Time: Typed during the afternoon & evening.
From: S.O’Neill
On Tuesday 12th of April it was decided that it would be a good idea for me to jump in a GDC truck and follow its path down through Tete, on to the port of Beira and back again (about 1000km each way). Apparently this would give me a greater appreciation of how our loads get to their destination than when I simply track the progress of containers via status reports. I was supposed to have made this trip earlier during my stay in Blantyre and had almost jumped onto a different truck to make this fateful journey around a month beforehand - on that occasion a last minute realisation stopped a potentially disastrous situation occurring.
Not only did the visa have a
“transit” stamp rather than “entry” but it was also out of date by
around four or five days. This was discovered just before starting the
expedition into the world of the trucker and could of resulted in either being
picked up at the border for false documentation
or, if this had passed customs notice (very possible), being arrested for
illegally travelling to
The Objective:
The initial idea of the trip was that I should observe and take in all the problems and different scenarios the loads we send via this route have to endure to arrive at their destination. I should see such things as the GDC depot, fuelling points, the port and it’s operation, loading and offloading and the roads that have to be travelled upon. All this was to increase my knowledge of how the tea industry operates with regard to transport. Who could of known that what was initially intended to be an education in the appreciation of the transporting side of tea would turn out to be an appreciation of the importance of life itself.
Mr. Brown (who I later found out
has “suffered” a similar experience) and Mr. Darby organised the trip and it
was arranged that I would travel down to
The following report is written using exact quotations from a diary of the trip written to my good friend Anna while it was in progress, from the enthusiastic approach at the beginning of proceedings, to the single-minded, straight-forward “get me out of here” intention at the end. In the interests of authenticity and to convey the genuine feelings of the time, only a mild form of censorship has been used. The author would like to apologise for any offence about to be caused and suggests that no one under the age of 18 read the following material unless it is censored to be used as an educational form of prevention for all those thinking of attempting a similar trip:
“Right then, it’s about 12.30 and I’ve just finished my 52000 kilo
blend, played markets and stood up for myself in the auction and now this time
I’m definitely jumping on a truck to travel down to Tete, pick up some Maize
and go down to Beira, unload and pick up some rice or whatever and come back to
Blantyre”.
“I’M A
TRUCKER! FANTASTIC! SPLENDID!”
“Don’t worry I will behave – I know there’s floods and
threatening civil war and all those problems next door in Zimbabwe but I’m
far too lucky for anything serious to befall me I’m sure. All I hope is
that it is a wonderful trip and that I can get back to
“I will attempt to write while in transit despite the bumpy terrain”
The Truck it’s self was a gargantuan relic of many hardened travels and reminded me of the ones Burt Reynolds hurdled in Smokey and the Bandit. It took some effort to climb up into the cab and once there I realised the hardened exterior also applied to the interior as well – holes where any electrical radio like equipment should be, broken dials and dash board, one long tattered seat that could probably sit three across and a sort of ramshackle sleeping area behind that perhaps one person could lie flat along and have just about enough room to sleep in moderate comfort.
“O.K it’s about
“Right now we are making our way round these winding roads threw the
mountains and on our way to the Mwanzan border and then on to Tete.
Excellent!”
“You pay 5 dollars at Mwanza and change some money as well, which I
had no problems with after some haggling – 15000 Meticash for the dollar when
the current rate is 14000. Of course he tried to short change me but I made sure
I counted”
At this point the road did not allow for writing to take place while driving – various words scribbled said things such as “Amazing open mouth fantastic views!” and “Beautiful flat dusky African bush country” Please note the jovial mood expectant of a pleasant journey. Upon arriving in Tete that night we visited the GDC depot and had a meal with Lewis JR’s cousin and friends. I was informed before the journey by Mr.Darby that I would probably stay at Lewis’s house in Tete but then Lewis explained that he was having some “problems” with the wife at the moment and that we would both be sleeping in the Cab. These problems I put down at the time to perhaps a feeling of animosity towards his long haul journeys. I later deduced that this would be due to the fact Lewis likes drinking - an awful lot - and he also seems to have a lot of girlfriends dotted around various stops a long the way.
