After 2 nights spent in Harare, staying with the wonderful Caz and Brendan, it was time to make tracks again before I got too used to Jean's cooking and the good life. The plan was to probably hang around a little bit longer, but it was Africa Day on Thursday so Caz and fam were off camping. It seemed silly to hang around in Harare on my own when I could go and meet some old family friends, Twiggy, AKA Sarah, and Glen. I when I say old friends, they last saw my parents before I was even born, and I think it's fair to say that I'm getting a bit long in the tooth now! Anyway, part of the fun of a trip like this is rummaging around in the contacts drawer and seeing what you can come up with. Thanks to Pat for making this one happen. I'd arranged with Glen to set off from Harare towards Marondera, to the south, and he would meet me at Surreys and from there take me to the farm he was running. That would be about 60km, so a nice easy reintroduction after a couple of day's off of the bike. Glen immediately put himself in my good books by handing me a nice cold coke and then 2 pepper steak slices, and the excellent hospitality continued once we got to the farm with some cold beers and sandwiches. Marondera is the wrong way to the Nyamapanda border for me, but Glen very kindly said he would drop me on the right road the following morning so that I wasn't off course, as such. We spent the afternoon driving around the farm and game reserve which was very pleasant. I must say it was a very neat and tidy operation and in addition to the usual tobacco and sweet peas, there was a very snazzy packhouse and pioneering trial of growing peas on killed off tobacco stalks rather than the arduous installation of posts and trellis network. Glen also grows Rhodes grass [originally found down near Livingstone on the Zambezi], combines the seed heads off, selling that to the likes of Aus and the MEast that grow it for fodder, but where it is too hot for it to seed, and then makes hay from the remaining stalks. They also have a pedigree herd of Baron cattle, originally from Kenya/Tanzania which are nice animals, albeit slow calvers! It was a real shame to hear that all 4 farms next to each other had been issued with government letters instructing them to vacate the premises by 30th June as it's a very well run farm [especially compared to some of the efforts of the smallholders]. In my mind I thought that the Land Seizures were over, and I had even heard of historical compensation being on the cards, so it was a shock to find out that the movement was still ongoing. After some sundowners at the duck dam and another session of 'question the crazy cyclist' as mosquitoes feasted on my legs we had steak and boerie for supper, followed by an excellent fry up in the morning. Glen and I were underway by about 8.20, and it was with a heavy heart that I commenced pedaling towards the border an hour later. Not only was I nearing the end of my stay in Zim, but this was now the end of the good life and hospitable homestays. Still, variety is the spice of life and it would be good to mix it up a bit. It was 190km to Nyamapanda border, and the plan was to break it in half, staying at Matoko on the first night. It was lovely scenery and fairly easy pedaling, so after reaching Matoko at about 1ish and doing a spot of shopping I went to check out the local lodge that I had spotted on google maps. A snapshot of some dubious Zim products and distributorsThe lodge wasn't exactly a dump, but it didn't look that great, and was very much deserted. When a receptionist eventually appeared, a lengthy negotiation ensued as to camping price [apparently showering is a high cost] and what size breakfast I was allowed. In the end she wouldn't budge from $20 for not a lot, and was decidedly unimpressed with my feats of both human endurance, and charity fundraising. We parted ways on slightly less than amiable terms, my parting jibe being along the lines of 'You're mean' and calling her level of good conscience into doubt. That was half an hour wasted, but I had been feeling a bit guilty about sticking to white hospitality thus far and not giving the villagers a test. I justified it as I knew beds to sleep in were going to get thinner on the ground as I head north, so might as well enjoy it whilst I could, but I also wanted to give it a bash. On the way out of the lodge I got chatting to a smart, and very trendy looking black guy. He was in adorned in leather snap back cap and driving a fancy merc, and I was surprised to learn he was a Pastor on a 'crusade' as he certainly didn't look like your typical man of the cloth. He was very charming and it was pleasant exchanging information on what we were both up to. He exclaimed 'Jesus Christ' when I told him what I was doing, which made me chuckle, and we parted with my instructing him to pray for me at his fancy crusade. I did about another 20km past Matoko as my general policy is to head out of town for camping. It would probably be fine, but I envisage a small to medium sized village as offering the best combination of hospitality without too many people being around to interrogate me. The scenery was improving again after the town, and the road was lined with children of all ages as the various education establishments disgorged them for some