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.