I promised you news, I vowed that there would be a next step and yep, it’s here! Actually it came together much more quickly and a whole lot easier than I had anticipated which of course has me a little hesitant about the next step BUT it’s forward motion and it’s an opportunity that the universe has thrown my way so I would be awfully foolish to not take it at this point.
There seem to be some suspiciously conspiring forces keeping me OUT of the Middle East (much to the joy of some friends and family) and in Africa right now. While looking for teaching positions in the Middle East the first time, I found the volunteer job in Tanzania. Attempt #2 for searching in the Middle East and I’ve found and accepted another African job. This one however, is paid (thankfully!) I was looking for positions for the fall and had planned to start travelling my way up north hoping to eventually end up somewhere around the Middle East, most likely broke, destitute, and desperate for work. Instead, I found a job that starts in April, keeps me in Africa, and should it all fall to pieces (which it won’t), leaves me maybe enough time to still find work somewhere else for the fall. I was needing to get a move on and now I’m feeling a little out of time. Don’t you love how when you just put it out there, to the gods or the universe or whatever spins the stars that something usually falls right in your lap? How it continues to come together for me, I will never understand but will be forever and ever grateful.
As of April 20th, I will be the new primary teacher for the British International School in Accra, Ghana. Sounds MUCH more prestigious than it is but I am super excited nonetheless. The interview was more or less, “Can you get to Ghana for April? Would you prefer to teach Infant or Primary students? You will be expected to teach British curriculum for core subjects, not English as a foreign language. Do you have any questions?” And then our telephone connection was cut off. A few frantic emails and I was assured that they had all of the necessary information and would be contacting me shortly but that I could send any questions that I had. Ummm…. Whaaaaa? How about a real interview please? I gathered that that wasn’t going to happen and that they either had zero interest in me or were maybe somewhat on the desperate side and considering I was already in Africa, I was top of the hiring list. I sent off a shopping list of questions about the job, the school, the students, and emphatically shared the fact that I have only taught ESL, not proper British curriculum. My questions were promptly answered followed by a job offer and a contract a couple of days later. Oh. My. Gosh.
I hummed and hawed, read the contract details until my head hurt, made Nicola read the offer over and over with me, sent a few more clarifying questions, made myself sick over how to talk to the owner of the dive shop about leaving in a month when I had told him I would stay until September, forced myself to think about what was best for me, not everyone else, and then with a bit of a stomachache, accepted the job. The leading up to it process is always so ridiculously and unnecessarily filled with anxiety for me but once the decision is made, the proverbial bandage ripped off, I become giddy with excitement over the prospects of my next big adventure. Folks… I am going to Ghana.
Details… I’m to arrive in Accra on April 20th so that I can get settled in and have a few days of orientation before 3rd term starts on April 27th. The pay is low, it’s Africa, but I’ve always been pretty good with living cheap cheap so I think I’ll be okay. There’s a “huge teacher house” that some of us will be sharing where we each have our own bedroom and bathroom but share the common area and kitchen (this is paid by the school) and I think we are provided transportation to and from the school as well. I’ll be assigned the grade that I’m teaching once I arrive and I’ll be responsible for educating these poor little buggers in History, Geography, Art, and Phys. Ed. Panicking about the Art part as I have zero creative ability, think I can probably swing History and Geography since I’ll simply be following a prescribed curriculum, and find it absolutely hilarious that I get to be a gym teacher. Wonder if they’ll provide the short shorts, tucked in t-shirt, tube socks pulled up to the knee, and shiny, silver whistle? Oh I can just see it now…. Not a pretty picture people, not at all.
And get THIS!.... I start 3rd term of British schooling so the kids are in class until the end of June, we have a week to do final reports, then we are off, on holidays, PAID until the last week of August. I work three months then get 6 wks off… PAID. Hello travel bug! I can cover a lot of ground in 6 weeks! I can either fall madly in love with it all and stay until my contract ends (July 6th, 2012) or I can hit the hills running looking for what’s next. I figure by the end of May I should know whether or not I want to stay so I either give them my 30 days I-want-out-of-here notice or start looking at travel routes. Either way, I’m unstuck from here and I am on the move. Really, this is coming together far too nicely.
I’m optimistic, always hopeful about new adventure, but I’m no longer ridiculously naïve. The politics of my school in Thailand and the insanity of my life in Tanzania were all invaluable learning lessons. As always, as long as I have my passport and a credit card in hand, I am never, ever stuck. I’m pretty good at up & out in short notice in the cover of darkness. This is another reason why minimizing comes in so handy. Oh! And I’ve just received my new credit card and have submitted all of the necessary paperwork (along with highway robbery fees) for a brand new passport so I’m finally feeling a little more in control of my life at the moment. Shiny new passport should be in my eager little hands by the time I fly out of here, fingers crossed, somewhere around March 23rd.
Since I have a new credit card, the first two exciting purchases: a brand new, very cool camera, and a plane ticket to visit my parents before I start my new job. Natalia brought me back my first REAL camera from her visit home and I am currently in the process of trying to figure out all of the fancy pants features. And I am scouring the internet for affordable tickets to see my snowbird mom and dad in their winter home in Florida for a few weeks once I leave Mozambique. If anyone wants to come see me in the sunny citrus state, that’s where I’ll be, soaking up civilization, using all of the hot water for stupidly long showers, watching TV, and trying to remember how to drive. Yes mom & dad, I am driving EVERYWHERE!!! Wow, I really miss driving. ROAD TRIP! Yeah, maybe even a road trip. Think about it, dear readers, who knows when I’ll be back on North American soil again... this could be your one and only chance to see it, to see me … a misplaced, misguided Canadian soul’s last grasp at life in the Western world. If nothing else, I’m sure will be fairly comical. Most of my life has been just that so far.
Life is about to become very hectic here as I prepare to leave. I am moving out of my place Mar 1st so will be homeless and drifting for my last three weeks, I will need to help find and train my replacement at the dive shop (even though I haven’t really figured out what I’m actually doing yet!), I will be fretting over the last minute application and processing of my passport from a consulate that will most likely take their sweet-ass time, and I will be preparing to say goodbye to a place that is filled with so much and so many that I have come to love. How does it go from too much time to not enough time at all? Always seems to be the case for me. But probably for a reason as if I have time to spare, I think too much and that is never, ever a good thing. Rush, rush, rush and GO! I will be just fine.
That’s the news from Mozambique, from one adventure to the next. Will update you soon!
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Mid - February... hmmmm....
Mid February and I think most of you are squirming to break free of Old Man Winter’s icy grips. While it’s the rough season here as well, the occasional burst of rain showers and the mighty impressive 4 metre waves barreling down on the shoreline makes things all the more fabulous in my mind. There’s nothing quite like an angry, dark, green-grey sky churning and swirling over the frothing and foamy sea just before sheets of hard, hot, horizontal rain are fiercely ripped free by a wind straight and strong, laced with a stinging, salty spray that flattens the landscape straight off the sea and sends every living creature screeching and squealing for cover. I love wild weather and being right here, right on the Indian Ocean, it never fails to disappoint. From sun shining so hotly it can blister newby white skin within minutes to electrical storms that shame the most elaborate fireworks display to rains that pour so heavily they flood streets, homes, and businesses in the blink of an eye. It’s incredible here. It’s Africa. There is magic in everything.
That being said, I’m desperate to be on the move. Desperate. It’s comfortable here. I know most people and places around town, most faces and features have settled into a sense of the familiar so it’s time for me to go. I had no intentions of coming here to settle but as is the case for so many of us here, it is far too easy to get stuck. I got sidelined, distracted, lost my way, but now that that has become clear, the push is on to get a move on. Being the planner that I can annoyingly be, I am hoping to secure some kind of work for a little bit down the road so that I have something I am moving forward to, but if nothing takes shape in the next few weeks or so, I think I’ll just have to go and let things sort themselves out along the way. I’ve seen so very little and done even less; it’s time to shake things up a bit. Suggestions are more than welcome folks… bring it on!
I will miss the home I’ve kinda created here. Tofo is a very special settlement nestled in what has to be one of the most beautiful places, here in Mozambique. The views never cease to take my breath away; the kindness of the Mozambican people I meet or interact with everyday is uplifting, and the comforts of a ready-made, easy, western style sense of community and camaraderie welcomes every newcomer who decides to unpack for a while. Of course it’s being developed at an alarming rate and those who have been here for some time are saddened by what they see as too much progress but what can you do? Isn’t that the case for most places on the planet? Trying to find the balance between economically improving the impoverished lives of those in the area with maintaining the rural “undiscovered” charm that first attracted those initial discoverers is a near impossibility. Whether I’ve come at the upswing or the downfall of this place is irrelevant; I continue to be thrilled and inspired and feel very, very blessed to have had the time I’ve had here. It still kinda feels like a dream.
And in that dream, I have redefined what I consider the bare minimums of existence and what has become a luxury. Here is a quick wish list of my blissful luxuries, most of which we’ve discussed before…
*Uninterrupted electricity. We have power cuts here on a regular basis, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for the day. It can be because it’s raining, it’s windy, maybe the sun is shining, the weather is too perfect, or sometimes for what seems to be no possible reason at all. More or less, there’s simply a murmured groan and a few curse words muttered in unison as either computer work is lost, the fans cut out, or business comes to a temporary halt then we shrug our shoulders and carry on with what we can. Temper tantrums over power cuts are reserved for the new-to-Africa tourists and we all tend to find this quite funny. Poor poshy pants.
*Proper hot water showers. Now, I do have the glorious ability to soak this up when I’m at work at the dive shop but it’s not an option for me at my house. So first thing in the morning or before crawling into bed after a day that has just been a bit on the miserable side still consists of a cold water stand up shower or a cup and bucket hot one. And those options are available only if there is water. Yes, we often run out of water as well.
*Washing machines. I wash all my laundry by hand and it takes forever and ever and ever and really never seems clean. Oh how I want a washing machine.
*Transportation in a vehicle where there is one bum to a seat and those bums belong to people, not animals, bags of produce, or other random packages of suspicious or smelly stuff.
*Sleeping without a mosquito net. While I insist that my superhuman power is that I am immune to malaria, I have a house full of mosquitoes so won’t take the chance. I want a big, comfy bed not covered in netting.
*A room, a space, a ledge, or a floor that’s not home to a variety of ants, flies, or some other lively bunch of creatures. It’s sad that for most of us, it’s quite normal to just brush a handful of bugs off of the countertop or couch or plate before continuing on with the task at hand. Seriously. I try not to think about it too much. I’m sure I’ve consumed a lifetime’s worth of protein through insects I’ve ingested being here. Gross.
*Really good peanut butter, soft toilet paper, effective deodorant, chewing gum that lasts more than three minutes, being able to communicate effectively (I am TERRIBLE for not having learned Portuguese!), and a few other randoms that I’m sure I’ve been surviving just fine without.
Things I love that you just can’t get at home:
*The freshest fruit you could ever imagine. Mangoes the size of my head, pineapples the size of a small child, bananas in every size, shape, and colour, passion fruit, papaya, and so much more sold on the street or out of baskets piled high on the heads of local women walking by. Colourful and so dripping good! Weird thing though… as cheap as the fruit is, the veg can be bizarrely expensive. Haven’t quite figured that out yet.
*Completely unspoiled beaches. Walking along the water you are hard pressed to run into very many people at all, even when it’s stupid busy tourist season. There’s just so much perfect coastline that there’s room for everyone to find their only little spot of heaven.
*Being able to say hello or chat up any random person and not be looked at like you’re out on a day pass from the local asylum. Tourists are friendly and locals are even better. Everyone says hello, everyone wants to visit – it’s so nice!
