No one is going to give up their seat for me!
After Kruger, I headed back to Nelspruit for a few days, mostly just waiting out some time to make my car rental cheaper (if you can imagine that). Nothing really exciting happened except for one night while watching the World Cup with some people, when a 17-year old little rich Korean kid from San Francisco experimenting with his freedom burned the entire inside of his mouth while doing “initiation” flaming sambuca shots. He deserved it anyways, especially after spouting out such garbage as “everyone in the United States wears Prada” and other such nonsense; I had a good talking-to with him.
I found out there was a Mozambiquan embassy in Nelspruit, so I decided to avoid going back to Johannesburg, and just went straight to Maputo. Of course, of all days to go, I crossed the border on South Africa’s Youth Day (June 16th, which commemorates start of the Soweto Riots). I walked into the most crowded immigration office ever to a sweaty, smelly (eau de Africa = BO) jumble of people doing the worst job ever of attempting to form lines. One man told me to watch my bag. Got it. Another guy, while passing me was trying to say something that I didn’t understand. Then it became loud and clear. “Fuck you.” OK then.
After waiting in the line, we got back on the bus and made our way to Maputo. It was dark when I arrived, and even though I was only going 3 blocks, I took a cab, just to make sure. The next few days I just walked around Maputo, although it was pretty dead over the weekend, so I decided to stay into the week; I kept extending the time I would stay there, first to go to some “International Music Festival” (where all the musicians were from Mozambique, but I got excited because there was one band called Spoon there, and I thought, could the little Indie band Spoon actually have found its way to the Franco-Mozambiquan cultural center in Maputo for a concert? Of course not…), and then to wait for some “shuttle” to the next destination – Tofo.
I met some pretty interesting people at the hostel in Maputo. Your average backpacker only stayed one night on their way to the beaches at Tofo, but the long-term guests were all very interesting – a German woman living in Portugal, but now in South Africa getting her PHD in Mozambiquan literature; a 40-ish Dutch guy named Jan who has now been traveling through Africa for 4 years; a Scottish guy, Alan, who now lives 6 months in S. Africa, 6 months in this hostel in Maputo; and a very Jewish-looking Christian Portuguese guy doing research for his Masters in Muslim studies. I’ve definitely found a lot more interesting people on the road here…
The Portuguese Muslim scholar is Raul, who, after talking to, found a Brazilian woman to change my Brazilian reais (this is, after all, the entire reason I came to Mozambique, was to attempt to change this money, about $250 worth). What good luck! We had some drinks and watched the World Cup (we watched it practically every night…I was very addicted to it).
But, about Maputo. What a really great city. I do have to admit that it took me maybe a day or so to get used to walking as a white person in an all-black city. In most places I’ve been, I’ve been an obvious outsider, with the white skin and blond hair. But, I felt a bit more conscious of it here. This could be from one of two things…first, coming from South Africa, particularly Johannesburg, where things are very unsafe could be a factor. Second, except for where I grew up, usually if I’m walking in an all-black part of town (in Chicago, let’s say), I probably shouldn’t be there. Plain and simply, that’s it. But, after a day of walking around Maputo, getting to know the place, I felt completely safe and never had any problems.
Maputo is full of little cafes and bakeries (with really great bread), as well as little cultural spots with live music and art. There’s lots of cute tree-lined streets with hilarious names such as Avenue Ho Chi Min, Vladimir Lenine, Av Karl Marx, and Av Mao Tse Tung, where I believe the American Embassy is located (close to the corner of Mao Tse Tung & Kim Il Sung); constant reminders of the communist regime here before the civil war.
After a week of being in Maputo, I finally left for Tofo, a tourist beach town; it’s been a while since I’ve been on a beach, and I’ve been craving one for a while. I opted to take the “shuttle” to Tofo, which I was told would pick me up at the hostel and take me straight to Tofo, which would be easier (more direct) and a bit cheaper. I was ready at 6:30am, when it was supposed to pick us up, and I just wanted to get on the shuttle and sleep the whole way there after a night at the Brazilian cultural center watching the Brazil-Japan match. Instead of a shuttle, 3 taxis arrived to pick us up and take us to the shuttle. I became the man running the operation’s best little buddy since I spoke Portuguese, and translated for the rest, getting them in the cabs.
The cabs took us to a big dirt chapa yard (chapas are the van-like vehicles that transport most people everywhere). Seven o’clock in the morning, and this place was bustling; people screaming, pushing, selling all sorts of stuff. I just stood there with my pack on, waiting to get on this chapa, getting pushed around by all sorts of people moving in every direction. We seriously must have stood there about an hour.
Alright, so what’s the problem here? Why are we standing here for so long? People were yelling and screaming, and as I paid attention, I slowly came to realize that there was not enough room for us on the chapa, this supposed “direct shuttle”. (Us, being all tourists, white backpackers). It had filled up with locals before we got there; alright, I decided, I’ll just have to go tomorrow, or whenever. No, no, no. They were kicking off locals to put the tourists on. Are you kidding me?! Oh, I got furious. “Can you believe this?”, I said to the last two girls left to get on the chapa. “They’re kicking off locals for us to get on. That’s awful! I’ll just go tomorrow on the bus.” Oh? There’s another bus…They didn’t know about the bus (what, do you think this is the only way to go to Tofo? Idiots.)
At that moment, a woman and her little girl came off the shuttle, making room for more tourists. “And what are they supposed to do now? They were here first, and you’re kicking them off to make room for the tourists?!” I yelled at the guys running the operation. “Calm down”, they told me. “They didn’t pay”, they said, which I could see was a lie as they handed their money back. They just weren’t paying the tourist prices. Forget this! I’m not going on this. No one is going to give up their seat for me! “Well, if you’re not going,” said the last two tourist girls, “there’s enough room for us now, so we’re ok.” Yeah, whatever. Take it. I was so furious, so disgusted, in complete disbelief of what was actually happening; my head was spinning.
“Come here,” said the one guy. “There’s another bus back here.” This was the guy running the operation. He put me on another chapa, where I was the only tourist; someone made a joke about me being the only white person, and I turned around and smiled at them. I don’t think they intended on me understanding Portuguese. I was so relieved to be on that chapa – yes, the only white person, but I’ll be damned if I wanted some local to give up their seat for me on that direct chapa, let alone sit with all those wide-eyed, selfish tourists who took other people’s seats, agreeing with me that it was horrible but nevertheless shrugging their shoulders, only concerned with their own situation.
Tags: Maputo, Mozambique, Mozambique, Travel, Tag Index
Tania
March 7th, 2008 at 1:39 am
wow hehehehe your blog on maputo to tofo -definitely sounds like fun 🙂 you the type of person id like to go on a holiday with!!! im going to tofo may08 cant wait to write my blog!