Sleeping two to the cab wasn’t too bad as I had discovered the local brew Manica that has alcohol 5% and comes in a very large bottle which allows one to lapse into unconsciousness regardless of comfort very easily. My deduction was that although it was not a comfortable experience for two people, I could put up with it for maybe one or two nights.
Wednesday 5th April: Hold up
“We have stopped in the outskirts of Tete to fill the truck up with Diesel after spending the night in the truck. This is real Trucking life not like those guy’s simply running up and down the M25 I’m sure!”
“Hmmm…..things seem to be taking a long time….. Ah well more time to write I suppose. When driving this huge battered old machine around twisting mountain roads before opening out onto the plains where even though the road looks straight (and most of it is) you still have to ski almost as you drive dancing between the potholes and bumps, making your way towards the city. The surrounding landscape is quite breathtaking with an abundance of mountain ranges and hills in the distance with African bush stretching as far as the eye can see. The Zooa-looka-lowa (sunset) is of course fantabulous.”
“Problem with all this amazing possible exploration territory is that unfortunately it’s full of land mines left over from the civil war. The civil war between Renamo & Freelimo finished in 1992 with Freelimo taking power under Chissano. The war ravaged this country and you can still see its effects as you pass wrecked vehicles and broken down buildings. Graffiti is everywhere supporting both sides from what I can decipher. The infrastructure is still in tatters with the remains of things such as desolate railway lines and dis-used carts littering the area around us at the moment. Of particular significance is the rusted hollowed out shell of the front of a train. It’s half buried in the ground covered in rust and nearly enveloped by a giant anthill. I don’t think even British Rail has that sort of problem - I can imagine the station master announcing that the 5.15 from London has been delayed because they are still trying to remove it from the ground and are clearing the ant hill that has covered it overnight – certainly a little more serious than leaves on the track”
“Lewis has also informed me that if and when nature
calls en-route then I should not stray too far from the truck due to the problem
of Land mines still littering the surrounding bush area. The machines are slowly
clearing sections of land but this is
“The situation is as I say slowly being rectified and I imagine this will gather force with outside interest due to the vast amount of salts, minerals and fossil fuels such as coal which could be mined and harvested from the land. For the moment however things are, for want of a better word, pretty much ****ed”
Later after loading with
Diesel – a process that took a long time due to “documentation” and general laziness of people involved with
solving the situation.
“As we headed towards Tete I asked if the bridge we were travelling across was the famous one across the Zambezi river that people had been telling me about, Lewis shook his head and pointed to the corner ahead – Ay-Yi-Yi – that’s a bridge!”
“ Imagine tower bridge with a similar structure to the Golden Gate, went African Style and surround it with a sprawling shanty town-esque city that’s full of life, fire, electricity (sporadic), mud, concrete, cars and trucks and mini buses all in varying states of states of operation, random dogs, chickens and people meandering around the place, (some with rabies, some without) folk sitting, walking, and leaning with no particular purpose or conviction, shacks next to houses, dirt roads next to fly-overs and a monumental passage way across the water leading to the centre of it all and you should have a picture in your mind”
“ I have yet to go into the centre of Tete (I had but didn’t realise, I was looking for something along the lines of shops and places to eat etc. in fact the centre of Tete is pretty much identical to the rest of Tete i.e. very hot, broken dusty and covered in rubbish and people) perhaps Lewis will show me around later. Things are getting pretty hot in the cab and I think I’ve been eaten a little more than I realised by Mosquito’s last night as result of Manica putting me to sleep without putting the net up first”
“Right now I’m awaiting Lewis’s return as he has
gone to get his licence stamped by the police. I hope he comes back as I’ve
heard stories about Mozambican jails from Derek Kuavalo and I can’t drive one
of these things. Ah well Zimachitika. Lewis is cool. He’s probably about 45/50
years old and has been driving trucks for around 10 years, 7 for GDC, which is
the Transport Company we mostly use to get our tea to either Joberg or
“cool, chabwino, he’s back, perhaps we are on our way
– no he’s going to see his cousin from last night. I’ll stay here as I
don’t speak Portuguese apart from com-e-stas? Tabo, munto obligato and por-favor.