weekend relaxation. I got lots of waves and cheers, and the new bell got some heavy usage as I replied to the whooping and hollering that pursued me along the way. As things thinned out a bit more I started looking for a nice spot or a friendly looking face and embark on a bit of campsite negotiation. There were a couple of lovely Baobabs on the left, and what looked like a pretty secure plot with a fence around it, so I decided to chance my arm and enquire if there was any room at the inn. I suppose I was a bit nervous as this was my first foray into throwing myself on the mercy of the villagers, having previously slipped into the bush furtively rather than announcing myself. I needn't have worried as they were absolutely lovely and immediately made me feel very welcome. I met Warren first, who then introduced me to Grandma of the household, and then various others. including my main host Kambirai. We had a bit of a tour, and in order to make myself useful in exchange for their hospitality, I did a bit of maize and sorghum threshing and went and got water from the well. A rather quaint bit of volunteerism I'd say. I was going to set the coffin up but Kambirai insisted I sleep inside. Initially I was reluctant as I didn't want to boot someone out of their usual spot, but I was assured that it was a spare room, and thus fine for me to use. I similarly ummed and aahed about dinner - Warren was preparing pork and saadza [maize meal] in the kitchen, but the place was covered in flies and didn't look too appetising - but I decided that I would go all in for the immersive experience and dine with them. I'd also been foraging with the youngster for an hour or so, eating dried baobab and some other strange berries he was acquiring from the floor. I'd also been taking on the bushpumps and boreholes without sterilising any of the water using the droplets I was carrying, so reasoned that I had likely toughened up my weak Western constitution enough to handle a bush of bush cooking. I was also a bit worried about the nutritional values of saadza and my cycle the next day. Anyway, it turned out Warren can really move in the kitchen, and he threw together a really quite delicious meal, complete with some greenery too. We tucked in with our hands and I enjoyed it very much. I got an early night as conversation ran a little dry after helping junior with his homework, but didn't sleep very well to be honest. The compound dog barked all bloody night, having some kind of shouting match with another dog miles away. I don't know if they just tune it out or what, but it was driving me absolutely mad. When Chloe and I pony trekked in Lesotho there was a similar irksome hound, and that chap got a wine bottle launched at it eventually. However, seeing as I was here by their good graces, I decided best not to beat the dog and put up with it. There was also a rooster that crowed at ridiculous times, but the most disconcerting one was rodents - they had stored mealies in the room, so I was fairly confident there would be some nocturnal grazing of some sort, but the little shits were everywhere, mostly living under the bed. I then became paranoid about fleas as a result, but decided I must just put up with it. In the morning I had my own cereal and milk and banana and got under way at about 8.15. They were lovely people, and although it got a bit too religious for my liking at times - we had a group prater for my safe travels before I left - I could not have asked for a better experience. I set off for the 70km to Nyamapanda in very good spirits, feeling lucky to have met such a nice bunch of people. Kambirai is still sending me messages [I shall refrain from using the word spamming] on a very regular basis now to keep in touch with me. The only lodge of note near Nyamapanda seemed to be Pumpkin lodge, so I thought I would stay there and then get through the border early doors, nicely rested for the long 140km stretch to Tete. However, I got to the lodge at about 11, and it was 20km from Nyamapanda. I consulted a Malawian truck driver who had been broken down due to injector problems for 4 days, and his mate who was sucking on a diesel hosepipe to siphon the fuel off who said there were plenty of lodges in Nyamapanda to stay in. The scenario brought to mind yesterday's BJ Petroleum, and I pedaled off sniggering, having resisted the urge to tell the guy to make sure he didn't swallow. I probably should have known better than to trust a guy who also claimed that Malawi still has loads of trees as he made his way to SA with a shipment of shutter ply, but there were no lodges in Nyamapanda. I decided that it was probably a good idea to get through the border anyway, and likely cheaper on the Moz side as not USD. The Zim official accused me of not having a visa and ran off with my passport, but that was just a misunderstanding as she wasn't familiar with the UNIVISA that covers both Zimbabwe and Zambia. I bagged up my skulls again and set off into Moz. The border guard was immediately a douchebag, exclaiming, 'But you have no visa!'