*Riding wild and free in the back of pickup trucks or motorbikes. One of my most very favourite things in the world. Hair whipping in the wind, dust stinging my face, feeling the world whizzing by... I usually choose the back of the truck even when there’s space in the cab – it’s just so freeing!
*Instant marriage proposals. Now, to be honest, we all know that it’s not me they really want, it’s the ticket outta here, but on those ugly days, when you just want to walk around with a bag over your head, it’s always good for a little ego boost. Funny, and ego boost.
*How free and unrestricted the children are. I remember being mortified initially, seeing kids more or less completely unsupervised in situations that I saw as imminently fatal or developmentally unrealistic until I stopped to really take a look. It’s very rare to see kids, of any age, crying or carrying on for any length of time. Everyone takes care of everyone, everyone knows everyone, and when you have very little, the happiness of just being a kid seems to come so easily. It’s fascinating to see toys made from discarded soda cans, games being played with a coconut husk, how just sitting together always erupts into giggles and fits of laughter, and how even when they’re working, selling bracelets or fruit or phone credit, they are still goofing around. The kids are HAPPY and they are kids. It’s absolutely gorgeous.
Mozambique, Africa in general, has been very good for me – I think I’ve become exceptionally easy to please. 10 minutes could mean a couple of hours, tomorrow could mean sometime next week, and now may mean never but what can you do? Yelling and screaming does nothing other than get you all hot and sweaty… there’s no point to being bothered. This, of course, has done wonders for allowing me to develop my sense of tolerance and patience while practicing my “roll with the punches”. Which again is why I am so ridiculously excited about getting a move on! The next time I write, I will have a plan. Okay, well, maybe not a PLAN, but I’ll have a next step, I promise. Check back in soon to see what my next big adventure is going to be, I think it’s going to be a good one.
That being said, I’m desperate to be on the move. Desperate. It’s comfortable here. I know most people and places around town, most faces and features have settled into a sense of the familiar so it’s time for me to go. I had no intentions of coming here to settle but as is the case for so many of us here, it is far too easy to get stuck. I got sidelined, distracted, lost my way, but now that that has become clear, the push is on to get a move on. Being the planner that I can annoyingly be, I am hoping to secure some kind of work for a little bit down the road so that I have something I am moving forward to, but if nothing takes shape in the next few weeks or so, I think I’ll just have to go and let things sort themselves out along the way. I’ve seen so very little and done even less; it’s time to shake things up a bit. Suggestions are more than welcome folks… bring it on!
I will miss the home I’ve kinda created here. Tofo is a very special settlement nestled in what has to be one of the most beautiful places, here in Mozambique. The views never cease to take my breath away; the kindness of the Mozambican people I meet or interact with everyday is uplifting, and the comforts of a ready-made, easy, western style sense of community and camaraderie welcomes every newcomer who decides to unpack for a while. Of course it’s being developed at an alarming rate and those who have been here for some time are saddened by what they see as too much progress but what can you do? Isn’t that the case for most places on the planet? Trying to find the balance between economically improving the impoverished lives of those in the area with maintaining the rural “undiscovered” charm that first attracted those initial discoverers is a near impossibility. Whether I’ve come at the upswing or the downfall of this place is irrelevant; I continue to be thrilled and inspired and feel very, very blessed to have had the time I’ve had here. It still kinda feels like a dream.
And in that dream, I have redefined what I consider the bare minimums of existence and what has become a luxury. Here is a quick wish list of my blissful luxuries, most of which we’ve discussed before…
*Uninterrupted electricity. We have power cuts here on a regular basis, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for the day. It can be because it’s raining, it’s windy, maybe the sun is shining, the weather is too perfect, or sometimes for what seems to be no possible reason at all. More or less, there’s simply a murmured groan and a few curse words muttered in unison as either computer work is lost, the fans cut out, or business comes to a temporary halt then we shrug our shoulders and carry on with what we can. Temper tantrums over power cuts are reserved for the new-to-Africa tourists and we all tend to find this quite funny. Poor poshy pants.
*Proper hot water showers. Now, I do have the glorious ability to soak this up when I’m at work at the dive shop but it’s not an option for me at my house. So first thing in the morning or before crawling into bed after a day that has just been a bit on the miserable side still consists of a cold water stand up shower or a cup and bucket hot one. And those options are available only if there is water. Yes, we often run out of water as well.
*Washing machines. I wash all my laundry by hand and it takes forever and ever and ever and really never seems clean. Oh how I want a washing machine.
*Transportation in a vehicle where there is one bum to a seat and those bums belong to people, not animals, bags of produce, or other random packages of suspicious or smelly stuff.
*Sleeping without a mosquito net. While I insist that my superhuman power is that I am immune to malaria, I have a house full of mosquitoes so won’t take the chance. I want a big, comfy bed not covered in netting.
*A room, a space, a ledge, or a floor that’s not home to a variety of ants, flies, or some other lively bunch of creatures. It’s sad that for most of us, it’s quite normal to just brush a handful of bugs off of the countertop or couch or plate before continuing on with the task at hand. Seriously. I try not to think about it too much. I’m sure I’ve consumed a lifetime’s worth of protein through insects I’ve ingested being here. Gross.
*Really good peanut butter, soft toilet paper, effective deodorant, chewing gum that lasts more than three minutes, being able to communicate effectively (I am TERRIBLE for not having learned Portuguese!), and a few other randoms that I’m sure I’ve been surviving just fine without.
Things I love that you just can’t get at home:
*The freshest fruit you could ever imagine. Mangoes the size of my head, pineapples the size of a small child, bananas in every size, shape, and colour, passion fruit, papaya, and so much more sold on the street or out of baskets piled high on the heads of local women walking by. Colourful and so dripping good! Weird thing though… as cheap as the fruit is, the veg can be bizarrely expensive. Haven’t quite figured that out yet.
*Completely unspoiled beaches. Walking along the water you are hard pressed to run into very many people at all, even when it’s stupid busy tourist season. There’s just so much perfect coastline that there’s room for everyone to find their only little spot of heaven.
*Being able to say hello or chat up any random person and not be looked at like you’re out on a day pass from the local asylum. Tourists are friendly and locals are even better. Everyone says hello, everyone wants to visit – it’s so nice!
*Riding wild and free in the back of pickup trucks or motorbikes. One of my most very favourite things in the world. Hair whipping in the wind, dust stinging my face, feeling the world whizzing by... I usually choose the back of the truck even when there’s space in the cab – it’s just so freeing!
*Instant marriage proposals. Now, to be honest, we all know that it’s not me they really want, it’s the ticket outta here, but on those ugly days, when you just want to walk around with a bag over your head, it’s always good for a little ego boost. Funny, and ego boost.
*How free and unrestricted the children are. I remember being mortified initially, seeing kids more or less completely unsupervised in situations that I saw as imminently fatal or developmentally unrealistic until I stopped to really take a look. It’s very rare to see kids, of any age, crying or carrying on for any length of time. Everyone takes care of everyone, everyone knows everyone, and when you have very little, the happiness of just being a kid seems to come so easily. It’s fascinating to see toys made from discarded soda cans, games being played with a coconut husk, how just sitting together always erupts into giggles and fits of laughter, and how even when they’re working, selling bracelets or fruit or phone credit, they are still goofing around. The kids are HAPPY and they are kids. It’s absolutely gorgeous.
Mozambique, Africa in general, has been very good for me – I think I’ve become exceptionally easy to please. 10 minutes could mean a couple of hours, tomorrow could mean sometime next week, and now may mean never but what can you do? Yelling and screaming does nothing other than get you all hot and sweaty… there’s no point to being bothered. This, of course, has done wonders for allowing me to develop my sense of tolerance and patience while practicing my “roll with the punches”. Which again is why I am so ridiculously excited about getting a move on! The next time I write, I will have a plan. Okay, well, maybe not a PLAN, but I’ll have a next step, I promise. Check back in soon to see what my next big adventure is going to be, I think it’s going to be a good one.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
2011 is going to be incredible!
Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! I thought I had already posted this but just found it on my computer, sitting quietly, waiting for its turn to be made public. I had this ready to go the first bit of January... oops! Well, catch up for now and I'll start writing more!
Happy New Year! As is the norm no matter where you are in the world, the holiday season has zipped by leaving a sparkling mess of exhausted, contented smiles and fuzzy, fabulous memories. There wasn’t the typical hustle & bustle of endless functions to attend, shopping to do, or treats to bake but for some reason, it came and went as quickly as chocolate placed in front of me. Holiday season in a tourist destination of course means days overrun with chaos and ridiculous hours that blur one set of 24 hours into the next without the chance of coming up for air to check what day it actually is. Tofo, Mozambique is evidently a South African’s dream destination. Every single one of them and their dog arrived simultaneously in diesel belching bakkies hauling quads, jetskis, kayaks, and frozen sides of a variety of edible animals with which to braai endlessly as they chain smoked cheap Pall Malls and chugged back oversized 2M beers in bottles bought for insanely inflated prices that only a holidayer would pay. Tofo was a rockin and we were in the middle of it all.
Despite the holiday craziness, wow, Christmas in Africa with some very dear friends… how do I share a western experience on the Dark Continent? Unique? Indeed. Fabulously unique. Despite floating aimlessly and somedays, hopelessly, through my life, I continue to have some incredibly beautiful experiences. While everyone else was still sleeping, I wrote a little bit as I sat and soaked in my blessedly strange string of events that led me to Christmas in Mozambique. Didn’t get much done but here’s what I did write before the rest of the eager beavers woke up and we started our Christmas Day in Africa…
Merry Christmas from Mozambique! It’s a hot, sunny day already here, bright and early on the southern coast of Africa. A house full of bodies are still dozing off the remnants of far too much incredibly good food and holiday cheer. I’ve been up for a while now… it’s Christmas for crying out loud! Looking out over palm trees, thatched roofs, a shining blue sea, and the bustling burst of African life it’s definitely not the Christmas of story books and Hollywood movies but oh my goodness, it really could be. Christmas in Africa. How did I get here?
My fabulous good fortune continues as I count my blessings thankful for the people I meet along my way. Nicola, another instructor who works at Diversity and who has become the dearest friend, invited us to spend Christmas Eve at her boyfriend’s family’s guesthouse in Barra, a town about a half an hour away. When I say “guesthouse”, I’m at a loss because there’s really no way to explain their place. Bela Vista lodge is one of the most beautiful properties I have ever seen. Truly. Three separate, massive, open plan natural material house designed to sleep up to 20 with each area leading to an outside common area and every little luxury I could ever need (running hot water, proper kitchen, soft comfy furniture). The family has one as their own home and the others are all for rent. I’ll try to get some photos but it’s just too beautiful for words.
ANYWAY! The point of that ramble was Christmas Eve. After work, we packed ourselves into the back of one of the family member’s pickup truck and made our way here; hot, stinky, sweating, and so looking forward to being out of work. The night was just perfect. The family is so warm and generous, so funny and entertaining. We cooked, ate til we were ready to burst, and had such a perfect time just hanging out and being together. Really, the most Christmasy Christmas I could possibly ever imagine being so far away from home and in freaking Africa for crying out loud! There were moments where I had to step back and just look around; my grand good fortune continues on and on.
And that was all I got done before we carried on with our Christmas Day.
Not much writing done early Christmas morn but enough that you got a glimpse of the bittersweet holiday experiences I am having over here. So carrying on… Christmas day was brilliant. Nicola, her boyfriend, his two brothers, their two cousins, and lucky me all rented kayaks and paddled our happy little butts out to “Pansy Island”. Kayaks were loaded up and Nicola and I were paddle buddies… needless to say there was more chatting and goofing than paddling so we tended to bring up the rear. Pansy Island is actually a massive sand bar that disappears at high tide but it was Christmas day, life was good, and we had a big, sandy island all to ourselves as we set up shelter, spread out blankets, ate, drank, then donned snorkel gear in search of shells. The sun, the beach, the warm Indian Ocean… what a way to spend Christmas day. The tides didn’t start reclaiming our own private island until late in the afternoon so there were a few red shoulders and tips of noses as we repacked our kayaks and began the journey back. Salty, sweaty, smiling the whole way. Life is very, very good.