In fact I’m speaking more Chechewa than English since I came here, as, as
close to the border as we are that language seems the second to Portuguese. Hey
it’s getting hot and the smell of the rubbish is starting to grip this place
in a big way. Fantastically interesting experience sometimes, sitting here
watching these people go about their business – or rather not going about
their business. People in
“Hmmm…..seems as though the depot manager at GDC has instructed Lewis to await for some “documentation” to be finalised relating to toll fees. The drivers don’t seem to care for this man too much and observing the way he deals with them I’m not surprised. He certainly wasn’t interested in my presence not even bothering to acknowledge my existence declining to shake my hand in fact. Hmmm……………ah well never be afraid to try new things, amateurs built the ark, professionals built the titanic and so he jumped on a truck to Mozambique and ended up sitting in a café in Tete while “documentation” is finalised to allow us to journey down to Beira. Time is steadily becoming of the essence”
Time was indeed of the
essence and we ended up waiting around all day by the GDC depot for documents
relating to toll fees, which, for some reason, took a whole day to be filled in
and transferred to Lewis’s possession. Once in his hands we couldn’t move
because it was too late to drive i.e. bandits at night - expensive documents in
tow, therefore another night in Tete, another night in the cab. Leading up to
this point I managed to locate some food while Lewis provided copious amounts of
alcohol and tried to organise a “meeting” with his cousins daughter for me
which I politely declined (in Africa a big woman is apparently desirable
and believe this was a BIG woman – she kinda reminded me of Jabba the Hutt and
I feared that if I wasn’t crushed, I might be eaten afterwards).
During this time I did
meet a number of other drivers passing threw from all over and I was able to get
a better idea of the life they lead. Certain boss’s, in certain depots, (Mr.Darby
not included however – Mozambican’s treat their own with more disregard,
apparently as a sort of status statement) being
described as “ass-holes of note!” and other problems such as out of the
blue, suddenly being told you are going to spend the next six months in Joberg.
A problem when you are going to earn less money than in Moz. and not be
able to visit your family and due to the increased danger factor, perhaps never
see them again. Lewis explained that he is paid by the kilometre travelled so
for all the time he has to sit around awaiting the idiot at the depot to get off
his backside and add a signature to a piece of paper he’s not getting paid. In
truth the day was not an unpleasant one, I had plenty of time to write and ate
and drank properly for the first time during the journey. Later on I was even
allowed to attempt to reverse the truck into the yard by one of the drivers,
something that predictably enough nearly ended in disaster. It was just that
there was no need for the day to take place in the grand scheme of things, we
should have been on the move to
The time spent waiting
around in Tete all day was to prove very costly for me as well. How little I
knew at that point.
Thursday April 6th around
“I’m in
The journey from Tete to
One particular instance
involved a truck from a different company, which had completely shot off the
edge of the road and overturned in the bush, load included. It had occurred on
the mildest of corners so one can imagine that sleeping at the wheel may have
been involved. Lewis explained that this could happen when the times of delivery
are pushed to their limits and drivers have to continue moving during the night
from travelling by day. I thought that it might also have something to do with
the consumption of vast amounts of alcohol and attempting to drive huge pieces
of machinery afterwards.
Along the way you see
such things as how the many different compartments within the trailer can be
used, we were always stopping to buy this and that. Lewis bought three goats and
dragged them along with their feet tied after which they where slung into this
small compartment for the remainder of the journey. When we arrived at the
depot, they jumped out and once untied, walked around as though nothing had
happened much to my amazement after seeing their conditions of travel. Coal and
firewood where other commodities more readily available at better prices on the
journey through the bush, picked up to be sold in town later on at better
prices.
The other thing that
struck me was that seemingly in the middle of nowhere, without trace of
civilisation for miles around, you would suddenly see a guy jump from the bush
and start waving a container about. This is a Mozambican petrol station. The
driver can siphon off fuel in exchange for cash that the man with the can will
then resell at a higher price depending on the desperation of his customer no
doubt. The clever driver, if he knows his exchange rates travelling between
countries can make himself extra cash by selling fuel in one country and then
restocking in another. I didn’t see this particular process in operation but I
saw plenty of people waving cans around so I’m sure it is very popular.
