportation and can be blamed on the lack of posted prices that westerners are so used to, along with the money collector's power to charge whatever he is in the mood to for the piece of luggage one is carrying. I usually spend the beginning of every ride somewhere shaking my head at having been overcharged.

However, there is always some turning point, either during the ride, or at the very end, when I am reminded of how wonderful people can be. After my second experience being ripped off for a ride, a very friendly man who turned out to be a teacher, like myself, was kind enough to walk with me from the ferry to the place where I needed to catch my next mini bus. It took us about 15 minutes to walk there, and he insisted on taking my bag for me. He took it upon himself not only to find the right vehicle for me, but to also speak personally to the driver to ensure I was being charged a fair price. Imagine how grateful I was!

It was already quite dark upon arrival in Vilanculos, and I had no idea how to get to where I was heading from the bus stop. Earlier that same day, I was charged an exorbitant amount by the mini-bus driver to drop me off what turned out to be one kilometer further from the official bus stop. Yet this driver saw that I had luggage and it was dark, and he actually drove me to my destination instead of dropping me off and wishing me good luck finding a taxi. This is unusual, and again, not taken for granted.

Today was an incredibly long day. I got on my first bus at 4:30am after a 20 minute walk in the dark (thanks to an unreliable taxi service). At 12:30 we arrived in Inchoppe and it was time to board the next bus immediately. This mini van had four small rows, and one extremely aggressive, inhumane money collector. By the time he was done loading us in, there were 27 angry passengers, plus our driver and a boy who replaced the money collector.

Despite appearances, we are in transit. These people are not boarding the bus.

At 7:30pm, our driver determined that it had taken us too long to get to the Caia junction, and we would not make it to Quelimane by that evening, as planned. Passengers stood in a semi-circle around the driver, waiting for their unloaded luggage and the difference in money returned to them so that they could use it for tomorrow's fare. The driver offered to let me sleep in the vehicle if I didn't want to pay for a hotel, but when I explained to him that I had been on a bus for the past 13 hours, he said he understood, and said that he just wanted to help. After returning the money due to the leftover passengers, he reached out again. “Would you like me to take you to an affordable hotel? The rooms aren't going to be very nice, but it's only to sleep, right?”

Not only did they bring me to the hotel, where I was able to get a room for $7.40, but he also offered to bring me somewhere so to have a hot meal. As I sat with Fred and Escurinho (“Darkie”), eating Price Chopper-rubbery chicken and rice, Fred hoping that I didn't mind eating in such a simple place, I thought about how lucky I am. My diet today consisted of two pieces of bread, four tangerines, an apple and a small bag of peanuts. There was one stop to use the “bathroom”, on the side of a busy road in a town center where there was no place to hide myself. Kids rode by on their bikes or walked past and laughed as they saw me squatting to pee, unable to find privacy. But here was this driver who saw that I had a rough day and reached out. After dinner, he brought me back to the hotel, and even offered to come pick me up at 6am and knock on my hotel door when the bus will head to Quelimane. 

I know that we will then sit on the bus for up to two or three hours where we stopped last night, waiting for it to fill beyond capacity before we can leave. I'm also pretty sure that I will most likely have someone else's baby sleeping on one of my arms while the two-year-old behind me bangs on the back of my seat and the man on my other side unknowingly assaults me with his body odor. But the ride will be shorter, and I will take it with Fred and Escurinho, two people who didn't have to care, but chose to. And that's what the African see-saw is all about. You will be frustrated and down over and over, and for every time you are, someone will surface out of the blue to bring you back up and restore your faith in humanity. It's amazing how inspiring negative experiences can be.

My bag (in its green cover) and some company for the ride.

Speed Bumps

(Originally written Aug. 4th) 

Life is fantastic. This morning I didn't want to spend an extra second in my bed. The moment I woke, I heard the waves rolling in and crashing outside. I knew the sun must be coming up and I didn't want to miss it. I untucked my trusty mosquito net, slid on my flip flops, and walked out of my little thatched-roof bungalow in my pajamas to find the sun shining brilliantly over the soft, beige sand. It is incredibly peaceful here at 6:40 in the morning, and I am particularly thankful that at 8:30 last night, despite it being a Saturday, I was too tired for anything but bed. A Great Dane and a Jack Russell Terrier are running together, playing on the beach. Further down, there is a woman in a traditional African sarong walking alone with a large bucket. Other than that, there is no one, and it is bliss.

