Sanibonani! I hope that the arrival of spring is a welcome thing, and that the government isn’t making too much of a mess of our lives and relations. Well – at the least, I can hope that the weather is warming up.
At the end of March, I spent a week in what is possibly the sleepiest capital city in Africa. Gaborone, Botswana, or “Gabs” as the locals like to refer to it, is only about a 4 hour drive from Jo’burg, and I went there with my boss, a co-worker, and my boss’ friend for the CIVICUS World Assembly. The theme of the conference was “Acting together for a just world” and it was, just as it sounds, a gathering of do-gooders and government haters from the 4 corners of the earth. As I am neither a do-gooder nor a government hater, I was in charge of manning the exhibition stand for Ashoka (my employer), where we (Nicole, my co-worker, and myself) found a strong correlation between the length of our skirts and the number of visitors we received! One of the real goodies that we were distributing was a new book by David Bornstein, called “How to Change the World”. Ambitious as the title is, it is a really good book, and talks a lot about the power of a social entrepreneur to change an entire system. The highlight of my visit to Gabs, however, was a toss-up between hanging out with the president of Botswana (he just decided he would stay for the cocktail party after he gave his speech) and watching the faces of the many conference participants as they realized that one of the snack foods being served at the party was Mopani worms. Yes, they really are. And, no, it doesn’t taste like chicken.
In case you are feeling slighted at not having received mail from Botswana, or, for that matter, Mozambique where I was over Easter, be assured that there is not a post card or post office to be found in either country. I looked.
Mozambique, perhaps so named because of the extreme prevalence of ‘mozzies’ (mosquitoes), is an absolutely stunning country. It is really large, and has a huge coastline along the WARM Indian Ocean, full of coconut trees and remote and deserted beaches. But, if you have any thoughts of ever vacationing there, be sure you have enough money to fly, because if not, chances are high that your story will be a lot like mine. We took the night bus from Jo’burg to Maputo (the capital) last Wednesday, and although the trip is only supposed to be 8 hours, ours took about 14. The reason? A 5 hour delay at the border, due to some enterprising bus passengers who wished to engage in the import/export business without paying their customs duties. Yes, my bus was carrying several dozen cheap Chinese VCRs, tons of produce, eggs, pots, pans,… even plastic washbasins. The obvious question is “can’t you find eggs in Mozambique?” The less obvious answer is probably “yes, but if you buy them in Mozambique, then the border guards on both sides, the bus driver, bus attendants and damn near every other passenger except us don’t get a cut of the action.” Indeed, many palms were greased during that 5 hour rest stop in the blazing sun. In fact, probably every palm except mine and my travel mate, Kelly. No worries, though. We got to Maputo, and walked around for a while – all the streets are named after dead communist leaders, or random dates in Mozambican history, while we tried to figure out how much Mozambican money we needed to withdraw. When the exchange rate from $ to Metacais is 1: 23,756 that takes some time. Eventually, I decided to withdraw 2,000,000 Metacais… I think it will be a long time before I’m a millionaire again, so I enjoyed it.
The following day, I woke at 4:30 to get to the bus station, so that we could take the local bus north to a town called Inhambane – gateway to our final destination of Tofo beach, just as easily refered to as Paradise. When we arrived at the bus station at 5:15, for the 6:30 bus, we realized that some folks had spent the night out on the pavement. But, lucky for us, lines don’t mean much in Mozambique, and while some of my party guarded our luggage, I took the money and tried to make my way to the ticket counter. Mob scene doesn’t even begin to describe the situation when the ticket counter finally opened. Women and children be damned – if you are small, weak, or in any way incapable of using your body weight to hold of 3 to 5 other people, then you were crushed. I used my public school basketball skills, however, and boxed out like a champion, throwing elbows where necessary, and stepping on toes when it wasn’t, and eventually held off the mob while my roommate Eissa thrust her hand through the jail bars and demanded tickets in some kind of Spanish/Portuguese combination. It was worth it, however. Tofo beach was gorgeous – remote, although it had 2 hostels and a hotel, they were spread over 2 km of coastline. We got there by dirt road in the back of a pick up truck, which became the preferred mode of transport for the next few days. My hostel was a collection of grass huts, like the locals live in, surrounded by coconut trees, and on the edge of the Indian ocean, where some of the best scuba diving in Africa is to be found.