Once I had arrived in
“ You see the problem is, unbeknown to me, there is a
holiday here in
“Thoughts of a possible return to
“ The saving grace is this – I have $60 and some
Mozambican Meticash which may allow me to make a break for it and try and
somehow get back to
“Being a trucker is not for me – It’s crap”
“Going solo maybe the only option despite specific
instructions to remain with GDC at all times. Hey it’s initiative right? If
I’m completely honest I want to go to the
Friday 7th April: Escape Plan
The previous evening the
guys at GDC did what they could with little money and no option of transport to
make my stay as comfortable as possible. In the evening we all went to a
restaurant/bar up the road from the depot where I got some chicken and chips and
was once again slightly alleviated from the current situation by Mr.Manica’s
alcohol %. TommyD, D-D, Lewis and er, Choo-Choo were very good company and the
first two mentioned spoke a bit of English as well. I found out about the
running of the depot there and also some information about the football –
always a guarantee of being an international language barrier breaker! You can
just say teams and player names and make noises of approval or disapproval
afterwards - In the late evening they were good enough to escort me on a rather
suspect, crammed minibus into the town where they found me a hotel to stay in
for the night. Basic and cheap would be the words but it was better than the cab
and even though it didn’t have electricity, water, wash facilities and a
toilet that could be safely used, it did have a bed and there weren’t any
mosquitos. The clientele did seem to be staying in rooms for relatively short
periods by the sound of all the constant door slamming and moving around. Lots
of screaming to. The array of women and clicking sounds of high heels suggested
that perhaps this was not on the tourist operator list. Despite all the
commotion once the head hit the pillow at around
Around 8.30am“O.K – here I am sitting in the truck outside the gate to the docking port. We are waiting to enter and pick up the load, Lewis Jr. has said that he’ll show me around the port while loading is taking place. TommyD’s whimsical fantasy that custom officials would be here has also failed to come to fruition. No surprise there though. There doesn’t seem to be to much activity taking place at the moment, Lewis has explained that the reason we are simply just sitting here is once again a problem with “documentation” how ever I am now past the point of really caring”
“Trouble ahead – Mavuto kuaembeeli – I’m currently sitting in the cab while rice is being loaded onto the truck finally after several hours of generally not an awful lot, “faffing” as I call it. I have observed all the container storage areas, taken in the many cranes and ships stretching the port harbour and spoken with the GDC representative who organises all the loading here at the port. I even ended up talking with a guy who hires people to work on ships, amusingly enough he enquired as to which ship I had just sailed in on and did I want more work….., suffice to say I am not looking my best”
Points of interest include:
· There is a rather large Salamander lizard stuck between a gap in the harbour. This has gathered quite a lot attention as people mill around staring and poking it with sticks. Great big thing it is and quite vicious as well. This held up the loading process for some time due to the “faffing” such a spectacle caused”
·
Here in the warehouse lots of birds live up above in the rafters
so it is rather like sitting in an Avery. They are many different colours and
are darting around the place as people load the truck. Surreal
(Later I learned this is a very bad thing as they crap all over the goods being
stored in the whse). Even more surreal is my appearance as I have just
caught sight of myself in the wing mirror. To say I look a little rugged is an
understatement – very
·
Ah yes! How could I forget – there’s a CYCLONE approaching!
Yes a big mother of all monsters CYCLONE! Not a storm, not a gale but a Goddaman
mother freakin CYCLONE! I’m sorry it seemed to slip my mind there! Yes, the
wind is definitely picking up and the (brown) sea is looking severely choppy.
The port has been closed (hence lack of activity) the fishing boats are all
returning to port and no ships are leaving. This cyclone was apparently supposed
to hit towards the end of the weekend but has decided to visit
“Lewis has instructed me to stay with the truck due to the fact that the winds mean that there is possibility that the huge liners along the harbour may crash against the concrete and everything in the surrounding area will fall into the sea. Fine. I suppose that’s one way of getting the bloody salamander out of the crack in the harbour. Nothing is surprising me now.”
