Roadtripping Essentials in Mozambique

A weekend at an eco lodge in Caia, Mozambique exploring uncharted territory was irresistible to friend Gigi, husband Alan and me.  Experience taught us to pack extra fuel, water, padkos and pillows for soon-to-be-aching backs… and Gigi’s Garmin, a toy we hadn’t yet played with.

I’m sure our travelling routine is familiar to other couples.   The Y chromosome climbs behind the wheel, double X is in charge of refreshments and music.   The devil, in this instance, lies not in the detail but in the navigation.

In the first third of the journey, double X is asked for directions, which, super organised, she has on hand.  Mid-third, tension arises and smiley happy journey vibes change to vicious death stares, searing accusations and a stony silence as Y snatches the directions from double X.  We finally arrive.

Commencing the journey home, I announced that I’d refrain from proffering directions unless the driver asked.  To pass the hours I morphed into a Generation X-er, exploring the Garmin.  

The arrival time changed abruptly from 19h01 to 22h57.  Unease set in.  Switching on and off, resetting and shaking all produced the same answer.  Plan B - the navigation tool on Y’s smart phone?   No signal in the middle-of-nowhere.   Gigi’s advice “switch the satnav off, it doesn’t know these Mozambique roads” was heeded.

Eventually we entered an attractive little town.  Barbecue fires filled the air with a smoky tang, dogs sprawled in the road and music blasted from every house.  Suddenly, a ‘phwoar’ noise whooshed through the cab.  “Blow out?” Gigi asked.   Indeed.  The right front tyre was neatly sliced and we were officially halted.

Gigi and I were dispatched to hunt down an icy 2M beer for the wheel changer.  Late afternoon light bathing the charming community, we paused to watch the Sunday afternoon soccer match, taken aback by children sidling up to us, snapping photographs on their phones and rushing away, giggling.  Obviously, we were a novelty here.  Something wasn’t gelling, though.  Every commercial building was named Chemba something or other and we surmised (correctly) that was the town’s name– one not on our route.  

It was the sight of the majestic Zambezi, molten bronze under the fast setting sun that finally clanged the penny into our empty brainboxes.  This was definitely new territory – we were lost.

Rushing back to the car, finding first our glasses then the map, it was confirmed.  Hopelessly off track, we’d navigated almost a full circle and after five hours travelling we were closer to Caia than to Tete.

But here’s where the wonder of African travel kicked in.  English was not the lingua franca and our pidgin Portuguese wasn’t getting us anywhere.  An enthusiastic crowd of ‘helpers’ recruited the school teacher to translate and within an hour the flat spare tyre was taken (with Alan) on the back of a bicycle to the repair shop and returned.  With the wheel changed, we drove to the repair shop where the proprietor spent several hours finding and fitting a tyre to replace the slashed one. 

Meanwhile, we inspected the choice of two accommodation establishments and plumped for the one offering an en suite with the double room, agreeing to share the bathroom with Gigi.

After ordering food and wine from the bar across the road, we realised that the ‘en suite’ was a toilet with no cistern, alongside a bucket of water to be used for washing and to pour into the toilet bowl.  Emptying our cases of towels and sarongs, we laid them on top of the sheets and retired to the ledge in front of our rooms, perching on newspaper and dousing ourselves with mosquito repellent. 

Congratulating ourselves on remaining calm and our good fortune in being stranded in such relative comfort, another penny clattered into our boxes – the Reubenesque lady staying in the room next door was receiving a number of gentlemen visitors for short periods of time. 

Before the food - grilled chicken, rice and salad – was served, two waiters arrived with a jug and bowl and juggling soap and towel, they poured warm water over our grubby hands.  The simple dignity and courtesy of the act blew our minds.

Long before daylight we were on our way, desperate for coffee and a shower.  But the fabled African road trip hadn’t finished with us yet.  Within the hour, a pop and a hiss brought us to another halt.  Wearily, we checked the tyres – all good.  Finally, the cause was discovered – a blown turbo charger hose.  Much searching of luggage produced some cord and roadside repairs were made.

It was many hours later before we limped into Tete, thoroughly fed up but at the same time marvelling at how, in Africa, kindness, hospitality and solutions are found in the most unlikely of places.