Motorcycle Diaries

Motorcycle diaries in Mozambique. A 12 L gas container on the tail, a tent, matt, sleeping-bag, 2 peoples belongings and food for 3 days in a trekking pack on my back, a 6 5’’ Jon in front with another knapsack of goodies strapped-on affront. Our silhouette could easily be mistaken for an humpback and a pregnant woman on wheels.

After a scrumptious breakfast of cornmeal with sugar and peanut-butter (prepared by Jon’s housemate, Chengeti from Zimbabwe), Jon (an MCC engineer in Tete province from Oregon), and I headed out into the crisp morning air. It didn't take too long until sweaters were removed, for Tete, being the hottest of all provinces in Mozambique, warmed up as the sun peaked over mountain tops.

Off the pavement and into the bush we went. Aside the large aisles of thorn trees, prickle-bushes, burrs and other random spiky growths, the trails would be absolutely spectacular for hard-core mountain bikers; Rocks, roots and all. As it were, we traveled on Jons’ Honda XL 125S through the trails - cargo and all – through these gallows of barbed things tearing at our limbs, and sand patches liberating us to power-slide (if we chose to or not). In our dustcover state we passed through random hut-villages waving at the dozens of children sprinting after us screaming ‘TA-TA” or “MAZUNGU!” Leaving them in our dusty trail we pushed through sand to arrive at the Luenha river (Loo-way-nee-a). The little, orange bike was lifted into a dug-out canoe. In the waist deep waters, 2 local Mozambicans in their tighty-whiteys guided the two MUZUNGUS and their treasures to the other side - Mandie. With an I-pod in one pocket, a phone in the other, camera in hand and a motorcycle in front, my heart had ‘butterfly’ moments as the occasional off-sided-tipping occurred and over-re-correction of the tipping could have had fatal consequences.


The journey over our 3 day stay in Mandie led us to communities with ‘sand dams’ which are man made barriers built across seasonal rivers (when its rainy season, water flows past that area). The way a sand dam works> with the dam wall in place, the rainwater collects as well as the sand that the waters bring with it. The sand piles up to the height of the dam wall and water stays preserved underneath, thus making an under-the-sand aquifer. It was interesting to see these dams and not see any water like one may expect, but instead sand all the way up to the dam wall. Once the rains have properly prepared this aquifer, upstream shallow wholes are dug out and water is present directly underneath the sand! This is so useful for this dry, arid, dessert like communities, for they are starting up gardens and small vegetable crops and even fruit-trees, which are new concepts to many in that area! As well, cattle and other animals are able to drink (where as before they would walk the whole day to the river to drink, sometimes only twice a week because it is so far!). People are able to easily access this water to drink, cook, bath and live! It was another National Geographic experience. At one of the dams, we came across a deep whole upstream where woman, young and old, sat at the base of the whole with their buckets, jugs and jars waiting. They conversed slowly and almost lethargically. I felt dehydrated looking at them but restrained from pulling out my Nalgiene and taking a swig of water. There was one woman inside that whole who was sifting the sand from the water with a cup. One scoop, wait for the sand to settle to the bottom of the cup, slowly pour into a container, carful not to disturb the sand particles in the process. The amount of water was so little and she continually had to dig a little deeper and wait for the water to sift through the sand granules filling the bottom of the whole little by little. This is quiet a process and can easily take up or over an hour to fill up a bucket of water. BUT > this is an improvement from years past!!! Right now, without rain, the water is sparse, but without this dam this community was suffering more so walking to the river miles and miles. Talking with a local man he told me that by the time they got back from the river, people and animals were already thirsty again from the heat and the water amount brought was barley sufficient. I could not imagine a life where each day water is so precious one could trade it for gold. Here, taking a bath is a luxury! Perhaps even gluttonous.


As you may have noticed, everything seems very DRY in this area. Even the fruit is dry! MALAMBE> The Baobab-tree fruit. A wood-like-material-green-velvet-covered shell, that can grow bigger them the size of a football or small as an egg. A red-painted interior contains segments of white-chalky fruit. You pop these pieces of chalk in your mouth and you saliva makes the fruity flavor of malambe come out and dissolve the white, leaving a dark red seed to dispose. It is THE strangest fruit I have ever eaten but very tasty, high in calcium and vitamin C. ☺


We made the journey back over the river with the bike and after getting lost in random bush-trails made it onto smooth road-again. I have never felt so thankful to take a shower before.

famous too much is too much

May 25 / 2010 – Gertrude, I appreciate the generosity

I frequently find myself asking if I am a changed person from this experience here in Mozambique. I know the answer is YES, but WHICH things have changed and will they be helpful attributes in the future? I have discovered the frequent and merciless men asking for my hand in marriage has made me loose patience, and politeness. I tell them off in a straight forward, no joke manner. I am getting away from the beat-around-the-bush retorts. When asked if I would like another fanta (after having two too many that day) and I respond ‘No thanks, I’m fine’… somehow another fanta-cap is popped and the bottle in my hand. I must say ‘Nao quero’ > I don't want it.