I had planned to go back to Tofo that night but was having such a nice time. An invitation was extended, I politely asked the parents’ permission, and I stayed one more night. We made a bonfire on the beach and had a most chilled evening of chatting around the fire. Again, impossible to describe, perfect to experience. What a way to spend Christmas day. Seriously.
Now remember, at this point, I am now homeless. My last night in my house was the 22nd so I was bed hopping in the most innocent of ways. I was never without a place to lay my head and so as to continue to be on the good favour side of karma, when it was just about time to move back into my home, on the 5th of Jan, I agreed to house sit for friends until 14th. A couple of nights back in my house, 4 to be exact, and I’ve been asked to house sit for other friends once again, this time just for two nights. I think word is spreading quickly that I have a hard time saying no. It will have been almost a full month that I’ve been out of my home until I will properly move back into it… rent paid unfortunately. But again, want to stay on the up side of karma so I will kindly thank those who took me in and graciously agree to help out where I can when asked. Unsettled is as unsettled does, I guess. It suits me.
Hmmm… I missed something in there, didn’t I? Yep. Sure did. New Year’s. Typical in the ways of mad rushes to get ready straight after work and a lovely dinner with the closest of friends but then 11pm rolled around and we booked it for the beach. Massive beach, massive beach party. Thousands of people, Mozambique locals, us locals, tourists, everyone, dancing, drinking, visiting up and down as music thumped from a local bar and the frenzy of midnight approaching lit up the night. Champagne, kisses and hugs, well wishes, and celebrations brought in 2011 the same ways as home, but I was on the beach in Mozambique. And my beach party lasted until almost 8am. This new year is going to be a great one.
The days continue to fly by and I am starting to look at what’s next for me. Eagerly. I’ve been ready to go for a while now, been here almost 8 months, it’s time to move, move, move. But I’m terrible with decisions. Too many things to see and do. I could be in Africa for the rest of my life and not even scratch the surface but yeah, it’s definitely time to at least start trying. So as travelers come and go and I stay connected with those who have moved on, I’m asking questions, asking for suggestions, looking at what to do where. The must see of here and now. But really, that list is endless… Why did it take me so long to get here?!
Okay, that’s the quick wrap up of a wild and wonderful holiday homeless season. I will keep updating as hopefully plans come together and remember, you want me to be on the move… my blogs are always so much more entertaining when I’m travelling because I usually seem to find myself in some kind of mess. It’s what makes life fun though, isn’t it?
Hope everyone had a jolly Christmas and festive a New Year with very little recovery time needed. Wishing all of you at least a little bit of adventure in 2011. Lots of love! xo
Happy New Year! As is the norm no matter where you are in the world, the holiday season has zipped by leaving a sparkling mess of exhausted, contented smiles and fuzzy, fabulous memories. There wasn’t the typical hustle & bustle of endless functions to attend, shopping to do, or treats to bake but for some reason, it came and went as quickly as chocolate placed in front of me. Holiday season in a tourist destination of course means days overrun with chaos and ridiculous hours that blur one set of 24 hours into the next without the chance of coming up for air to check what day it actually is. Tofo, Mozambique is evidently a South African’s dream destination. Every single one of them and their dog arrived simultaneously in diesel belching bakkies hauling quads, jetskis, kayaks, and frozen sides of a variety of edible animals with which to braai endlessly as they chain smoked cheap Pall Malls and chugged back oversized 2M beers in bottles bought for insanely inflated prices that only a holidayer would pay. Tofo was a rockin and we were in the middle of it all.
Despite the holiday craziness, wow, Christmas in Africa with some very dear friends… how do I share a western experience on the Dark Continent? Unique? Indeed. Fabulously unique. Despite floating aimlessly and somedays, hopelessly, through my life, I continue to have some incredibly beautiful experiences. While everyone else was still sleeping, I wrote a little bit as I sat and soaked in my blessedly strange string of events that led me to Christmas in Mozambique. Didn’t get much done but here’s what I did write before the rest of the eager beavers woke up and we started our Christmas Day in Africa…
Merry Christmas from Mozambique! It’s a hot, sunny day already here, bright and early on the southern coast of Africa. A house full of bodies are still dozing off the remnants of far too much incredibly good food and holiday cheer. I’ve been up for a while now… it’s Christmas for crying out loud! Looking out over palm trees, thatched roofs, a shining blue sea, and the bustling burst of African life it’s definitely not the Christmas of story books and Hollywood movies but oh my goodness, it really could be. Christmas in Africa. How did I get here?
My fabulous good fortune continues as I count my blessings thankful for the people I meet along my way. Nicola, another instructor who works at Diversity and who has become the dearest friend, invited us to spend Christmas Eve at her boyfriend’s family’s guesthouse in Barra, a town about a half an hour away. When I say “guesthouse”, I’m at a loss because there’s really no way to explain their place. Bela Vista lodge is one of the most beautiful properties I have ever seen. Truly. Three separate, massive, open plan natural material house designed to sleep up to 20 with each area leading to an outside common area and every little luxury I could ever need (running hot water, proper kitchen, soft comfy furniture). The family has one as their own home and the others are all for rent. I’ll try to get some photos but it’s just too beautiful for words.
ANYWAY! The point of that ramble was Christmas Eve. After work, we packed ourselves into the back of one of the family member’s pickup truck and made our way here; hot, stinky, sweating, and so looking forward to being out of work. The night was just perfect. The family is so warm and generous, so funny and entertaining. We cooked, ate til we were ready to burst, and had such a perfect time just hanging out and being together. Really, the most Christmasy Christmas I could possibly ever imagine being so far away from home and in freaking Africa for crying out loud! There were moments where I had to step back and just look around; my grand good fortune continues on and on.
And that was all I got done before we carried on with our Christmas Day.
Not much writing done early Christmas morn but enough that you got a glimpse of the bittersweet holiday experiences I am having over here. So carrying on… Christmas day was brilliant. Nicola, her boyfriend, his two brothers, their two cousins, and lucky me all rented kayaks and paddled our happy little butts out to “Pansy Island”. Kayaks were loaded up and Nicola and I were paddle buddies… needless to say there was more chatting and goofing than paddling so we tended to bring up the rear. Pansy Island is actually a massive sand bar that disappears at high tide but it was Christmas day, life was good, and we had a big, sandy island all to ourselves as we set up shelter, spread out blankets, ate, drank, then donned snorkel gear in search of shells. The sun, the beach, the warm Indian Ocean… what a way to spend Christmas day. The tides didn’t start reclaiming our own private island until late in the afternoon so there were a few red shoulders and tips of noses as we repacked our kayaks and began the journey back. Salty, sweaty, smiling the whole way. Life is very, very good.
I had planned to go back to Tofo that night but was having such a nice time. An invitation was extended, I politely asked the parents’ permission, and I stayed one more night. We made a bonfire on the beach and had a most chilled evening of chatting around the fire. Again, impossible to describe, perfect to experience. What a way to spend Christmas day. Seriously.
Now remember, at this point, I am now homeless. My last night in my house was the 22nd so I was bed hopping in the most innocent of ways. I was never without a place to lay my head and so as to continue to be on the good favour side of karma, when it was just about time to move back into my home, on the 5th of Jan, I agreed to house sit for friends until 14th. A couple of nights back in my house, 4 to be exact, and I’ve been asked to house sit for other friends once again, this time just for two nights. I think word is spreading quickly that I have a hard time saying no. It will have been almost a full month that I’ve been out of my home until I will properly move back into it… rent paid unfortunately. But again, want to stay on the up side of karma so I will kindly thank those who took me in and graciously agree to help out where I can when asked. Unsettled is as unsettled does, I guess. It suits me.
Hmmm… I missed something in there, didn’t I? Yep. Sure did. New Year’s. Typical in the ways of mad rushes to get ready straight after work and a lovely dinner with the closest of friends but then 11pm rolled around and we booked it for the beach. Massive beach, massive beach party. Thousands of people, Mozambique locals, us locals, tourists, everyone, dancing, drinking, visiting up and down as music thumped from a local bar and the frenzy of midnight approaching lit up the night. Champagne, kisses and hugs, well wishes, and celebrations brought in 2011 the same ways as home, but I was on the beach in Mozambique. And my beach party lasted until almost 8am. This new year is going to be a great one.
The days continue to fly by and I am starting to look at what’s next for me. Eagerly. I’ve been ready to go for a while now, been here almost 8 months, it’s time to move, move, move. But I’m terrible with decisions. Too many things to see and do. I could be in Africa for the rest of my life and not even scratch the surface but yeah, it’s definitely time to at least start trying. So as travelers come and go and I stay connected with those who have moved on, I’m asking questions, asking for suggestions, looking at what to do where. The must see of here and now. But really, that list is endless… Why did it take me so long to get here?!
Okay, that’s the quick wrap up of a wild and wonderful holiday homeless season. I will keep updating as hopefully plans come together and remember, you want me to be on the move… my blogs are always so much more entertaining when I’m travelling because I usually seem to find myself in some kind of mess. It’s what makes life fun though, isn’t it?
Hope everyone had a jolly Christmas and festive a New Year with very little recovery time needed. Wishing all of you at least a little bit of adventure in 2011. Lots of love! xo
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Yep, still alive.
I’ve started these updates a million times over. I’ve thought of emails I need to write, things I need to catch everyone up on, those of you who have been worried, curious, or just plain peeved that I’ve slipped off the face of the earth and not bothered to stay connected. I wish I had a good excuse, like I’ve discovered a new species of pygmy manta rays or uncovered a magical healing source deep in the jungles or found the cure for idiots. Sadly, I can lay claim to none of these. I don’t even really have any good tales to tell and that is what makes me ashamed most of all. My “adventure” has become less of an adventure and more of a “settled” and that, my friends, must change soon. Isn’t that why I left home in the first place?!
Where do I start? What have I told you? Pretty much nothing? Excellent. Let’s keep it that way. Awww!!! Now that’s not very nice! I’ll try to fill in the blanks without too much rambling but come on now, it’s me; there will be excess rambling by the buckets full.
Still in Southern Mozambique, Tofo Beach, and still living a simple, surreal life. Did I mention, have I told you, do you know that I have a new job yet again? I’m the smiley, chatty, receptionist at Diversity Scuba, the finest dive shop in Tofo. It’s actually the dive shop where Natalia (remember my house mate?) and a few very dear friends work so life has fallen into place oh so nicely (and yes, it is the finest dive shop in Tofo). Started half time in early Sept and have been left to run the full time show since mid Oct. Haven’t burned the place down or thrown us into massive chaos yet so things seem to be going okay. Receptionist work, well, not my most ambitious goal, but folks, when the shop is slow, the weather is good, and I’ve sorted out all of the messes that can be created being part of a busy business in Africa, I hop on a boat and dive my little heart out. And, shamelessly, get paid to do it. Couldn’t ask for a better shop owner and manager, both of whom are keen to get me in the water as much as I can because the more I know the sites, the better I can chat it up to customers. Hmmm… like I really need another excuse to be in the water. Seriously, all good.