Although I’m rambling, I want you to fully appreciate the absurdity of my travels. 3 days after we arrived in Tofo, it was time to go, so again, we rose at 4:30 in the morning. This time, there were no lights in our grass huts, so we fumbled and stumbled in the dark, and gathered together by 5, waiting for the hostel owner to drive us to the bus station. The hostel owner never woke up, and hence, never came to get us, so the night manager, a 19 year old british girl in her gap year, was saddled with our problem. She found an enterprising solution. Pile 10 hostel dwellers in the back of a pick up truck, and tear down the road trying to catch the bus. We eventually did (or so we thought), and hopped on – only to find out that it was not the express, but the bus that stopped every 5 feet. Soon, it was packed – with people, coconuts, cashews, eggs, cassava roots – all jammed into seats made for toddlers or amputees (my legs certainly didn’t fit…). In fact, there were even goats on the roof. 11 hours later, we got off the smelly bus, not having eaten or drank a thing (because this bus certainly didn’t have a bathroom, and if you got off, you got left), and ran to find another pick up truck that would take us to our final bus, which was supposed to leave Maputo at 7pm. We barely made it, after trying to make the Portuguese speaking driver understand that he had to step on it. And back in Joburg we soon were – at 4:30 in the morning, a full 24 hours later.
After riding with the goats, the dogs and cats in my office are almost acceptable. Welcome to Africa, right?
And in case you were curious, you’ll be happy to know that there is a thriving Gujarati community in Inhambane. What I want to know is why my family chose to settle in Louis Trichard, an Afrikaner farm town in the middle of a hot, dry region, when faced with the option of joining this community near what is quite possibly the most beautiful beach there is. J
I hope you had some laughs. I try and make sure that you are all entertained. Please take care – and for those of you who have exams coming up soon… GOOD LUCK, and for those of you getting married soon… Best Wishes – I’m thinking of you. Keep in touch, and let me know what’s going on in your world.
Until the next absurd occurrence,
Nirali
At the end of March, I spent a week in what is possibly the sleepiest capital city in Africa. Gaborone, Botswana, or “Gabs” as the locals like to refer to it, is only about a 4 hour drive from Jo’burg, and I went there with my boss, a co-worker, and my boss’ friend for the CIVICUS World Assembly. The theme of the conference was “Acting together for a just world” and it was, just as it sounds, a gathering of do-gooders and government haters from the 4 corners of the earth. As I am neither a do-gooder nor a government hater, I was in charge of manning the exhibition stand for Ashoka (my employer), where we (Nicole, my co-worker, and myself) found a strong correlation between the length of our skirts and the number of visitors we received! One of the real goodies that we were distributing was a new book by David Bornstein, called “How to Change the World”. Ambitious as the title is, it is a really good book, and talks a lot about the power of a social entrepreneur to change an entire system. The highlight of my visit to Gabs, however, was a toss-up between hanging out with the president of Botswana (he just decided he would stay for the cocktail party after he gave his speech) and watching the faces of the many conference participants as they realized that one of the snack foods being served at the party was Mopani worms. Yes, they really are. And, no, it doesn’t taste like chicken.
In case you are feeling slighted at not having received mail from Botswana, or, for that matter, Mozambique where I was over Easter, be assured that there is not a post card or post office to be found in either country. I looked.
