Good night, sleep tight…
The next week or so was not so exciting. I went to a small town called Alto Molocue, where Said and Zein live. (These guys were the father-son duo who gave me a free ride just a week or so earlier). The town was not all that interesting, though there was an American Peace Corps volunteer that I hung out with, who offered interesting insight into being a black American working in Africa. I spent a lot of time staring out the window at Said’s guesthouse to the back area where locals pulled water from the well and a chicken farmer tossed his chickens into the back of his pickup to take to market. Besides that, Said wanted to show me his mine, where he’s apparently starting to mine semi-precious stones. In the end, we got there too late to see it, although I did meet a local man who was apparently a general of the Renamo party during the Mozambican civil war, which was interesting.
I also had another staring session with the local kids, where I quite well could have been the first white person they’ve ever seen. They all gathered around the car, just looking at me, staring at me, not taking their eyes off me. I tried to talk with them, but they were shy, so I enticed them with bananas. “Whoever tells me their name and age gets a banana.” One kid took me up on the offer. I had to hand-pick others from the crowd just to break the very uncomfortable silence. As it grew dark, I took my sunglasses off and they all looked at my hazel eyes in awe. With all the bananas exhausted, I just sat there while they stared at me, never feeling so embarrased by a bunch of kids in my life.
The next day I set off for Nampula, one of Mozambique’s larger cities and was looking forward to the creature comforts that come with a city, like running water for a nice shower. The bus pulled up and the men waiting to get on crowded around the door. When the door opened, this group of men started pushing, shoving, doing whatever they could to get on the bus. You would think they were five years old. Of course, there was no regard whatsoever to people who may have wanted to get off the bus first. This doesn’t happen. I stood back and waited for the mob to push themselves through the door, grabbed a seat, and we were off.
About 45 minutes into the trip, coming around a bend, we swerved off the road to avoid a truck in our path. Everyone gasped hard and grabbed the seats in front of them as the bus started to tip over. People were screaming and children were crying. Luckily, we didn’t tip all the way over; we fell into a drainage ditch on the side of the road and were propped up by a hill on the other side of the ditch. The bus door only opened about a foot, so we all squeezed our way out to assess the damages.
We sat around for a while, a few people hitching rides. I tried to do the same and thought I found a sure thing when a white guy pulls up in a truck. “What happened here?” I explained the scenario and asked him if he was headed to Nampula. And then…”Yeah, but I’m working and not really supposed to give rides to anyone”…and he pulled away. Unbelievable. What a jerk.
The second bus running the same route for the day pulled up just in time. Now here comes the logistical dilemma, or so you would think – fitting the contents of an overcrowded bus into another already overcrowded bus. Without fail, the same crowd formed around the doors of the new bus and people pushed to squeeze themselves on. Meanwhile, I worked at the ditch-bound bus to get my backpack out. As the door opening was fairly narrow, I looked for other options – excited about the possibility of using the emergency exit windows. Of course, the windows, while well labeled in Portuguese, Spanish, and English, lacked the actual mechanism to open them, so I ended up squeezing the pack out of the door anyway.
As I was the last on the bus, I was forced to improvise my seat. Well, place, not seat. My place was in the front, right next to the driver on the engine. I sat much closer to the windshield than the driver did, for sure. This won me a double heat bonus. Not only did I have the heat from the sun through the windshield, but also the heat from the motor on my ass. Double whammy!
I was well-roasted and exhausted by the time we pulled into Nampula and was really looking forward to plopping down in a hotel room. The first place I went to was full. They directed me to a place around the corner, where I laid down my money and told them to show me to my room. Here’s my folly: the wise traveler knows to always ask to see the room before handing over the cash. You never know what’s behind the door. But, it was a long day, I was tired, this was already the second place I had been and, honestly, I’ve never turned down a room anyway. There’s a first for everything…
The lady walked me to the room, unlocked the door and entered before me. I surveyed the scene. It was a corner room with lots of windows – bright and airy. A sink and wardrobe in the room with two beds…only one with a mattress, for which the lady was straightening out the sheet – a sure sign that it hasn’t been changed since the last guest. There was garbage on the floor some celophane wrapping of some sort, and some ripped open condom wrappers. You know what comes with ripped open condom wrappers, don’t you? Used condoms. My eyes scanned the room in search of the dirty remnants of other people’s pleasure – my own personal misery. They were on the floor, close enough to the wall and under the bed that I would avoid stepping on them. I definitely wouldn’t forget they were there. And I question if they even used those things, because the sheets weren’t all that clean either.
The lady showed me where the shared bathrooms were and left me to my own. So much for plopping down in my room. What do you do when your in a place where you don’t want to touch anything? I went back to the bathroom (long day on the bus)…the door to the toilet was locked, so I knocked. No answer. There was a huge hole in the door where the knob usually is, so I peeked through. The toilet was all broken in pieces and the structure next to it – most likely the bidet – was full of shit. The bathtub in the next room was the other option, but I just left in search for a public toilet.
I came back as late as possible and went straight to bed. Well, not before removing the sheet from the bed (the pillow was already on the floor between the bed and the wall, so I left it there), flipping over the mattress, laying my sleeping bag on top of the mattress and lighting a mosquito coil to fend off the little buggers buzzing in my ear. I had strange dreams that night…something about having to do complex math problems and being bitten by tse tse flies.
The next morning I got up and was out of the hotel by 6:45am. I had to find a bathroom, afterall. And a new hotel – one with clean sheets, functioning toilets and – amazingly – a hot shower! As the day went on, I started to notice all these red bumps up and down my arms and thought the mosquitos must have somehow been attracted to the smoke from the mosquito coil. I made sure to take my malaria pills and went on with life.
The bites did not go unnoticed, though. Travellers and locals alike pointed them out to me, asking what happened. Now, you know it’s a big deal when even the locals go “Oohh…what happened?” I mentioned the hotel I was at – Pensao Nampula, in case anyone ends up in Nampula – and I get a “Eewww” or a wide-eyed “Wha? Oohh.” And then, someone opened my eyes. Mosquitos aren’t as ruthless as whatever bit me that night. But bedbugs are.
Tags: Mozambique, Mozambique, Nampula, Travel, Tag Index
Tania
December 14th, 2006 at 7:37 pm
Hi Honey!
Somehow i feel a bit sorry that I requested more blogs. As I sit and scratch my head in wonder(parden the pun)I realize I must add to my list of chores to complete before bedtime—BOIL MY SHEETS. I refuse to be some critter’s midnight snack. But please do continue to tell your tales. we love you.
December 18th, 2006 at 9:27 pm
Wow, heh. Very eventful day you had there. hehe