0 km, Day 1 – I tried to avoid the
stares of Mozambicans on their way to the machamba
as I stood on the side of the road. Usually the stares make me angry but
this morning I shrug in embarrassment. Admittedly, I look like an idiot.
Dressed in my best boleia outfit, my hiking pack weighing on me, I’m waving my
hand at every passing vehicle. I’m hitching a ride to Montepuez. And I’m
embarrassed because it is very easy to pay for a chapa on this road. However,
I’m counting on my pale skin and modern clothing to get me a free ride. I didn’t
make the rules.
202 km, Day 2 – It’s five in the
morning and the decisions of last night are weighing heavily on my soul and
eyelids. My ever-supportive travel partner, Salome, is sitting in front of a closed
barraca, her head in her hands. We’ve been waiting for two hours for a ride to
Balama. The goal is to make it to Lichinga, Provinicia de Niassa by the end of
the day. It’s a long and difficult road, and today we are hopeful to join the
short list of PCVs to travel it.
300 km, still Day 2 – A crowd of dirty,
annoying children have surrounded us. We’re trapped under the only tree on the
road out of Balama. During the chapa from Montepuez, I heard several people say
the name of our next destination, Marrupa. I was hopeful that we’d quickly find
our next ride. But as the sun rose to the middle of the sky, and the hours
dragged on, my hope evaporated. Turns out that in the local language, Makua,
the word for backpack is marrupa. And
my bright red 45L bag was making quite the impression on my fellow travelers.
Not quite 430 km, feels like day 3 but
really Day 2 – My travel buddy and I have been on the back of a pick-up truck
for the past three hours. The sights are amazing, the conversation limited.
Then, we pulled over for a policeman. This is pretty common. Police can pull
over people without cause and ask for their ID. I’ve never had any problems but
other volunteers have dealt with corruption. Bribing is common. However, all
this cop wanted was a short boleia. So, the motorista
turns the truck around and we take the cop back to his station. As he steps
into the building a fellow passenger says, “This is the guy that stabbed his
wife.” Salome and I quickly trade glances. The cop walks out of the station
with an older gentleman in handcuffs. He is swiftly picked up and thrown into
the back of the trunk. Silently, we continue on our drive. Only a few moments
later we stop at the check point where we originally picked up the police
officer. Thanks goodness. The outrageousness of sharing a ride with a convicted
murder was getting to me. The policeman stands up and hands a butcher’s knife
to another passenger, then climbs out. “Don’t let him run away,” He says as he
disappears into a small shack on the side of the road. Now, Salome, five other
passengers, a wife-murderer, and I are sitting in the back of a pick up truck.
That’s when the AK-47 appears in front of me. The policia went to pick up his
weapon, in order to guard the man he just left alone. My brain is having
difficulty processing the situation. My eyes glance from the knife, now being
held loosely in the cops right hand, the gun that is leaning against his left
side, and the old man who's simply stares at his hands. The only thing I can
think to do is eat a banana.
430 km, no idea what day it is- So the
wife-murder detour delayed us for a bit, but the sun is still just barely
peaking over the horizon. We’ve arrived at Backpack which means that Lichinga
is a measly three hours away. The cobredor
has assured my several times that we will make it to Lichinga by the end of
the day. “Estamos Juntos!” he said.
As the other passengers depart the cobredor calls over Salome and I, and he points
out the closest pensão. That’s where we’ll be staying for the night. The dream
of making it from Montepuez to Lichinga in one day has died.
1,066 km, Day 3 – The morning passed
like a dream. We gathered our things at five and magically received a boleia
from two road workers. We enjoyed the mountains and Christmas trees (Chirstmas
trees!!) in a heated vehicle with leather seats. By nine am I was enjoying a
hug from my friend. Worth it.
* This is the second time I wrote this
post. The first was lost in my iphone, itself lost in the Niassa Province.
** There is a bit of a debate on the
distance between Pemba and Lichinga. I went with the greater distance because
it sounds cooler.