Mozambique, perhaps so named because of the extreme prevalence of ‘mozzies’ (mosquitoes), is an absolutely stunning country. It is really large, and has a huge coastline along the WARM Indian Ocean, full of coconut trees and remote and deserted beaches. But, if you have any thoughts of ever vacationing there, be sure you have enough money to fly, because if not, chances are high that your story will be a lot like mine. We took the night bus from Jo’burg to Maputo (the capital) last Wednesday, and although the trip is only supposed to be 8 hours, ours took about 14. The reason? A 5 hour delay at the border, due to some enterprising bus passengers who wished to engage in the import/export business without paying their customs duties. Yes, my bus was carrying several dozen cheap Chinese VCRs, tons of produce, eggs, pots, pans,… even plastic washbasins. The obvious question is “can’t you find eggs in Mozambique?” The less obvious answer is probably “yes, but if you buy them in Mozambique, then the border guards on both sides, the bus driver, bus attendants and damn near every other passenger except us don’t get a cut of the action.” Indeed, many palms were greased during that 5 hour rest stop in the blazing sun. In fact, probably every palm except mine and my travel mate, Kelly. No worries, though. We got to Maputo, and walked around for a while – all the streets are named after dead communist leaders, or random dates in Mozambican history, while we tried to figure out how much Mozambican money we needed to withdraw. When the exchange rate from $ to Metacais is 1: 23,756 that takes some time. Eventually, I decided to withdraw 2,000,000 Metacais… I think it will be a long time before I’m a millionaire again, so I enjoyed it.
The following day, I woke at 4:30 to get to the bus station, so that we could take the local bus north to a town called Inhambane – gateway to our final destination of Tofo beach, just as easily refered to as Paradise. When we arrived at the bus station at 5:15, for the 6:30 bus, we realized that some folks had spent the night out on the pavement. But, lucky for us, lines don’t mean much in Mozambique, and while some of my party guarded our luggage, I took the money and tried to make my way to the ticket counter. Mob scene doesn’t even begin to describe the situation when the ticket counter finally opened. Women and children be damned – if you are small, weak, or in any way incapable of using your body weight to hold of 3 to 5 other people, then you were crushed. I used my public school basketball skills, however, and boxed out like a champion, throwing elbows where necessary, and stepping on toes when it wasn’t, and eventually held off the mob while my roommate Eissa thrust her hand through the jail bars and demanded tickets in some kind of Spanish/Portuguese combination. It was worth it, however. Tofo beach was gorgeous – remote, although it had 2 hostels and a hotel, they were spread over 2 km of coastline. We got there by dirt road in the back of a pick up truck, which became the preferred mode of transport for the next few days. My hostel was a collection of grass huts, like the locals live in, surrounded by coconut trees, and on the edge of the Indian ocean, where some of the best scuba diving in Africa is to be found.
Although I’m rambling, I want you to fully appreciate the absurdity of my travels. 3 days after we arrived in Tofo, it was time to go, so again, we rose at 4:30 in the morning. This time, there were no lights in our grass huts, so we fumbled and stumbled in the dark, and gathered together by 5, waiting for the hostel owner to drive us to the bus station. The hostel owner never woke up, and hence, never came to get us, so the night manager, a 19 year old british girl in her gap year, was saddled with our problem. She found an enterprising solution. Pile 10 hostel dwellers in the back of a pick up truck, and tear down the road trying to catch the bus. We eventually did (or so we thought), and hopped on – only to find out that it was not the express, but the bus that stopped every 5 feet. Soon, it was packed – with people, coconuts, cashews, eggs, cassava roots – all jammed into seats made for toddlers or amputees (my legs certainly didn’t fit…). In fact, there were even goats on the roof. 11 hours later, we got off the smelly bus, not having eaten or drank a thing (because this bus certainly didn’t have a bathroom, and if you got off, you got left), and ran to find another pick up truck that would take us to our final bus, which was supposed to leave Maputo at 7pm. We barely made it, after trying to make the Portuguese speaking driver understand that he had to step on it. And back in Joburg we soon were – at 4:30 in the morning, a full 24 hours later.
After riding with the goats, the dogs and cats in my office are almost acceptable. Welcome to Africa, right?
And in case you were curious, you’ll be happy to know that there is a thriving Gujarati community in Inhambane. What I want to know is why my family chose to settle in Louis Trichard, an Afrikaner farm town in the middle of a hot, dry region, when faced with the option of joining this community near what is quite possibly the most beautiful beach there is. J
I hope you had some laughs. I try and make sure that you are all entertained. Please take care – and for those of you who have exams coming up soon… GOOD LUCK, and for those of you getting married soon… Best Wishes – I’m thinking of you. Keep in touch, and let me know what’s going on in your world.
Until the next absurd occurrence,
Nirali