The only bit I continue to struggle with somewhat is the amount of time at work. I now fall into that 6 days a week, 10+ hours a day schedule. All we do is work. My entire life is at the shop. Often times, we’ll hang around or meet up with friends to try to get some sense of a life instead of going home after the doors close but there are other days where it’s all we can do to drag our sorry asses that long walk home. And that one precious day off? Sleep, clean, try to catch up. This is why three months has passed me by in the blink of an eye. I can’t think of much else that I have done other than work. But don’t get me wrong!!! I am so thankful for the job and quite grateful for the opportunity to become a fully integrated part of this community. It’s quite easy to see how people can get lost here. The beauty of this place when you can separate out the tourist bit of it all is overwhelming. I am in one of the most unique marine life environments on the planet. I have been able to dive and snorkel with creatures that are so incredible they are almost magical. My whole world comes together under these waters… it’s challenging and frightening one day, peaceful and full of bliss the next. All I want to do is dive. So I work hard, smile harder, and say “pretty please?” the next time I see the chance to hop on a boat. My life is very, very surreal.
That being said, other than the location, life here is very, very normal. It’s a tourist town despite the lack of many modern conveniences or western marketing, it’s a town of white faces and constant transients. We wake up, we work, we swim, read, or run errands in a spare moment if there is one, visit friends, we go to dinner, we chat, and we carry on. English is spoken (shame on me and my zero effort for learning Portuguese!) backpackers pass through, and most of us continue to look at what is just down the road once our time here is up. There are some lifers here, business owners or property gurus, and those of us who have proper jobs are usually on that one year or so commitment, but yeah, that “this is Africa, baby” feeling is a bit absent. A stunning holiday down that I wish all of you could see, but only if you’re going to dive with me.
I have to look back on some of the blogs I started earlier to try to cut and paste some funnies… hold on… ahhh… found one…
Have I mentioned the *kiss kiss*? Oh so lovely… now. Being Canadian, having grown up in the 3rd largest country easily laying claim to the largest sense of personal space, it of course took me some time adjusting to the overcrowding of SE Asia and then the pile on top of each other of Africa. I think I’ve managed most of the situations without too many major faux pas and have learned to smile, or grimace, and go with it. Here, in Tofo, the atmosphere is very European, being a Portuguese settled country. The “local” (those of us who live here but aren’t from Mozambique) population is a mixture of South African (again, for another day), European, and a smattering of former British colonies. As I was initially being introduced around town and the new friend leaned in for a *kiss kiss* hello, once or twice it resulted in me either bending over backwards, almost in half, hands raised in a “woah, back off!” gesture, as I wasn’t sure why this person was suddenly so close to my face, or embracing the greeter in a full body hug as they ended up air kissing a mouth full of my hair. Umm… oops… awkward. Thankfully, as I’ve said, most people here are very, very kind so my social silliness has long since been forgiven and I have eagerly jumped on the *kiss kiss* bandwagon. A very old school, classic movies, pretentious and posh tradition that I am determined to bring back to life if ever I return to the North American locale. I love *kiss kiss*.
Then there are the logistical bits. Like visas. Anyone who has travelled can share my pain. The “laws” governing Mozambique visas have a tendency to change on a daily basis. So after many long & miserable journeys, heads banged against tables, and excessive amounts of cash that I simply don’t have, a temporary and creative solution has been found. Don’t need to share the details as African police officers, immigration officials, and dark, dingy prisons aren’t on my to-do list for my time on this continent but I want to stay for a while and stay I will. It’s Africa baby, just make it happen.
Oh and how about this fun little bit? Being that this is a tourist town (mostly for hordes of South Africans), there is a boat load of cash to be made during the holidays. That being said, Natalia and I are homeless from Dec. 23 – Jan 3. Our landlord can ask as much per day as we pay per month, so yeah, we are kicked out to couch surf and rely on the generosity of those with a more secure abode. There are some comfy sofas at the dive shop should all else fail but again, so many nice people here, so many (hopefully) good friends that I don’t think I’ll have trouble finding a place to lay my head each night. The only real hassle will be temporarily packing up the home and living out of the backpack again but hey, it will get me used to what I hope to do be doing again soon. So please, if any of you have time, pass the word on to Santa that I’ll be transient on the 25th so not to worry about me too much this year. Thanks.
The 25th. Christmas day last year I was bundled and backpacked, saying goodbye to family at the Halifax airport bound for Africa and all of its unknowns. Far too little of Africa has been experienced and I can’t tell you where the year has gone or what I have done with it but it feels like a million years have passed. I don’t miss many material luxuries anymore and I’ve learned what “bare minimum” can look like but I’m starting to get very itchy feet ( I REALLY can’t stand that phrase! SO gross!) While I’m thankful for the strangely comfortable life I have set up here, I’m eagerly anticipating being on the move. Thinking back to the brief transition of exploring those bits of Tanzania before heading down here … exhilarating. Stepping on or off of a bus or plane or the back of a random pickup truck not really knowing what is actually just ahead, it’s calling to me. Time to move, time to move, time to move…
I don’t really have any plans at this point other than hopefully getting my hands on a new credit card (mine expired and the new one has been “lost in the mail”). So for the next few months at least, I will continue to hunker down and see what, if any money at all I can try to save so that I can continue the journey. It’s frustrating because the more I see, the more people I meet, the more stories I hear, the more my fire is fuelled. But Africa is expensive folks, more expensive than I could have ever imagined, and my independent wealth has not quite been realized as I continue to float through my silly life. Regardless, I count my blessings and the stamps in my passport while I stare at world maps and try to figure out how I can find my way there and there and THERE! Oh there are so many “theres” I want to see… Any and all of you are welcome to join the ride, it is one heck of a ride!
The people I’ve met here continue to amaze me. Everyone has a story, everyone has seen and done things I could only dream of. The places people have been and the experiences that have been had, completely inspiring. If only I had had my mid-life crisis 10 years earlier, I would have half of the globe covered by now. The more time I’m away, the harder it is to imagine being “settled” ever again. A 9 – 5 job, a vehicle, a mortgage, that whole “Hi honey, I’m home” thing has never seemed so foreign, so far away. I promise that I’m not turning into some loopy, hippie, drippy burnout, I promise that I continue to be very responsible and conservative by most standards here, but yeah, the disconnect to North American life is becoming more and more pronounced. Strange. Good thing? Bad thing? Really no idea. But I’m learning to not over – think and just live. Not like me AT ALL! But it’s good, it’s all good.
Summertime on the South East coast of Africa has arrived with a vengeance and all of that dripping wet heat and offensively stifling odour has returned. Wow. Hearing about the massive snow storms that seem to be crippling every major city at the moment while we are bathed in stinky sweat is just incomprehensible. That being said, I miss curling up in a nice big hoodie wrapped tightly in a soft fleece blanket watching the white stuff pile high outside the window. No matter how far I roam, I will still be Canadian at heart. Forever and ever.
So on that note, I will sign off so that I can actually get this posted. Shame on me for being so terrible about keeping in touch but I promise that I am okay. Thank you to those of you who are still interested in me and where in the world I am, thank you for helping this disconnected spirit to remain connected in some small way. As I’ve said before, it really is too easy to disappear here. Far too easy. But I won’t, I can’t, and it will not happen. I will try to find more stories to tell, more adventures to have, and more things to keep looking forward to… this girl has lots to do before she’s done.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and all the very best for every other festivity that is happening right now. I will play in the sand and go for a swim in the sea as I miss all of you on that one day of the year when being together really counts. My heart is home right now. All my love.
Where do I start? What have I told you? Pretty much nothing? Excellent. Let’s keep it that way. Awww!!! Now that’s not very nice! I’ll try to fill in the blanks without too much rambling but come on now, it’s me; there will be excess rambling by the buckets full.
Still in Southern Mozambique, Tofo Beach, and still living a simple, surreal life. Did I mention, have I told you, do you know that I have a new job yet again? I’m the smiley, chatty, receptionist at Diversity Scuba, the finest dive shop in Tofo. It’s actually the dive shop where Natalia (remember my house mate?) and a few very dear friends work so life has fallen into place oh so nicely (and yes, it is the finest dive shop in Tofo). Started half time in early Sept and have been left to run the full time show since mid Oct. Haven’t burned the place down or thrown us into massive chaos yet so things seem to be going okay. Receptionist work, well, not my most ambitious goal, but folks, when the shop is slow, the weather is good, and I’ve sorted out all of the messes that can be created being part of a busy business in Africa, I hop on a boat and dive my little heart out. And, shamelessly, get paid to do it. Couldn’t ask for a better shop owner and manager, both of whom are keen to get me in the water as much as I can because the more I know the sites, the better I can chat it up to customers. Hmmm… like I really need another excuse to be in the water. Seriously, all good.
The only bit I continue to struggle with somewhat is the amount of time at work. I now fall into that 6 days a week, 10+ hours a day schedule. All we do is work. My entire life is at the shop. Often times, we’ll hang around or meet up with friends to try to get some sense of a life instead of going home after the doors close but there are other days where it’s all we can do to drag our sorry asses that long walk home. And that one precious day off? Sleep, clean, try to catch up. This is why three months has passed me by in the blink of an eye. I can’t think of much else that I have done other than work. But don’t get me wrong!!! I am so thankful for the job and quite grateful for the opportunity to become a fully integrated part of this community. It’s quite easy to see how people can get lost here. The beauty of this place when you can separate out the tourist bit of it all is overwhelming. I am in one of the most unique marine life environments on the planet. I have been able to dive and snorkel with creatures that are so incredible they are almost magical. My whole world comes together under these waters… it’s challenging and frightening one day, peaceful and full of bliss the next. All I want to do is dive. So I work hard, smile harder, and say “pretty please?” the next time I see the chance to hop on a boat. My life is very, very surreal.
That being said, other than the location, life here is very, very normal. It’s a tourist town despite the lack of many modern conveniences or western marketing, it’s a town of white faces and constant transients. We wake up, we work, we swim, read, or run errands in a spare moment if there is one, visit friends, we go to dinner, we chat, and we carry on. English is spoken (shame on me and my zero effort for learning Portuguese!) backpackers pass through, and most of us continue to look at what is just down the road once our time here is up. There are some lifers here, business owners or property gurus, and those of us who have proper jobs are usually on that one year or so commitment, but yeah, that “this is Africa, baby” feeling is a bit absent. A stunning holiday down that I wish all of you could see, but only if you’re going to dive with me.
I have to look back on some of the blogs I started earlier to try to cut and paste some funnies… hold on… ahhh… found one…
Have I mentioned the *kiss kiss*? Oh so lovely… now. Being Canadian, having grown up in the 3rd largest country easily laying claim to the largest sense of personal space, it of course took me some time adjusting to the overcrowding of SE Asia and then the pile on top of each other of Africa. I think I’ve managed most of the situations without too many major faux pas and have learned to smile, or grimace, and go with it. Here, in Tofo, the atmosphere is very European, being a Portuguese settled country. The “local” (those of us who live here but aren’t from Mozambique) population is a mixture of South African (again, for another day), European, and a smattering of former British colonies. As I was initially being introduced around town and the new friend leaned in for a *kiss kiss* hello, once or twice it resulted in me either bending over backwards, almost in half, hands raised in a “woah, back off!” gesture, as I wasn’t sure why this person was suddenly so close to my face, or embracing the greeter in a full body hug as they ended up air kissing a mouth full of my hair. Umm… oops… awkward. Thankfully, as I’ve said, most people here are very, very kind so my social silliness has long since been forgiven and I have eagerly jumped on the *kiss kiss* bandwagon. A very old school, classic movies, pretentious and posh tradition that I am determined to bring back to life if ever I return to the North American locale. I love *kiss kiss*.
Then there are the logistical bits. Like visas. Anyone who has travelled can share my pain. The “laws” governing Mozambique visas have a tendency to change on a daily basis. So after many long & miserable journeys, heads banged against tables, and excessive amounts of cash that I simply don’t have, a temporary and creative solution has been found. Don’t need to share the details as African police officers, immigration officials, and dark, dingy prisons aren’t on my to-do list for my time on this continent but I want to stay for a while and stay I will. It’s Africa baby, just make it happen.