“After seeing the living standards here without a
cyclone, I feel that things will be considerably worse when it hits, this could
be in the next few hours or so – predictably enough they don’t know. The
last time one hit
“Upon observing
the damage the Cyclone was likely to cause I have decided to make several
enquires about the possibility of leaving. All the while I was explaining that
it wasn’t that I didn’t want to stay, it was just that I had a lot of things
organised back in
“I saw the buses he is referring to on the journey to
“If worse comes to the worse and I can’t escape, I will try to get to the places where human beings live. In some hotel, that has some sort of standard, I mean people who come here must stay some where that isn’t a brothel that has no electricity and water like the place from the other night. Places where I can do normal things, such as eat, drink, wash and use the toilet. Even a mirror for the love of God”
“Loading is taking place reasonably quickly. Maybe it
is possible that the customs situation could be resolved and we could make the
entire 843km journey back to
“Drew is my boss, and a good one at that also he’s my friend. But right now he’s an asshole!!!! Testing me thinking that this would be a good experience! In What! Learning to appreciate working toilets, hot water and hygiene in general? Food, drinks, and sleeps great importance? Fancy sending me to a port from hell (interesting smell by the way) that has a cyclone approaching and the depot manager is away in Zimbabwe so no-ones expecting me – everything’s a disorganised load of old ****”
“You know it’s
“O.K now the loading has finished, the workers have
also finished cutting holes in the remaining bags and tipping rice into pockets
before being chased off by a little Portuguese man who is some sort of manager
(of what I don’t know) and Lewis is now in an office having a conversation -
which seems to be taking a long time. No doubt this is to do with “documentation”
as everything else is. It has been confirmed that we won’t be leaving
until Monday after customs have finalised documents
allowing us to move. Customs being customs this means late Monday afternoon.
Lewis being Lewis this means we will stay the night in Tete. This means we will
get back to
“One word: Plane – please god let it be. I am not staying here until the lord knows when with no facilities, transport, hygiene, contacts and people that speak a useful version of a language that I know. I am totally reliant on my Lucky St.Christopher at the moment, what a ****hole of a situation, I can’t wait to write the report”
Note: At this point I
feel it is important to remind the reader that stress levels are high at this
time and that these are exact quotes from the journey as it happened. I do
understand this is not conventional report writing but there is really no other
way to put it.
“Let’s look at the organisation:
1. The hold up of a day in Tete.
2.
The manager in
3. No arrangements made for anything.
4. This is not a place for human beings to live.
5. English and Chechewa are not spoken this far South.
6. I was not told any of this could take place.
7. There is the mother of all cyclones about to pay a visit.
8. There is the mother of all cyclones about to pay a visit.
It is like: “Thank-you for all your hard work and efforts, now please enjoy your educational visit to the bottom of the worlds toilet bowl, see you later, if you survive” – I could even end up missing the flight to Mombassa as a result of all this, I can’t believe I shook the hands of the people who sent me here!”
“It is
The next hour or so was
spent driving around the depot, unhooking and hooking the trailer with the load
and Lewis arguing and swearing with the depot manager as to whether he can leave
the load at the port or whether he has to take it back to the depot. In the end
due to problems hooking the trailer we return to the depot/pit without. The
reason comments from this period do not appear is because they where mostly
curses.
“Conditions:
·
Toilets - Sweet Jesus, I’m open to experience but I wouldn’t
let animals use these toilets here. There seem to be some sort of bucket of
stagnant water/ cup system that interacts with a hole in the ground that seems
to be the common denominator. No paper, no flushing, no lights to see what
you’re doing, no idea how it works, no interest in finding out. Rancid. I need
to get back to
· Showers – Well there’s a hole in the wall at the depot that spurts cold water at the centre of your forehead. Very cold water. I have now braved the shower and it was an interesting experience. If only I had a camera. So I have showered, if you can call it that. The shower block itself I wouldn’t consider washing cattle in – but it was this or continue in the present state. My definition of a shower consists of the use of hot water, soap, shampoo, for a long period followed by a towel. This consisted of an open stinking concrete compound with at first a burst and then a trickle of cold water (which I made sure I did not get in my mouth) for as long as I could stand it and then I dried myself with a rag. That is not a shower – that is getting a bit wet and drying yourself with a dishtowel. ****’s sake”
At
this point the anger and stress while still evident had been controlled and
there was now a robotic determination to remove myself from the area. This is
the final comment before setting off on the next stage of the journey from hell.