. I started off all smiley, explaining that I was here to get a visa from him. Cue much sucking of teeth and head shaking. The price was $72 he said. At this I took umbrage as, as far as I was concerned, it was $50, the same as at the embassy. This was not the case he informed me, but equally could produce no price list to prove either of us right. I decided to not make any issues before I had to, so just filled out the forms and got things moving. There was a lot of 'Wait outside' and saying he was trying to get hold of his boss, when actually he was just being a plump, heavy browed official, pompous and arrogant at his rubber stamping booth. I was beginning to get cross! Anyway, they got the visa done and was told to pay $72 for it. I refused and then both of them got very arsey with me saying I had agreed. No such thing I said, and I would either pay $50 or the price they could prove. I found it hard to believe that there was no official price list to be found anywhere. Cue another hour or so of me being a bit of a nuisance, and trying to get poor Chloe to prove that I was right, until eventually they produced some Portuguese document with some prices on. It didn't refer exactly to my visa, but $70 was on there. That was probably why they chose it, but their downfall was that there was also R750 on the list. They had a bit of a pow wow when I asked to pay in Rand, and there was definitely talk of percentages, but the other guy said it was R750 as per the list. That equates to about $53 so I cobbled the cash together and scuttled out of there before something else went wrong. I supposed it was about time I had a crappy border crossing, but it was a good job I went through the day before. I then set about finding somewhere to stay, exploring the bountiful 'Cuarto' options on the Mozambique side of the border. There certainly weren't any 5-star options, but luckily that's not what I was after. I looked at a couple and it seemed to be 600 Meticias for a fancy room and 300 for a basic. That equates to about $12 for the luxury en suite with a cold shower or $6 to slum it with the bucket shower and long drop. Despite being rather sweaty I decided a proper cold shower wasn't worth the extra outlay, and took the cheapy. The staff were a bit weird - laughing at me a lot, and trying to charge me for a bucket shower (as well as being very particular about what bucket I was to use for the task). After a bit of a bathe and laundry I set off to have a look around and get a local sim. I was also on the hunt for beer but decided with 140km to do tomorrow, I wouldn't bother. The sim turned into a bit of a fiasco to get working, and there was much fiddling with the phone under the table which made me a bit suspicious. We passed the time by talking a bit of Spartuguese. This mostly consisted of me gabbering away in Spanish and just lengthening the vowels and changing a few consonants. It caused much amusement as I named the various creatures in the market place (even turkeys - pavo in Spanish - were knocking about) but seemed to work ok. After that I made tuna pasta on the stove and decided I might as well get into bed. That was at about 7, and most people were still partying loudly next door at that point. Then the power went off. Haha! The noisy revellers were plunged into music-free silence, and the noise subsided into a sulky murmur. Unfortunately it didn't last - the power came back on at 8:30, and I didn't sleep very well really. A combination of football match on the TV, someone trying to get into my room, cars coming in and out via a very noisy gate, a braying donkey, and some shitfaced guy singing what sounded like military songs outside, made for a broken night's sleep. That aside, I was up at 5.30 and after breakfasting on the last of my muesli, an extremely blackened banana and some slightly off milk (rather confusingly it doesn't need to be kept in the fridge until you open it), I was on the road by 6:15. The cycling was pleasant, with only about 3 cars in the first hour, after which the odd bus and trailer ferrying Malawians from Joburg would thunder past. It never really got busy, despite the large amount of roadkill about and the villages, nestled under massive baobabs, were both scenic and rustic. The people were also very friendly, and as I wafted along, pursued by the faint smoky aroma of charcoal manufacture I must say I was enjoying myself. The first 85km went pretty fast, but it soon became apparent that my dreams of roadside rustic nandos was a pipedream and I fell into the classic trap of not eating enough really. Towards the end I was really struggling as the shitty roadside biscuits didn't really help much. It also began to get rather hilly, just when I could have done with nice easy rolling downhill. So the last 30km weren't much fun, especially as the left buttock sore was close to being joined by another. A few truck drivers got some pretty choicy views of Vaseline application on the last stretch! On the plus side, Brett had very kindly sorted me some hosts - Amanda & Brendan - as my original contact Martin had sloped off into the bush for the weekend, where he had no signal. It was a nice descent down into the Zambezi valley to Tete, which I think saved me, and in a nice fortuitous touch, as I rolled across the big new Caswene bridge that brought up 141km, taking me to 2000km since departing Joburg a month ago. Then, after a bit of poor navigation and a U-turn, I met Brendan and followed him to their plot. And what a plot - prime river frontage looking right on