Oh and how about this fun little bit? Being that this is a tourist town (mostly for hordes of South Africans), there is a boat load of cash to be made during the holidays. That being said, Natalia and I are homeless from Dec. 23 – Jan 3. Our landlord can ask as much per day as we pay per month, so yeah, we are kicked out to couch surf and rely on the generosity of those with a more secure abode. There are some comfy sofas at the dive shop should all else fail but again, so many nice people here, so many (hopefully) good friends that I don’t think I’ll have trouble finding a place to lay my head each night. The only real hassle will be temporarily packing up the home and living out of the backpack again but hey, it will get me used to what I hope to do be doing again soon. So please, if any of you have time, pass the word on to Santa that I’ll be transient on the 25th so not to worry about me too much this year. Thanks.
The 25th. Christmas day last year I was bundled and backpacked, saying goodbye to family at the Halifax airport bound for Africa and all of its unknowns. Far too little of Africa has been experienced and I can’t tell you where the year has gone or what I have done with it but it feels like a million years have passed. I don’t miss many material luxuries anymore and I’ve learned what “bare minimum” can look like but I’m starting to get very itchy feet ( I REALLY can’t stand that phrase! SO gross!) While I’m thankful for the strangely comfortable life I have set up here, I’m eagerly anticipating being on the move. Thinking back to the brief transition of exploring those bits of Tanzania before heading down here … exhilarating. Stepping on or off of a bus or plane or the back of a random pickup truck not really knowing what is actually just ahead, it’s calling to me. Time to move, time to move, time to move…
I don’t really have any plans at this point other than hopefully getting my hands on a new credit card (mine expired and the new one has been “lost in the mail”). So for the next few months at least, I will continue to hunker down and see what, if any money at all I can try to save so that I can continue the journey. It’s frustrating because the more I see, the more people I meet, the more stories I hear, the more my fire is fuelled. But Africa is expensive folks, more expensive than I could have ever imagined, and my independent wealth has not quite been realized as I continue to float through my silly life. Regardless, I count my blessings and the stamps in my passport while I stare at world maps and try to figure out how I can find my way there and there and THERE! Oh there are so many “theres” I want to see… Any and all of you are welcome to join the ride, it is one heck of a ride!
The people I’ve met here continue to amaze me. Everyone has a story, everyone has seen and done things I could only dream of. The places people have been and the experiences that have been had, completely inspiring. If only I had had my mid-life crisis 10 years earlier, I would have half of the globe covered by now. The more time I’m away, the harder it is to imagine being “settled” ever again. A 9 – 5 job, a vehicle, a mortgage, that whole “Hi honey, I’m home” thing has never seemed so foreign, so far away. I promise that I’m not turning into some loopy, hippie, drippy burnout, I promise that I continue to be very responsible and conservative by most standards here, but yeah, the disconnect to North American life is becoming more and more pronounced. Strange. Good thing? Bad thing? Really no idea. But I’m learning to not over – think and just live. Not like me AT ALL! But it’s good, it’s all good.
Summertime on the South East coast of Africa has arrived with a vengeance and all of that dripping wet heat and offensively stifling odour has returned. Wow. Hearing about the massive snow storms that seem to be crippling every major city at the moment while we are bathed in stinky sweat is just incomprehensible. That being said, I miss curling up in a nice big hoodie wrapped tightly in a soft fleece blanket watching the white stuff pile high outside the window. No matter how far I roam, I will still be Canadian at heart. Forever and ever.
So on that note, I will sign off so that I can actually get this posted. Shame on me for being so terrible about keeping in touch but I promise that I am okay. Thank you to those of you who are still interested in me and where in the world I am, thank you for helping this disconnected spirit to remain connected in some small way. As I’ve said before, it really is too easy to disappear here. Far too easy. But I won’t, I can’t, and it will not happen. I will try to find more stories to tell, more adventures to have, and more things to keep looking forward to… this girl has lots to do before she’s done.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and all the very best for every other festivity that is happening right now. I will play in the sand and go for a swim in the sea as I miss all of you on that one day of the year when being together really counts. My heart is home right now. All my love.
Time is flying in Tofo
While I still am fairly limited for internet time and individual emails are just too overwhelming to even attempt at this point, I am more settled, more social, and happier than I have been since I arrived in Africa over 8 months ago. Now if that's not a good start to a blog entry, I don't know what is!
I've just started new job #3 last week and am hoping and thinking that this one is going to stick. The "Activity Centre", where I was playing information hostess is just not ready to take off yet. A construction site with no cash flow at this point made it difficult to start with some of the ideas I had for bringing in business so it was getting a bit frustrating and a lot boring. It's a beautiful place with incredible potential for a lovely restaurant / information centre but currently there is no kitchen and a yard full of construction materials... a work in progress. So as sad as I am to walk out on a potentially promising opportunity, it was one opportunity that led to another.
The bonus of being the go to girl in Tofo for what to do and how to do it was that I met a lot of people in a huge hurry so that I knew who was who and what was what. The dive shop that is across the street from Activity Center is where my dear friend Natalia works. As timing had it, their current receptionist was looking to drop her hours to half time and hey, I was looking for a new job. So she took my CV, passed on recommendations to the owner (who I luckily already knew), chats were had and I was offered half time hours for the same salary I was making at the Activity Centre plus the opportunity to dive when time allowed for it. Ummm... really? A fabulous opportunity laid at my feet. Let me think about it... I almost hugged him. The owner is fabulous, the people who work for him are the same, and I get to go diving. The receptionist position may not fall within the life-long dream realm but that is SO irrelevant! I get to talk to people all day, I get to sort out dive stuff, and I get to be a happy, happy girl. My whole life has turned around in one quick swoop. Hello sunshine!
A few months in Mozambique and I've been all over the emotional rollercoaster map but I'm feeling settled, I'm feeling good, and I'm excited about potential opportunities that are just down the road. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Opportunities. AND, as a dear friend said, adventure. A bad adventure is better than no adventure at all. Oh how right you are, Deb, how right you are. So while I have no plans, because making plans is just pointless here, I am hoping to stay for at least a few more months. I seriously need to replenish the travel fund. The visa issue is a big one that is hanging over my head at the moment. I have apparently over stayed (and over paid!) my time allowed in the country but I am looking at alternatives to keep me here. The story is different at each embassy, high commission, border crossing, etc so options are being explored and I will deal with what comes. Oh the joys of red tape...
So Tofo. Google Tofo, Inhambane Province, Mozambique.
I've just started new job #3 last week and am hoping and thinking that this one is going to stick. The "Activity Centre", where I was playing information hostess is just not ready to take off yet. A construction site with no cash flow at this point made it difficult to start with some of the ideas I had for bringing in business so it was getting a bit frustrating and a lot boring. It's a beautiful place with incredible potential for a lovely restaurant / information centre but currently there is no kitchen and a yard full of construction materials... a work in progress. So as sad as I am to walk out on a potentially promising opportunity, it was one opportunity that led to another.
The bonus of being the go to girl in Tofo for what to do and how to do it was that I met a lot of people in a huge hurry so that I knew who was who and what was what. The dive shop that is across the street from Activity Center is where my dear friend Natalia works. As timing had it, their current receptionist was looking to drop her hours to half time and hey, I was looking for a new job. So she took my CV, passed on recommendations to the owner (who I luckily already knew), chats were had and I was offered half time hours for the same salary I was making at the Activity Centre plus the opportunity to dive when time allowed for it. Ummm... really? A fabulous opportunity laid at my feet. Let me think about it... I almost hugged him. The owner is fabulous, the people who work for him are the same, and I get to go diving. The receptionist position may not fall within the life-long dream realm but that is SO irrelevant! I get to talk to people all day, I get to sort out dive stuff, and I get to be a happy, happy girl. My whole life has turned around in one quick swoop. Hello sunshine!
A few months in Mozambique and I've been all over the emotional rollercoaster map but I'm feeling settled, I'm feeling good, and I'm excited about potential opportunities that are just down the road. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Opportunities. AND, as a dear friend said, adventure. A bad adventure is better than no adventure at all. Oh how right you are, Deb, how right you are. So while I have no plans, because making plans is just pointless here, I am hoping to stay for at least a few more months. I seriously need to replenish the travel fund. The visa issue is a big one that is hanging over my head at the moment. I have apparently over stayed (and over paid!) my time allowed in the country but I am looking at alternatives to keep me here. The story is different at each embassy, high commission, border crossing, etc so options are being explored and I will deal with what comes. Oh the joys of red tape...
So Tofo. Google Tofo, Inhambane Province, Mozambique.
Living the life
I’ve been in Mozambique, my newest home, for almost two months now and haven’t written to catch everyone up at all. Shame on me! I’ve been busy though. I promise. I’ve become pretty familiar with the day to day of a small holiday town that boasts spectacular diving, world class surfing, and some of the most stunning coastline that I’ve ever seen. It feels like I’ve just arrived and been here for a very long time depending on the day. I’m learning who’s who in the zoo and the politics that go along with it. I’ve become pro at local transportation and the bartering thing when buying any and everything I might need at the local and street corner markets. I’ve become an expert pack mule and very skilled at the just-sit-and-wait. Everything moves with bizarre inconsistency here and there is absolutely no control over any of it. Being in a hurry is pointless. Being late is just the way that it goes, even if you left an hour early. No one gets upset about it because… really… what can you do? Time is irrelevant. This is Africa, baby.
Two days after I arrived, I moved into a rough and rustic little house that I kinda sorta share with a girl named Natalia who I met through people at the guesthouse where I was staying. It’s like a mini duplex; two separate entrances, I have a bedroom, a sitting area, and a mini, make-shift kitchen; she has a bedroom and a proper kitchen. Both are completely self-contained units so it’s not really sharing a house but I’m welcome to use her kitchen if we need it. I don’t need it. Pretty old house and lots of issues with the general maintenance but a beautiful view of the sea, a 20 minute walk from the chaos of the noisy centre market / tourist spots, and an instant new best friend. Just love her. She continues to help me with all of the basic needs things that would have taken me forever to figure out on my own and has introduced me to everyone she knows, which is everyone as it’s a small town and it doesn’t take long to get to know who lives here, who does what, and how it all goes down. I’ve been so lucky – I’m not sure what I would have done, would do, without her. She’s from Slovakia, is a dive instructor, has been here for 6 months, speaks a ridiculous number of languages, and is absolutely wonderful. Very lucky indeed.
I initially found a job bartending at the busiest bar in town and was really loving the opportunity to socialize and be right on the beach but the money was tight. I kinda miss it but know that it wasn’t the best thing for me. I’m currently working at a newly opened place that is in the process of being developed. We’re trying to make it into a café and eventually a proper dining place. Right now I coordinate different activities for people who want things to do in Tofo, supposedly for commission but it’s slow season so it will take some time. Generally I’m an information stop with a quick snack and drink but the plans for the place are quite impressive. It’s a beautiful space just being developed slowly. Painfully. So for now I just simply spend my days watching the world go by, entertaining the occasional visitor and keep my fingers crossed for some busy times sometime soon. Again, the pay is so low that I’ll actually have to keep withdrawing from my bank account to survive. Tell me how that makes sense?! I’m working 8 - 9 hrs a day 6 days a week and can’t cover my rent and basic needs in Africa. Sigh. Good times! It seems like everyone here is in the same boat though so we focus on the “experience”, not the cash.
