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| Part 1. |
I don’t know if I am courageous, clever, lucky or just plain stupid, but it probably depends on the day and whom you ask. On a particular day several weeks ago, some combination of all four conspired and I decided to travel overland from Tete – a remote coal-mining town in northern Mozambique – to Dar es Salaam on the Tanzanian coast. The 2,000 mile journey would take me on a series of chiapas (long-range vans), dalla dallas (short-range van), and long-range buses over 6 days, across three borders, through 4 countries, and to 3 capitals. By the end of it, I would have a new friend, dysentery, a good story, and a solemn vow to never to do it again.
Part 1. Tete, Mozambique to Harare, Zimbabwe
I rise early and make my way on foot through Tete’s quiet streets with all my gear, searching for a particular spot on the road out of town where the Chiapas headed in the direction of the Zimbabwe border hang out. I find the parking area and it’s already buzzing. Curious looks greet me as primarily young local men joke and jostle with each other while eating morning cakes and guzzling cold Cokes out of old school bottles.
I negotiate with one of the drivers and, having learned from my last ride, I claim the front seat right off the bat. Based on previous experience, I also know that we’re not going anywhere any time soon, so I get a Fanta and some kind of turnover from one of the vendors on the side of the park. The young guy looks at me like he’s just seen Bigfoot and he’s ordering a soda. At this point I’m pretty use to it though.
The waiting areas for vans are great for people watching. The cocky drivers bounce around, shouting and laughing as potential customers meander by. I see all manner of people discussing potential trips with different vans before settling on one. After about an hour we’re ready to roll.
The chiapas go as far as the border between Mozambique and Zimbabwe. It’s only 90 miles, but takes around 3.5 hours because they slow down (mercifully) upon reaching any and every smattering of roadside huts so one of the van workers can open the side door mid-flight, lean out and yell out the name of the next town in rapid, barley discernable succession while the driver lays on the horn for good measure.
“blab-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah!” “blab-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah!” “blab-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah!” is what it sounded like to me. Occasionally someone will wave down the van and hop aboard, the van barely stopping.
At one stop, the van is hailed by a young woman laden with bags and goods and a sleeping infant fastened to her back with a large scarf. She’s about to board but she hesitates and backs off. A heated conversation takes place between the van worker, driver and the woman. She’s clearly reluctant to board. I thought they were haggling over price, but then other passengers start chiming in, directing comments to the woman who keeps shaking her head and stepping away from the van.
I can’t understand a word so I ask the fellow next to me what’s going on and he tells me the woman is reluctant to get on a van that only has men on it. A moment later, I hear the van worker say “blah, blah, blah mzungu” as he looks in my direction. Well, “mzungu” means “white man” in various Bantu languages so I know immediately that he’s talking about me as I’m the only white person on the nearly full 14-person van. So I lean over, smile and wave to the woman while saying “hello” as friendly as I can. The van erupts in laughter and the woman smiles back, looking slightly embarrassed.
The guy next to me says: “The driver is trying to assure her it’s okay to get on the bus with the men and told her ‘don’t be afraid. There’s a white man (mzungu) to protect you”. I want to be flattered by the idea, but she still won’t get on. My reputation has preceded me, perhaps.
Finally, with the whole van cajoling her and me looking as innocent as I can, she gets on and settles in. We’re all happy to have her join us and the van motors on. The baby sleeps through the whole affair.
Five minutes and two miles down the road, the van pulls over again and another man climbs aboard. The woman just shakes her head and buries her face into her hands. We all, including the young woman, have a good laugh.
We reach the Zimbabwean border and I unceremoniously take my leave. The van swings away from the checkpoint and speeds off while I start the hike towards the Mozambique border stop. After a quick stamp in my passport I’m crossing through no-man’s-land towards their counterparts in Zimbabwe.
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Footnote: The literal translation of mzungu (mah-zune-goo) is actually "aimless wanderer". It was given to the white explorers who first arrived in East Africa by the Bantu in 1500, which seems to be as apropos now when referring to me as it was to the Portuguese back then.
Up Next: Part II – Harare, Zimbabwe
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