I ate and drank with the guys at GDC and caught a minibus at around
“Right then mission on. Got myself a hat, some batteries for the headphones, changed some money and learned some vital pieces of language like “Quero Bitilay!” which translates as “I want a ticket!” here is the plan:
No planes. At all. Ever in fact. No surprise really. Can’t ring out either phones don’t work.. Predictable. Here’s what I’m doing - Minibus to town – organise and find bus ticket to Tete which leaves at around 1 or 2am – should get to Tete at around 11 or 12 (probably1pm) – find GDC depot and enquire about possible trucks to Blantyre- if not find minibus to Zobway border – pass customs then cross to Mwanza – pass customs again and then Minibus to Blantyre. All in one day and then try and find Debbie and get to the lake. Big mission for someone like me (i.e. inexperienced and accident-prone) but there’s not much I can do about it, as it is the only option. As long as it all works to plan there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“If I should die think only this of me – I was just trying to escape – A MAN HAS GOT TO DO WHAT HE’S GOT TO DO TO SURVIVE!”
This is where I left the
pen to paper report/diary/letter and set off on the journey from hell. As
another matter of interest I think it important to also remember to mention that
Mr.Tony Morland,
The Bus journey to Tete
was assuredly enough an hour late. During this time I managed to buy a ticket
for 100000 Meticash. That is not as much as it sounds by the way, it’s
actually $6.60. De-De and I talked with this man who seemed to speak English
quite well; he was also making the journey to
It was two hours or so
after the beginning of the journey that the bus began to make its final
splutters of mechanical failure that had been getting worse since the engine was
started. The bus stopped near one of the villages on the outskirts of Tete and
everyone was told to get off. It was at this point that I discovered our
English-speaking friend did not speak English as well as first thought. When
asked what the problem was, he replied smilingly “Yes”, when asked how long
before another bus, he once again replied “Yes”. When I thought back to what
he’d answered when I had said to him “so you speak good English then” he
had also said “Yes” so there you go.
It was dark and cold and
in the middle of no-where as far I could tell but despite a few people wandering
off, the general consensus seemed to be to wait by the roadside with the
majority. I couldn’t tell how long it was by the time the next bus came but
they must have been expecting problems and contacted
Along the way we crossed
a long wooden bridge in a severe state of disrepair barely wide enough for the
Bus that was travelling upon it. I had crossed this in daylight on the way to
Beira with Lewis and it was quite nerve wracking then – there was a fairly
steep drop either side to a dried up river bed and not a lot in the way of
civilisation anywhere close by should there be any accidents – crossing at
night sitting in a bus that was in even worse condition than Lewis’s truck was
more than a bit on the terrifying side – everyone that was awake stared out of
the windows into the blackness trying to establish how close we were to the
edges while our driver also seemed
to be doing the same thing yet failing to appreciate that he was in control of
the wheel at the same time. To his credit he got us across fairly quickly
without event – I suspected this had more to do with luck than skill however.
Next to the bridge
covering the same space over the ravine was a brand spanking new concrete tarmac
creation that looked perfect, apart from the signs and stone prevention blocks
telling travellers the bridge was not yet open. Due to it’s pristine vision of
perfection next door to the tree trunk and rope event ride we crossed upon, I
could only judge that the reason we were not allowed to use it was documentation
and somebody somewhere was waiting for the right amount of money to cross
his palm before he would sign a piece of paper and open the bridge for public
use.