Oh and yeah, you read that right. I work 6 days a week. Everybody works 6 days a week. I’ve got it easy, my days are relaxed to the point of boring. Everyone in the dive industry works 10 hour days, 7am – 5pm, 6 days a week. And that one day off? Yep, you guessed it. Laundry, shopping, cleaning. Good times. Sadly, in the two months that I’ve been here, I haven’t had a day where I have just relaxed and hung out. It’s not an option because there’s no time to get everything else done. That being said, I haven’t been in the water yet either! Here I am, at one of the most incredible dive destinations and I haven’t been diving yet. *sniff. sniff* Yes, feel sorry for me. I need it. Especially when all the dive friends come back listing off the various creatures they were just in the water with. This place is pretty fabulous.
That being said, it’s a tourist town. Other than the street market in the centre of town, almost all businesses are white man owned and run. We are so close to the South African border that this is the latest and greatest investment opportunity. Tons of houses and businesses under development all over the place and many families have their holiday homes here so they’ve been coming for quite some time. South Africans everywhere, a few English folks, and then a random smattering of us strange ones, the Canadians, Kiwis, and Aussies, etc. Mostly S. African tourists but still lots of backpackers floating through. As for the “African experience”, umm… not so much. But it’s such a beautiful place. And I’ve become quite good at navigating the African towns and cities via terrifying local transport which is a major feat and an African experience in itself so I continue to learn. Every day I continue to learn.
It’s “winter” here on the east coast of Africa so things are a little on the chilly side. By winter, I mean our Canadian late spring where it will be low 20’s in the day and cooler at night (that’s Celsius for my American friends) with some cloudy / rainy days. But after the sweltering sickness of experiencing a summer on the East Coast of Africa, I’ve actually been cold here a lot of the time. And I know I’ve mentioned the cold showers. Not cool, cold. I’ve developed this routine where while boiling a pot of water, I wash my hair with the cold water in the sink, then stand in the shower and do the scoop and pour with the hot water and a cup. Takes FOREVER! But it’s the only way I can tolerate it. I’m such a baby. Everyone here is sick all of the time but at least I’m not diving. Being in the water everyday has led to some nasty sinus and chest infections for a lot of these guys and it just doesn’t go away. I’ve been sick more than I’ve ever been but again, what can you do? Around and around we go. My immune system should be able to take on a nuclear war at this point. Seriously.
Now, the coastline. This is unbelievable. The pristine, stunning stretch of ocean as far as you can possibly see still stops me in my tracks sometimes. It’s not the flat, turquoise coloured serenity that you’d find along the coast of Thailand but it’s breath-taking nonetheless. Because of the season right now, it’s endless rolling or roaring waves, depending on the weather, of deep, enticing blues. It’s smooth, golden brown sugar coloured sand that goes on forever and ever. Literally. You could walk for hours in either direction, the ocean on one side, brush covered sand dunes on the other, squeaky smooth beach in between and never run out of space. There are places where the waves crash up on rocky cliffs but it only adds to the beauty of it all. Mozambique boasts 2500kms of coastline, barely touched. And I fall asleep and wake up to the sound of those waves every day. Wow. Life is good.
Have I mentioned the people? I have to mention the people. After my struggles in Tanzania, from the slightly crazed children to the aggressive and nasty men, I wasn’t sure what to expect here, in Mozambique. Well, the difficult experiences of Tanzania were erased within minutes of arriving in this new country. The people here are in firm competition for my heart that still holds Thailand as one of the friendliest places on earth. The people here are HAPPY. Everyone says hello and there are no ulterior motives or sliminess attached. They talk to each other, laugh with each other, help each other, and are generally kind. Of course there are always exceptions, but the exceptions are few and far between. And all of this happiness is not only reserved for them; they are equally inviting to those of us lost and confused wandering through their bustling homeland. A much more relaxed, friendly, accepting feel to this place. Many people I’ve met have echoed these same sentiments, planning only to visit for a short while, staying for much, much longer. This is a very special place.
I’m still feeling pretty unsettled at this point and am hoping for that to change sometime soon. Finding places to live around here is very difficult so even though there are some concerns with my house, I have a place to live so life is good. I’m so far outside of my comfort zone, not in the culture shock sense, but in the lack of stability, predictability, responsibility, and sense of control. Apparently floating and being free can be pretty exhilarating but I haven’t reached that stage quite yet. I still have my frantic moments as I look at my life, or lack thereof, and think I should just get on a plane, go home, and grow the heck up. But then I catch glimpses of the moments I’ve had over here, random experiences that have changed who I am, and I know it’s not time to go home quite yet. I’ve been away 7 months now, I know there’s much more to come.
Keeping in touch is a bit harder here and I think I have less to write about because there is a bit of a day to day routine that really isn’t too interesting to share. A travel blog is SO much more fun than a yes, I’m still in the same place blog. But I know there are things that happen in my everyday life that could be worth writing about because even though it’s day to day for me, I’m in Africa for crying out loud. There is some weird stuff that goes on here! So for now, I’m alive, I’m kicking, and I’m appreciating the fact that my life is so far from anything I could have ever imagined that I still have to pinch myself from time to time. What a wild and entertaining ride my universe has laid out for me…
Two days after I arrived, I moved into a rough and rustic little house that I kinda sorta share with a girl named Natalia who I met through people at the guesthouse where I was staying. It’s like a mini duplex; two separate entrances, I have a bedroom, a sitting area, and a mini, make-shift kitchen; she has a bedroom and a proper kitchen. Both are completely self-contained units so it’s not really sharing a house but I’m welcome to use her kitchen if we need it. I don’t need it. Pretty old house and lots of issues with the general maintenance but a beautiful view of the sea, a 20 minute walk from the chaos of the noisy centre market / tourist spots, and an instant new best friend. Just love her. She continues to help me with all of the basic needs things that would have taken me forever to figure out on my own and has introduced me to everyone she knows, which is everyone as it’s a small town and it doesn’t take long to get to know who lives here, who does what, and how it all goes down. I’ve been so lucky – I’m not sure what I would have done, would do, without her. She’s from Slovakia, is a dive instructor, has been here for 6 months, speaks a ridiculous number of languages, and is absolutely wonderful. Very lucky indeed.
I initially found a job bartending at the busiest bar in town and was really loving the opportunity to socialize and be right on the beach but the money was tight. I kinda miss it but know that it wasn’t the best thing for me. I’m currently working at a newly opened place that is in the process of being developed. We’re trying to make it into a café and eventually a proper dining place. Right now I coordinate different activities for people who want things to do in Tofo, supposedly for commission but it’s slow season so it will take some time. Generally I’m an information stop with a quick snack and drink but the plans for the place are quite impressive. It’s a beautiful space just being developed slowly. Painfully. So for now I just simply spend my days watching the world go by, entertaining the occasional visitor and keep my fingers crossed for some busy times sometime soon. Again, the pay is so low that I’ll actually have to keep withdrawing from my bank account to survive. Tell me how that makes sense?! I’m working 8 - 9 hrs a day 6 days a week and can’t cover my rent and basic needs in Africa. Sigh. Good times! It seems like everyone here is in the same boat though so we focus on the “experience”, not the cash.
Oh and yeah, you read that right. I work 6 days a week. Everybody works 6 days a week. I’ve got it easy, my days are relaxed to the point of boring. Everyone in the dive industry works 10 hour days, 7am – 5pm, 6 days a week. And that one day off? Yep, you guessed it. Laundry, shopping, cleaning. Good times. Sadly, in the two months that I’ve been here, I haven’t had a day where I have just relaxed and hung out. It’s not an option because there’s no time to get everything else done. That being said, I haven’t been in the water yet either! Here I am, at one of the most incredible dive destinations and I haven’t been diving yet. *sniff. sniff* Yes, feel sorry for me. I need it. Especially when all the dive friends come back listing off the various creatures they were just in the water with. This place is pretty fabulous.
That being said, it’s a tourist town. Other than the street market in the centre of town, almost all businesses are white man owned and run. We are so close to the South African border that this is the latest and greatest investment opportunity. Tons of houses and businesses under development all over the place and many families have their holiday homes here so they’ve been coming for quite some time. South Africans everywhere, a few English folks, and then a random smattering of us strange ones, the Canadians, Kiwis, and Aussies, etc. Mostly S. African tourists but still lots of backpackers floating through. As for the “African experience”, umm… not so much. But it’s such a beautiful place. And I’ve become quite good at navigating the African towns and cities via terrifying local transport which is a major feat and an African experience in itself so I continue to learn. Every day I continue to learn.
It’s “winter” here on the east coast of Africa so things are a little on the chilly side. By winter, I mean our Canadian late spring where it will be low 20’s in the day and cooler at night (that’s Celsius for my American friends) with some cloudy / rainy days. But after the sweltering sickness of experiencing a summer on the East Coast of Africa, I’ve actually been cold here a lot of the time. And I know I’ve mentioned the cold showers. Not cool, cold. I’ve developed this routine where while boiling a pot of water, I wash my hair with the cold water in the sink, then stand in the shower and do the scoop and pour with the hot water and a cup. Takes FOREVER! But it’s the only way I can tolerate it. I’m such a baby. Everyone here is sick all of the time but at least I’m not diving. Being in the water everyday has led to some nasty sinus and chest infections for a lot of these guys and it just doesn’t go away. I’ve been sick more than I’ve ever been but again, what can you do? Around and around we go. My immune system should be able to take on a nuclear war at this point. Seriously.
Now, the coastline. This is unbelievable. The pristine, stunning stretch of ocean as far as you can possibly see still stops me in my tracks sometimes. It’s not the flat, turquoise coloured serenity that you’d find along the coast of Thailand but it’s breath-taking nonetheless. Because of the season right now, it’s endless rolling or roaring waves, depending on the weather, of deep, enticing blues. It’s smooth, golden brown sugar coloured sand that goes on forever and ever. Literally. You could walk for hours in either direction, the ocean on one side, brush covered sand dunes on the other, squeaky smooth beach in between and never run out of space. There are places where the waves crash up on rocky cliffs but it only adds to the beauty of it all. Mozambique boasts 2500kms of coastline, barely touched. And I fall asleep and wake up to the sound of those waves every day. Wow. Life is good.
Have I mentioned the people? I have to mention the people. After my struggles in Tanzania, from the slightly crazed children to the aggressive and nasty men, I wasn’t sure what to expect here, in Mozambique. Well, the difficult experiences of Tanzania were erased within minutes of arriving in this new country. The people here are in firm competition for my heart that still holds Thailand as one of the friendliest places on earth. The people here are HAPPY. Everyone says hello and there are no ulterior motives or sliminess attached. They talk to each other, laugh with each other, help each other, and are generally kind. Of course there are always exceptions, but the exceptions are few and far between. And all of this happiness is not only reserved for them; they are equally inviting to those of us lost and confused wandering through their bustling homeland. A much more relaxed, friendly, accepting feel to this place. Many people I’ve met have echoed these same sentiments, planning only to visit for a short while, staying for much, much longer. This is a very special place.
I’m still feeling pretty unsettled at this point and am hoping for that to change sometime soon. Finding places to live around here is very difficult so even though there are some concerns with my house, I have a place to live so life is good. I’m so far outside of my comfort zone, not in the culture shock sense, but in the lack of stability, predictability, responsibility, and sense of control. Apparently floating and being free can be pretty exhilarating but I haven’t reached that stage quite yet. I still have my frantic moments as I look at my life, or lack thereof, and think I should just get on a plane, go home, and grow the heck up. But then I catch glimpses of the moments I’ve had over here, random experiences that have changed who I am, and I know it’s not time to go home quite yet. I’ve been away 7 months now, I know there’s much more to come.