I've only been in Mozambique a few days now. I spent the first two in Maputo, and was so spent from three weeks of camping, firmly scheduled days and being part of a group, that all I wanted was to do nothing at all. I went to bakeries, cafes and spent most of my time reading and investigating where I should spend my time in this long-coasted country. Flights are terribly expensive, so I opted to make my way up the coast via chapa, their version of the minibus. However, the hostel I was staying at offered a convenient door-to-door shuttle service that would bring me from my hostel in the capital directly to Tofo, my next destination. Although somewhat pricey, I decided the convenience was worth the cost. I double-checked that the shuttle would at least make a couple bathroom stops and signed up to leave at 5:30 the next morning. Wow, a direct door-to-door service! I was off to a good start.

“Too good to be true” is the expression that springs to mind when describing the said “direct shuttle”, and it shouldn't have been, for the seven hundred meticais that I paid to the hostel's reception desk. Before I continue, let me clarify a few things. Seven hundred meticais is equal to about twenty-six U.S. dollars, and it is a long ride from Maputo to Tofo. But this is Mozambique, not the United States.

The shuttle arrived on time, and approximately 10 of us, all foreign, were loaded into its small inside, where the twenty-something year old in charge proceeded to cram our luggage into the aisle and our day packs into our already-limited foot and leg space. I looked around at the variety of, “Oh boy, here we go” expressions around me, and reminded myself that it could be worse...and worse it became. Ten minutes later, we stopped at the very traditional African bus lot, where we sat for the next hour as our man in charge searched for passengers to fill the rest of the breathing space. Once he had successfully found six more passengers, he snapped his fingers and made seats appear where they previously failed to exist, charged each new arrival 435 meticais for the ride, and we were on our way. Failing to notice the stunt that had just been pulled, the non-Portuguese speakers around me sat quietly, trying to readjust their bodies in a way that would be comfortable enough for the six-hour journey. I sat there annoyed, suddenly remembering the hand-written sign at the reception near the information board about the shuttle. “Any questions or complaints, speak to the driver.” Why didn't that raise a flag in the first place?

The next eight minutes were spent in an unsuccessful attempt to bring to the attention of the driver and other man in charge that we were aware we had been overcharged by 265 meticais, and would like some type of fair action taken. Yes, the others got on the bus ten minutes later than we did, so they didn't owe us the entire difference. But we had all assumed that we were paying the price we were for the convenience of a non-stop, comfortable ride. Had we known we could have gotten on the vehicle in the same place the others did and paid 435 meticais, we certainly would have.

The man in charge wouldn't look me in the eye as I asked him why we were being charged 700 meticais for nearly the same exact service. He paused, repeated my question several times, paraphrased it, and finally declared that we should take it up with Fatima, the hostel owner, if we had a problem. I explained that there is a sign in the reception, directing us to speak to those in charge of the shuttle, not Fatima, should there be “questions or complaints”. Indignant but unsurprised at having been taken advantage of by both the shuttle service and Fatima, I was unable to keep my mouth shut about the obvious corroboration. This useless exchange came to an end with one last sudden comment from a Mozambican passenger who decided to chime in. “What does she want? For us to pay 700 meticais for the ride? We're not slaves! This is Mozambique!” and mumbled something about racism to frost the already overcooked cake. All I could do was shake my head and laugh in my mind at the accusation. If only she knew me.

Despite the unpleasantries of the shuttle, getting to Tofo was so worth the trouble. I think sometimes we think about going somewhere, but we know the ride is too bumpy, cramped or long, and we let it discourage us. But what about the fresh grilled lobster and coconut rice, the eleven dollar hut on the beach, and the chances to swim amongst dolphins and whale sharks? Isn't all of it part of the journey?