The arduous journey from
there eventually arrived in Tete after several hold up’s where the driver saw
fit to stop and go and visit friends and pick up more unneeded passengers who
consequently had nowhere to sit and increased the already overcrowded situation
and generally slowed things down. I had our useless translator asleep on my
shoulder to the left and a woman & baby changing nappies on the right, which
I might add I felt obliged to help out with. The sun baked everyone threw the
window like ants under a magnifying glass and they played the same three song
tapes over and over and over again. Sleep was impossible due to conditions,
wallet watching and zombified state of mind. When I eventually saw the stinking
pile of dilapidated confused chaos that is the city of
Once in Tete at around 1
or 2pm, our useless English speaking parrot decided to make his way elsewhere
choosing to go on to Blantyre the next day (he probably knew that trying
to get to Blantyre at this time was a possible exercise in futility – I
didn’t know this). I meanwhile decided to head
straight for the bus station and attempt to understand the surrounding madness
to enable me to catch a bus to Zobway. I should have tried to find the GDC depot
but it seemed a more logical option to catch the bus as the pick up point was at
the end of the road. After catching a minibus to the border and have it take
around 3 or 4 hours, during this period being overtaken by more than several GDC
trailers, I knew I had made a slight error in judgement.
Another error in
judgement was to attempt to change money in Tete after you haven’t had any
sleep for nearly two days and you aren’t exactly at your sharpest. I
negotiated a rate for Dollars to Kwacha and promptly got ripped off to the tune
of 600k. The cocky little so and so even showed me on the calculator and I
figured it out only after he had just left. I followed him down the rubbish
infested, dusty excuse for a road and he darted up one of the side alleys and I
initially followed. His friends had also followed and where behind me when I
managed to catch the guys attention to resolve the whole scenario. Things
weren’t going anywhere and even though I had been initially lacking in common
sense I had enough to realise that I was not in a good bargaining situation. Off
the main road, surrounded by people I don’t know, all of whom knew how much
money I had and probably thought I had a lot more – I made a hasty retreat and
caught the bus. Oh another thing about Tete – it really stinks when it gets
hot and seems to have the largest contingent of people sitting around doing sod
all that I’ve seen on this planet.
After the fight to
actually get on the Mini Bus the enduring journey to the border took far more
time than I had expected due to the constant stopping everywhere for no good
reason other than “faffing”. At the
At the Moz/Malawi border
I had the good fortune to manage to catch a lift between the crossing points
with a GDC trailer with a driver named Archibald who was suitably bemused by the
whole scenario but had good grace to believe me and took me across. You see I
wasn’t exactly looking respectable at this point after a weeks worth of
intermittent sleep and food, no proper shower or a change of clothes and an
exhausting journey to hell and back. Another worthy point to mention is that
while on the delay ridden mini bus from Tete I had no idea of the time or
appreciation of the fact that if I arrived at the crossing point past 5pm I
would have had to stay there the night as that is when it closes – in the end
I made it by a whisker and shall never forget the name Archibald and shall
probably name a pet after him one day (as kids called Archibald probably
get beaten up in this day and age)
Of course due to customs
and problems with documentation
Archie had to stay at the border so I was back to Minibus land. I didn’t care
however because at least I was in
The final minibus journey
with all it’s sellotape windows, cramped conditions, metal bars for seats,
smoke spewing exhaust and loose doors that kept falling off mid journey
(seriously disconcerting upon reflection) more or less passed me by due to
zombification. We were stopped by Uzi totting army folk who checked everyone’s
bags and we also did a tour of
I got back to Blantyre
bus station and Doogles back packer bar a broken man at around 8pm, to find
everyone had gone to the Lake already (including the girlfriend) and to top it
all I consequently had no key to get into the house as Paul and Sarah whom I
lived with had gone too. By this point though, nothing surprised me and I rang
Drew (my boss) to tell him I had made it back and would be found propping up the
bar in Doogles – when he arrived he walked straight past me due to lack of
recognition. I proceeded to muster what energy I had into a vitriol of abuse
about my adventures directed in his direction and then got fantastically drunk
and fell asleep with absolutely no encouragement what so ever.
At least as a prologue to
events I did manage to get to the
In Conclusion:
I have a greater
appreciation of quality of life, luck and the mystical powers of St.Christopher
and that I do not want to be a trucker. Also if something is en-route it is
definitely en-route and is certainly not as good as having arrived at its
destination once it has left the yard. And for a country that at the moment
people associate with being flooded there isn’t actually an awful lot of
running water. In fact there isn’t an awful lot of very much apart from people
doing not an awful lot.
If I had to think of one
word to sum up