Keeping in touch is a bit harder here and I think I have less to write about because there is a bit of a day to day routine that really isn’t too interesting to share. A travel blog is SO much more fun than a yes, I’m still in the same place blog. But I know there are things that happen in my everyday life that could be worth writing about because even though it’s day to day for me, I’m in Africa for crying out loud. There is some weird stuff that goes on here! So for now, I’m alive, I’m kicking, and I’m appreciating the fact that my life is so far from anything I could have ever imagined that I still have to pinch myself from time to time. What a wild and entertaining ride my universe has laid out for me…
Moving to Mozambique
Mozambique. It had never crossed my mind to visit this country. I had barely heard of this country. Whenever I thought of “Africa”, I thought of places like Kenya, Sudan, Ethiopia. Places made famous by romantic movies or devastation music fundraisers. In my very short amount of time in an extremely small corner of a vast continent, I have quickly come to realize how absurdly ignorant I am of this place, of these places. Overwhelmingly, embarrassingly, shamefully ignorant. Needless to say, Mozambique was not my idea but it was the best coat tail idea I have ever chosen to hop on. This place is amazing.
By the time I left Tanzania, I was feeling pretty hopeless. Far too many hours on difficult transport and way too many run-ins with painfully aggressive men who felt it was their right to invade my personal space and peace of mind at every turn. I was exhausted. Physically and emotionally. It wasn’t all terrible, I met some incredibly nice locals along the way but sadly, it was more the exception rather than the norm. I was tired of 5:15am prayer calls that carried on throughout the day. I was tired of the repression of women and the absurdity of men. I couldn’t take anymore of the lying and manipulation and nastiness that happens when a country connects white skin with dollar signs and adopts a sense of entitlement to take you for every bit that they can. The fact that I have almost no pictures of Tanzania is representative of my experiences there. Every time I took my camera out to try to capture the incredible chaos of a daily market or an unbelievably interesting scene on the street, I was quickly approached by a kind woman who always quietly but firmly advised me to put my camera away or it would be snatched out of my hand. The kindness of some warning me of the ever present nastiness of others. Would there be the same risk at home? Would there be the same consideration of my safety? No idea. But either way, I was ready to go. It had been a trying few months, indeed.
So I had a “direct” flight from Dar Es Salaam to Maputo, a major city in the very south of Mozambique, close to the South African border. Brendan had quickly found an instructor position with a very busy dive centre in Tofo Beach, 20km outside of Inhambane, 500kms north of Maputo but internationally, Maputo was the closest airport for me to fly into. No worries. Would fly in, and then bus up. Easy peasy. *** sigh *** Why oh why do I never ever learn?
My “direct” flight stopped in two other cities before we finally arrived in Maputo. And as always, there were several head shaking moments along the way. Examples… waiting in the departure lounge in the airport in Dar, I watched as a plane full of people disembarked through their glass exit hallway. Most of them hesitated at the top of escalators that would lead them to the way out as there were plumes of thick smoke billowing up from down below. The hesitation was marked with brief looks of confusion then most covered their faces with a scarf or their shirt and continued on down the escalator. Umm… what? As soon as I saw the smoke, I packed up my staff and moved out of the lounge ready to make a backtrack through the body scanners. Panic here is amplified by the fact that there is usually no one who knows what is going on or what to do so it has the potential to become mass suicide through simple lack of thought. I watched several employees look around at the smoke, shrug their shoulders, then carry on with their casual conversations. I watched several white faces approach these same employees to ask what was going on and saw the same shoulder shrug with an “I don’t know” attached to the response. I don’t need to know what’s going on, I just need a clear line to the nearest way out. I have learned quickly, dear friends. I am always looking for the nearest way out.
Anyway, no one seemed to figure out what was actually going on, the smoke dissipated, and airline life carried on. Holy crow.
Played musical chairs on the plane as two of us were assigned to the same seat and I usually try to be the last one boarding the plane so I no seat for me. I was hoping for an upgrade but no such luck. Regardless, sitting on the plane, watching the passengers and the crew, everything looked and felt very, very different. A nice, clean, fully functioning plane with professional looking staff and nice looking people. There was a safety briefing, the musical sound of the Portuguese language was rolling around the cabin, and it all seemed much more relaxed, happy, peaceful. Sitting on the plane, I felt lighter. A weight that I hadn’t even realized was there, was melting away. My guard was slipping, my jaw was relaxing, I was meeting people’s eyes and seeing them smile and I was smiling back. Sitting on the plane. It felt that entirely different just sitting on the plane. Good things were coming.
First leg into Mozambique and my seat mate is an exceptionally drunk, somewhat unfortunate looking Thai guy who was in the ruby business. Drunk, drunk, drunk but funny drunk only because the flight was quick one. Any longer and my soft spot for all things Thai may have been tested. We all get off to do the visa / customs thing. A bizarre shmozzle of typical African chaos where security seems sporadic and often an afterthought but it runs much more smoothly than I had anticipated. It’s not uncommon to wait in line for 2, 3, or 4 hours as one very disinterested agent lazily scans passports and fills out random paperwork for an entire plane full of tired and bewildered passengers in between chatting on their cell phone, watching the soap opera that is on a rickety TV that’s turned on in the corner of their over-stuffed workspace, and gazing blankly into space. I promise people, I couldn’t make this stuff up. But anyway, we are cleared quickly and I even get a little extra attention as the MALE agent was tsk tsking in good humour at the fact that he and I share the same first name. I was the first girl he had met named Janice and he the first boy I had met. Probably completely meaningless but I took it as a good omen for my introduction to this new country.
Next quick leg from stop #1 to stop #2 was… dreamy. A very, very, VERY dreamy South African kept my attention for the duration of the flight. He was getting off at stop #2 and I was seriously considering making that my stop as well. I could have just caught the bus south instead of north the next day. Oh my goodness we were having such a lovely conversation. Oh my goodness he was so lovely to look at. Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness. But he carried on and my impulsive inclination to follow along was held in check. I conceded to my next and final leg to Maputo.
My last and final seat mate was a very commanding woman who worked in civil aviation and was quite keen to be as helpful to me as possible. As she downed a couple glasses of wine on the very short and final leg of my journey, her eyes became glassy and she became chatty about African life and the different countries she has experienced. She guided me off the plane and to my waiting taxi man from the guesthouse informing him of things I needed and what he was to do to take care of me. Very commanding. She introduced me to her waiting children who all greeted me warmly with kisses on the cheeks and she gave me her contact information making me promise to get in touch with her once I found my way to Tofo. First day in and I have connections already! Sweet!
The guesthouse situation was the regular mess of missing keys and mixed up rooms. I booked my spot on the bus that was leaving 7 hours later and begged for a bit of sleep in between two painfully long days of travel. I was in Mozambique.
15 white, sleeplessly swollen faces crammed into a bus at 5:30am to make the 500km, 8 hour trip to Tofo Beach. We leave almost on time only to arrive at the local bus station where we of course, stop. For the next hour and a half, we pile as many local people and as much crap as the bus will take before it burst at the seams. Please oh please I just want to be done with buses. We finally bumble off somewhere close to 7:30am and for the first couple of hours, most of us fall in and out of fitful sleep in an attempt to just get the trip done and over with. 8 hours. Yeah, right.
Bad roads, stops here and there for who knows what and we finally arrive at our destination at 4:30pm, sore, stiff, and sleepily breathing in our first glimpses of a magnificent Mozambique coast line. Stunning.
I’ve debated for a long while as to whether I should include the following story that happened on our journey early in the afternoon as it was a difficult situation to experience and I know it will be difficult to write, let alone read. I’ve decided to share it for a couple of reasons. It’s an example of African life and I need to remember that in a world where life has little meaning, I will not become part of that mindset. Please, please, please… if you are feeling quite sensitive, please skip over this next part. It’s disturbing.
There was a section of road that was newly constructed. Nice wide, smooth, tarmac road. Thick, soft red dirt lined the new surface on either side and the sun was shining clear and bright. It was early afternoon and school kids were walking, running, skipping, and riding bikes home. So many school kids in uniforms swinging bags and happy to be free from the classroom. We passed a bus like ours that was pulled off to the side of the road and our bus driver slowed down, and then turned around to head back to the bus. Thought that was kinda weird because so far, here, buses don’t stop to help other buses but really, by this point, we had been on the road so long that I just stopped caring about where we were stopping or why.
We stopped on the opposite side of the road as the other bus and I was sitting in the window seat facing the bus. People were slowly getting off what we all thought was a broken down bus. Then we took a closer look and quick, disjointed puzzle pieces started clicking together in my brain. Oh my gosh. A bicycle. The bus facing the wrong way on the road. Deep skid marks in the deeper red dirt. People standing around the back tires of the bus. Our bus driver racing across the street after someone from the other bus shouted to him. Our bus driver dropping to his knees and digging frantically at the back tires.
I jumped out of my window and ran. Someone was under the bus.
A few other of the people from my bus followed after me. Two young nurses and a doctor were among the white faces. Our bus driver managed to shout enough encouragement to the passengers of the offending bus and we all attempted to push the bus on its side. I was shaking violently but felt like I could have pushed that bus over by myself. We lifted it just enough to see that yes, someone was under the bus before we had to set it back down. The doctor got down as close as he could and was trying to find a pulse on an arm that was uncovered. He looked under the bus and looked at me. I was on my knees beside him digging and talking to him as I could feel him shaking as much as I was. He just shook his head, said the head was completely flattened, it was a mess, there was no pulse. Then they started to lift the bus again. We stood back, the bus was lifted, someone else dragged the limp ragdoll like body out in a split second and the doctor and I were on our knees over the body while everyone else stepped back or walked away. He checked again for a pulse and I just knelt there, one hand on the doctor’s shoulder, the other on the dead boy’s chest. He was a boy. Maybe 14. Coming home from school. His broken body was covered in thick red dust. Any blood soaked into the dirt. Alien looking. Gone.
The locals all walked away, no one was looking at this boy, distant looks on impatient faces, and I just kept saying, “We can’t just leave him here. We can’t just leave him like this.” I couldn’t just walk away. I saw piles of canvas bags on the bus so I got on the bus, tore one off and went back to cover him. A couple of white faces from our bus stood around as I put the bag over his face and chest – such a cultural thing I guess. The need to pay some kind of respect, to award some sense of privacy. I don’t know. Maybe I made it too much about me. The thought of this boy, alone. I had to do something.
On my knees next to this dead boy, I looked up and saw our driver across the road. He was talking to and walking beside a boy of about 12 who was desperately wiping at tears that were streaming down his face. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
I ran over to the driver and yes, this was the dead boy’s brother.
Thinking back on it, I was really concerned about the fact that the whole while we were dealing with the boy under the bus, I didn’t feel anything. I was shaking, but no feeling. My heart wasn’t hurting, my stomach wasn’t sick, I had no feelings. When I saw the brother, my heart shattered.
One arm around the boy holding him to me and his hand in mine, I begged our driver to let him on our bus, to take him home. We couldn’t let him walk home. We had to help him, this poor boy, not knowing how much he actually saw but knowing that his brother is dead and he had to be the one to tell his family. Our driver was wonderful. He actually seemed to be the only one of the locals affected by the whole situation as he coordinated the attempted rescue effort, sorted out the crowds, and tended to the brother. Of course we’ll take him. Of course.
We all pile back into our over crowded bus and drive a short distance up the road where there happened to be a make shift police stop. Our driver got out and was trying to explain what had happened to a handful of very confused looking officers. Finally one of them ran off to grab some paper work out of a shack off the side of the road before they started back to the scene of the accident and up ahead, in the distance, I saw the brother slipping away, by himself, walking through a grassy field towards a path that led back into some trees. Heading home, by himself, to tell his family that his brother was dead. Shattered.