People are very generous and not afraid to ask for things. This can sometimes go against how I feel about giving. When asked, the person asked is expected to give. But I, in the giving position, feel like the voluntary act is no longer free-will and out of good feelings but is more a commanded obligation. I try not to show my frustrations as my ketchup, jam and peanut-butter is disappearing.

Here at the center we have a new Tia. Tia Joakina. She seems to be very jolly and friendly. She works very hard and has all sorts of African skills like cooking, garden work, repairing mud houses etc. The only problem is that she speaks not a spot of Portuguese. Our communication is limited to my capacity of Ndau and actions. She showed an action of appreciation for me by giving me a gift:

The sun is setting early these days as we are getting into the winter season. I was called into the glowing kitchen-hut where the 2 tias (Amelia and Joakina) were sitting by glittering coals of the fire. I was handed a roasted corn-on-the-cob (massaroc) and sat on an oil bin munching my corn. Tia Joakina silently handed me my gift, which I at first could not distinguish in the dim light. I recognized the gift when a squawk was heard. She had presented me with my very own chicken! I named her Gertrude ☺. Being an animal lover, and Gertrude being a beautifully featured, plump chicken, I wanted to keep her as a pet… but I knew she was the next days dinner…. She was… and she taught me more about my capabilities. I have killed a chicken before… a quick hit with a machete (or 3 to actually sever off the head), but never thought I would be able to with a dull knife. But low-and-behold I was capable. Gertrude was plucked then dissected (It was like biology class all over again) and cut into portions, cooked and distributed. She was delicious.

May 27 – Throwing the First Rock

Deeper into the bushes of Machanga a project is commencing. Today was the ‘lancar a primeira pedra’ (throwing the first rock) ceremony for a new Girls Center and school that is being built. All the available cars, trucks and transport in Machanga seemed to pile as many people as possible into the available spaces and head down for the event deeper into the bush. The event seemed formal in a casual African way > The president of the American Board church did his speech in his black robe and red sash-like thingy, while at the same time the man beside him was digging for gold-nuggets in his nose and other neighbors occasionally slapped their neighbor on the back, head or leg because of a pestering bug.

A brick was laid in a dug-out space and prayers were said, songs were sung and they shoveled some scoops of dirt on top as a symbolism of the first rock put down before the construction of the new center.

The big feast was anticipated by everyone… and what a feast! I was given a plate of foods I could not imagine anyone able to polish off. There were 3 of us from the center (me, Tia Amelia and Fatima our chefe’) and I, having the genius Mennonite/African idea (as well as being prepared with a plastic bag in my purse), we scooped the rest of our foods into the bag and continued the feast later that night.

May 28 / 2010 – My Mother of Africa

My Mae da Africa. Tia Cacilda. A woman of great power, great memory and a great conversationalist. She seemed to teach me, show me, and make me try everything she possibly could that would be new to me here in Machanga. After her leaving of the center in March I have really felt a loss in her presence and decided it was time to pay a visit at her hut in the district across the river in Mambone.

The months apart were enough to have us talking all that day, throughout the evening and into the night and the next day again. I was once again showed everything possibly new and this included all her friends, parents and cousins of these friends, and other relations that I lost track of. I was tiered of my story being told so many numerous times… but what can you do when you’re famous like that ;)

We slept in her mud hut with a gas lamp on, on the caneesu-matt with capulanahs under and over top of us two and her little daughter Laurina. Me, being the guest, was given their only pillow, which was a hard sack of something like rice. Being a Friday, and Tia Cacilda living close to the market, we ended up talking all night with an in ability to sleep with the booming of the countless ‘bancas’ blasting their speakers with music. There was no possible way to distinguish a single song or rhythm.


May 29 / 2010

Waking up and rotating my body, like a marshmallow over a fire, to insure the one side would not be left flattened by the hard floor underneath. Tia was just leaving the yard when I got up and didn't return for over an hour. She was quiet exited about serving her ‘white Canadian daughter’ (filha branca da Canada) and so I was sure she would return. She came back bearing bread.

After the day, meeting many people and having to take their picture and telling them my story again and again, I was getting tired of being famous. It really is exhausting. Perhaps I will miss the looks, gawks, and touches when I am just another white kid when I am back in Canada. Take it all in