to the Zambezi, complete with bathing locals even! We had a few beers and some snacks after jumping in the pool and setting up the Coffin, and then I took Tina down to the riverbank for a sunset photoshoot. And in one of those strange twists of fate/small world coincidences it turned out that I ended up in exactly the same spot as I would have with Martin, after putting 2+2 together and realising that he was Brendan and Amanda's next door neighbour. Very funny indeed! The next day was planned as a rester, so I headed in to work with Brendan and Amanda to catch up on some emails etc. The plan was then to go into town on a Chopela (Tuktuk) and see some sights, but they were quoting ridiculous prices so I took a walk down the road for a second lunch of delicious chicken peri peri and chips. A good view of Baobabs, party-ville in Cancun, African pot hole repair, African roadside recovery, and free toll roads as locals refuse to pay until the roads are of a good enough standard to merit it! Rather conveniently work was 15km out of Tete in the right direction, so in the morning we all drove to Moatize together after my sorghum porridge took about an hour to cook. After a bit of faffing, and a photo shoot where the guy didn't actually take any photos, I was underway by about 9:30. I was expecting about 110km with a fair bit of climbing. What I wasn't really expecting was to get rained on. It was more of a drizzle than a soaking, but after over a month of precipitation free cycling, anything is unwelcome. I stopped for a bit to try and get some lunch but the woman wanted M1500 for chicken and chips. An utterly ridiculous price and I cycled off in disgust at her mzungu-abusing antics. This was foolhardy as it was raining fairly hard, and I needed a rest. I ended up not much further down the road where there was one really annoying guy and a lot of staring faces. Fizzy drinks were again overpriced so I just chowed some biscuits and set off again, pretty fed up. I ended up underfuelled again, and pretty exhausted. I couldn't really decide whether to bother crossing into Malawi or not, but I got to the border at about 3 and couldn't see anywhere decent to stay in Moz so just went for it.
The Moz exit was easy, and then there was a big long stretch of downhill through no-mans-land to the Malawi border post. Everyone was super polite and I began to feel pretty good about things again. Then I got to the immigration counter and things fell apart pretty quickly. Basically, back in January I was super keen and wanted to get some visas sorted so things would be easier and I wouldn't have to carry so much cash about. So off I went to the Malawian Embassy with my Letter of Invitation for 10/20 May from Adi the Gardener and all the other paperwork. I was assured that they could issue the visa that far in advance and that Malawi was a far more competent nation that the colonial overlords of Nyasaland, Great Britain. However, when I collected the visa, it expired on 18th April. When I pointed this out, I got told I would have to reapply and pay (a lot) again. I stewed on it, and after discovering you can get visas on arrival, decided not to waste my time on another trip to the embassy with Adi to argue my case. Rather, I would take things into my own hands and change the dates on the visa myself and see if they figured it out. This attempt to save $75 backfired rather rapidly as they rumbled me pretty much straight away. The machinations of bureaucracy swung into motion and I was promptly accused of tampering with visas, a criminal offence. Naturally, I denied the charges, but all the same some strange handwritten note was scribbled and I was told to go back to Mozambique and not come back again. I must admit at this point that things weren't exactly going to plan, and with Sam coming to join me in Malawi for 2 weeks it would quite a balls up not be allowed into the country. I acted sufficiently shocked at such wild accusations of forgery, and then dejected at not being allowed into their wonderful, amazing, fantastic country. They came on pretty strong in the beginning, but eased off as the mention of 'making a plan' came up. In the end I was allowed to enter providing I bought another visa and paid a penalty of $50. It became a rather expensive day, but I couldn't really be arsed to argue too much, or explain that the only bloody reason for my sneaky endeavours was because of their idiocy at the Embassy. Oh well, part of the experience I suppose. So $120 got me off the bail list and into the country. After this Mike the border guard became quite friendly and I gave him some shit, asking for change and he asked for more. He even said Tina wasn't a very heavy bike, the toe rag. When the Health Guy sidled up and asked for money for a cold drink I told him to piss off and ask his mate Mike who had just taken all my money. I then haggled over a local sim and pedaled up the road in the rain and dark to a distinctly average, and of course overpriced hotel for the night. Welcome to Malawi, 'the warm heart of Africa' (and grubby little greedy hands to match).
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AuthorSam Brook - A mildly Africanised Pom about to cycle from Joburg to Nairobi. Archives
August 2017
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