The bus was quiet, for a short while. Then nervous laughter and uncomfortable comments broke up the somber mood for most as we carried on for the rest of the journey. I couldn’t stop thinking about the boys. As terrifying as it was to see that boy under the bus, I don’t want to forget it. I don’t want to forget him. I don’t care that I’m in Africa. I don’t care that here people suffer tremendous losses everyday their whole lives long so another death is meaningless. He was going to school. He has a family. His life was not meaningless. I don’t ever want to get used to this kind of thing. Ever.
A tragic story that broke up our 11 hour, 500km trip. Exhausted upon arrival. Yeah, completely. This is Africa.
By the time I left Tanzania, I was feeling pretty hopeless. Far too many hours on difficult transport and way too many run-ins with painfully aggressive men who felt it was their right to invade my personal space and peace of mind at every turn. I was exhausted. Physically and emotionally. It wasn’t all terrible, I met some incredibly nice locals along the way but sadly, it was more the exception rather than the norm. I was tired of 5:15am prayer calls that carried on throughout the day. I was tired of the repression of women and the absurdity of men. I couldn’t take anymore of the lying and manipulation and nastiness that happens when a country connects white skin with dollar signs and adopts a sense of entitlement to take you for every bit that they can. The fact that I have almost no pictures of Tanzania is representative of my experiences there. Every time I took my camera out to try to capture the incredible chaos of a daily market or an unbelievably interesting scene on the street, I was quickly approached by a kind woman who always quietly but firmly advised me to put my camera away or it would be snatched out of my hand. The kindness of some warning me of the ever present nastiness of others. Would there be the same risk at home? Would there be the same consideration of my safety? No idea. But either way, I was ready to go. It had been a trying few months, indeed.
So I had a “direct” flight from Dar Es Salaam to Maputo, a major city in the very south of Mozambique, close to the South African border. Brendan had quickly found an instructor position with a very busy dive centre in Tofo Beach, 20km outside of Inhambane, 500kms north of Maputo but internationally, Maputo was the closest airport for me to fly into. No worries. Would fly in, and then bus up. Easy peasy. *** sigh *** Why oh why do I never ever learn?
My “direct” flight stopped in two other cities before we finally arrived in Maputo. And as always, there were several head shaking moments along the way. Examples… waiting in the departure lounge in the airport in Dar, I watched as a plane full of people disembarked through their glass exit hallway. Most of them hesitated at the top of escalators that would lead them to the way out as there were plumes of thick smoke billowing up from down below. The hesitation was marked with brief looks of confusion then most covered their faces with a scarf or their shirt and continued on down the escalator. Umm… what? As soon as I saw the smoke, I packed up my staff and moved out of the lounge ready to make a backtrack through the body scanners. Panic here is amplified by the fact that there is usually no one who knows what is going on or what to do so it has the potential to become mass suicide through simple lack of thought. I watched several employees look around at the smoke, shrug their shoulders, then carry on with their casual conversations. I watched several white faces approach these same employees to ask what was going on and saw the same shoulder shrug with an “I don’t know” attached to the response. I don’t need to know what’s going on, I just need a clear line to the nearest way out. I have learned quickly, dear friends. I am always looking for the nearest way out.
Anyway, no one seemed to figure out what was actually going on, the smoke dissipated, and airline life carried on. Holy crow.
Played musical chairs on the plane as two of us were assigned to the same seat and I usually try to be the last one boarding the plane so I no seat for me. I was hoping for an upgrade but no such luck. Regardless, sitting on the plane, watching the passengers and the crew, everything looked and felt very, very different. A nice, clean, fully functioning plane with professional looking staff and nice looking people. There was a safety briefing, the musical sound of the Portuguese language was rolling around the cabin, and it all seemed much more relaxed, happy, peaceful. Sitting on the plane, I felt lighter. A weight that I hadn’t even realized was there, was melting away. My guard was slipping, my jaw was relaxing, I was meeting people’s eyes and seeing them smile and I was smiling back. Sitting on the plane. It felt that entirely different just sitting on the plane. Good things were coming.
First leg into Mozambique and my seat mate is an exceptionally drunk, somewhat unfortunate looking Thai guy who was in the ruby business. Drunk, drunk, drunk but funny drunk only because the flight was quick one. Any longer and my soft spot for all things Thai may have been tested. We all get off to do the visa / customs thing. A bizarre shmozzle of typical African chaos where security seems sporadic and often an afterthought but it runs much more smoothly than I had anticipated. It’s not uncommon to wait in line for 2, 3, or 4 hours as one very disinterested agent lazily scans passports and fills out random paperwork for an entire plane full of tired and bewildered passengers in between chatting on their cell phone, watching the soap opera that is on a rickety TV that’s turned on in the corner of their over-stuffed workspace, and gazing blankly into space. I promise people, I couldn’t make this stuff up. But anyway, we are cleared quickly and I even get a little extra attention as the MALE agent was tsk tsking in good humour at the fact that he and I share the same first name. I was the first girl he had met named Janice and he the first boy I had met. Probably completely meaningless but I took it as a good omen for my introduction to this new country.
Next quick leg from stop #1 to stop #2 was… dreamy. A very, very, VERY dreamy South African kept my attention for the duration of the flight. He was getting off at stop #2 and I was seriously considering making that my stop as well. I could have just caught the bus south instead of north the next day. Oh my goodness we were having such a lovely conversation. Oh my goodness he was so lovely to look at. Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness. But he carried on and my impulsive inclination to follow along was held in check. I conceded to my next and final leg to Maputo.
My last and final seat mate was a very commanding woman who worked in civil aviation and was quite keen to be as helpful to me as possible. As she downed a couple glasses of wine on the very short and final leg of my journey, her eyes became glassy and she became chatty about African life and the different countries she has experienced. She guided me off the plane and to my waiting taxi man from the guesthouse informing him of things I needed and what he was to do to take care of me. Very commanding. She introduced me to her waiting children who all greeted me warmly with kisses on the cheeks and she gave me her contact information making me promise to get in touch with her once I found my way to Tofo. First day in and I have connections already! Sweet!
The guesthouse situation was the regular mess of missing keys and mixed up rooms. I booked my spot on the bus that was leaving 7 hours later and begged for a bit of sleep in between two painfully long days of travel. I was in Mozambique.
15 white, sleeplessly swollen faces crammed into a bus at 5:30am to make the 500km, 8 hour trip to Tofo Beach. We leave almost on time only to arrive at the local bus station where we of course, stop. For the next hour and a half, we pile as many local people and as much crap as the bus will take before it burst at the seams. Please oh please I just want to be done with buses. We finally bumble off somewhere close to 7:30am and for the first couple of hours, most of us fall in and out of fitful sleep in an attempt to just get the trip done and over with. 8 hours. Yeah, right.
Bad roads, stops here and there for who knows what and we finally arrive at our destination at 4:30pm, sore, stiff, and sleepily breathing in our first glimpses of a magnificent Mozambique coast line. Stunning.
I’ve debated for a long while as to whether I should include the following story that happened on our journey early in the afternoon as it was a difficult situation to experience and I know it will be difficult to write, let alone read. I’ve decided to share it for a couple of reasons. It’s an example of African life and I need to remember that in a world where life has little meaning, I will not become part of that mindset. Please, please, please… if you are feeling quite sensitive, please skip over this next part. It’s disturbing.
There was a section of road that was newly constructed. Nice wide, smooth, tarmac road. Thick, soft red dirt lined the new surface on either side and the sun was shining clear and bright. It was early afternoon and school kids were walking, running, skipping, and riding bikes home. So many school kids in uniforms swinging bags and happy to be free from the classroom. We passed a bus like ours that was pulled off to the side of the road and our bus driver slowed down, and then turned around to head back to the bus. Thought that was kinda weird because so far, here, buses don’t stop to help other buses but really, by this point, we had been on the road so long that I just stopped caring about where we were stopping or why.
We stopped on the opposite side of the road as the other bus and I was sitting in the window seat facing the bus. People were slowly getting off what we all thought was a broken down bus. Then we took a closer look and quick, disjointed puzzle pieces started clicking together in my brain. Oh my gosh. A bicycle. The bus facing the wrong way on the road. Deep skid marks in the deeper red dirt. People standing around the back tires of the bus. Our bus driver racing across the street after someone from the other bus shouted to him. Our bus driver dropping to his knees and digging frantically at the back tires.
I jumped out of my window and ran. Someone was under the bus.
A few other of the people from my bus followed after me. Two young nurses and a doctor were among the white faces. Our bus driver managed to shout enough encouragement to the passengers of the offending bus and we all attempted to push the bus on its side. I was shaking violently but felt like I could have pushed that bus over by myself. We lifted it just enough to see that yes, someone was under the bus before we had to set it back down. The doctor got down as close as he could and was trying to find a pulse on an arm that was uncovered. He looked under the bus and looked at me. I was on my knees beside him digging and talking to him as I could feel him shaking as much as I was. He just shook his head, said the head was completely flattened, it was a mess, there was no pulse. Then they started to lift the bus again. We stood back, the bus was lifted, someone else dragged the limp ragdoll like body out in a split second and the doctor and I were on our knees over the body while everyone else stepped back or walked away. He checked again for a pulse and I just knelt there, one hand on the doctor’s shoulder, the other on the dead boy’s chest. He was a boy. Maybe 14. Coming home from school. His broken body was covered in thick red dust. Any blood soaked into the dirt. Alien looking. Gone.
The locals all walked away, no one was looking at this boy, distant looks on impatient faces, and I just kept saying, “We can’t just leave him here. We can’t just leave him like this.” I couldn’t just walk away. I saw piles of canvas bags on the bus so I got on the bus, tore one off and went back to cover him. A couple of white faces from our bus stood around as I put the bag over his face and chest – such a cultural thing I guess. The need to pay some kind of respect, to award some sense of privacy. I don’t know. Maybe I made it too much about me. The thought of this boy, alone. I had to do something.
On my knees next to this dead boy, I looked up and saw our driver across the road. He was talking to and walking beside a boy of about 12 who was desperately wiping at tears that were streaming down his face. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
I ran over to the driver and yes, this was the dead boy’s brother.
Thinking back on it, I was really concerned about the fact that the whole while we were dealing with the boy under the bus, I didn’t feel anything. I was shaking, but no feeling. My heart wasn’t hurting, my stomach wasn’t sick, I had no feelings. When I saw the brother, my heart shattered.
One arm around the boy holding him to me and his hand in mine, I begged our driver to let him on our bus, to take him home. We couldn’t let him walk home. We had to help him, this poor boy, not knowing how much he actually saw but knowing that his brother is dead and he had to be the one to tell his family. Our driver was wonderful. He actually seemed to be the only one of the locals affected by the whole situation as he coordinated the attempted rescue effort, sorted out the crowds, and tended to the brother. Of course we’ll take him. Of course.
We all pile back into our over crowded bus and drive a short distance up the road where there happened to be a make shift police stop. Our driver got out and was trying to explain what had happened to a handful of very confused looking officers. Finally one of them ran off to grab some paper work out of a shack off the side of the road before they started back to the scene of the accident and up ahead, in the distance, I saw the brother slipping away, by himself, walking through a grassy field towards a path that led back into some trees. Heading home, by himself, to tell his family that his brother was dead. Shattered.
The bus was quiet, for a short while. Then nervous laughter and uncomfortable comments broke up the somber mood for most as we carried on for the rest of the journey. I couldn’t stop thinking about the boys. As terrifying as it was to see that boy under the bus, I don’t want to forget it. I don’t want to forget him. I don’t care that I’m in Africa. I don’t care that here people suffer tremendous losses everyday their whole lives long so another death is meaningless. He was going to school. He has a family. His life was not meaningless. I don’t ever want to get used to this kind of thing. Ever.
A tragic story that broke up our 11 hour, 500km trip. Exhausted upon arrival. Yeah, completely. This is Africa.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)