To the land of the free...

...and the home of the country that has a gun and garden hoe on their national flag: Mozambique. Indeed this is a true fact, an assault rifle is portrayed on the national banner, reminders of the recent history of violence which include the war of liberation from Portugal in the 70s, and a Civil War that only commenced in the early 90s. Yet, despite the fact that peace and stability were only recently introduced to this region, hostile and violent tendencies were untraceable in the local culture, as I encountered only friendly folk throughout my travels in this land. Following up the format of the last blog, I will break down my Vac (short for vacation, it’s an SA term) to Jo-Burg, Mozambique, and Swaziland by numbers:

1) The first notable event of my Vac adventure was spending the night in Johannesburg. For those of you that don’t know, Jo-Burg, the bustling business capital of South Africa, is infamously know for its criminal ridden, dangerous streets. A South African friend from Emory, Graeme, even once told me that when he drives through Jo-burg on his family vacations to South Africa, his dad slows down at the red lights but drives right through them without a full stop, out of fear that if his vehicle were stationary it would be an easier target for flying bricks thrown by street-side hijackers. So although I didn’t head to Jo-burg in fear, flying bricks smashing into the windshields of cars was the image I had in my mind on my journey to this notorious city. Flying above the city prior to landing I noticed that although some houses were large and had backyard swimming pools while others lacked size and a recreational water source, the homes of Jo-Burg all shared a single common characteristic: large, all encompassing fences. These prison scaled forms of security were surely there for a reason, and this observation further reinforced my notion of Jo-Burg as a city of crime.
However, on the ground, my prior image of Jo-Burg was met with a starkly different reality. Holding a sign that read David, the owner of the hostel that I was to stay at personally picked me up in his utility truck. Driving through the city, a prominent skyline protruded out of a landscape of rolling hills. We passed a park, with a giant statue of a man with one arm lowered, holding an axe, the other arm raised, his head looking up towards the golden nugget in his hand that was literally glowing in the setting set, representing the region’s history of gold mining.
After unpacking my stuff at the hostel (backyard swimming pool and fence included!) I set out with a group of people from the Vac trip to check out the night life of Jo-Burg. A couple big dudes in unmarked cabs picked us up, and we headed out to an upbeat section of the town. The night was like any other night on the city. Bouncing around from bar to bar, we walked around the streets of Jo-Burg, sharing drinks, jokes and laughs, the least bit concerned with the threat of crime. At most of the bars, we were the only white people in sight, but this made the least difference as everyone was there for the common purpose of having a good time. This was a normal city after all. Arriving back at the hostel at around 1 AM, I stayed outside the hostel, intending to chat it up with the two cab drivers for a little bit. Yet before the conversation could begin the cab drivers told me to go back inside. I asked them why, and they told me it was dangerous for me to be on the streets at this hour. I questioned them further, pointing out that I was safe with their accompaniment. Like I said these guys were big, and I couldn’t imagine anyone attempting to mess with them. Yet the drivers insisted that I go inside immediately, as it was their job to keep me safe and even though the street was empty, trouble could come from any direction and I was an immediate, easy target. I thanked them for their concern, and walked inside, the simultaneous fear and curiosity of Jo-Burg’s crime scene looming in my afterthoughts.

2) The first day of the organized trip to Mozambique was set to be spent entirely on a bus. A group of around 30 people met in Jo-Burg, threw their stuff in the trailer, and crammed onto a bus that was just big enough to hold a single seat for each person. Setting out at 11 PM on Thursday, we didn’t get to our destination until the next night at 9 PM. This was literally a 22 hour bus ride, which contained its fair share of adventures along the way. At the border to Mozambique, we had to wait for three hours as the authorities carefully took their time to examine our passports, eventually placing so many stamps and stickers on mine that I will need to get extra visa pages for my travel plans after exams. Standing outside to get some fresh air as we were waiting, I found it interesting to observe the locals avoiding this blockbuster wait, as they walked through a nicely cut gap in the border fence calmly, balancing baskets of goods on their heads while they went country hopping. Once in Mozambique, I was astonished by the element of untouched. Besides the concrete road that we drove on, there was nothing in sight besides palm tree covered land. One of the roads that we drove on was struck by a flood a few days earlier, leaving behind heaps of sand over the concrete that severely slowed down our speed. Eventually, the concrete eroded completely and the sand roads dominated the rest of our route. Adding to the discomfort of the bumps and pits in the road, the bus driver was particularly stubborn about only using the air conditioning if every single window was closed, and when he did turn the AC on, it was only to low power. Yet we were able to find relief in our hourly restroom stops. Although finding a clean toilet was sometimes a struggle, without an exception, we were able to find a place to buy an ice-cold coke every time we made a stop. Even in the middle of Africa, Coca-Cola dominates the soft-drink culture, and although it would have been nice to taste some of the local beverages, the refreshing sensation of an ice-cold coke in the hot Mozambique flatlands was as good as its ever been advertised.

3) The end of the journey entailed driving on a road so dark and unmarked that the bus driver had to actually stop the vehicle and wander around outside with a flashlight in his hand just to locate the street signs. Finally, as the bumps and pits were just beginning to get too big for the bus to handle, we arrived at our destination: Morrungulo. A hoard of us rushed down to the water and just before I dived into the Indian ocean, I took a look up and saw a blazing shooting star steak across one of the darkest, most star-studded, skies I have ever seen. After spotting the good omen, I knew it was going to be a special trip, and I jumped into the warm Indian ocean waters with the enthusiasm and gusto of a five year old.

4) Rather than write about my time at Morrungulo day by day, I will try to provide a general feel of what my Morrungulo experience. Besides a handful of other visitors from our group, the area was completely uninhabited by tourists. We had a pristine, beautiful beach, completely to ourselves. Situated mere meters from the ocean, we were housed in a series of small yet comfortable chalets. Rising in the background of our chalet village, a hill with a restaurant, bar and an infinity pool provided the perfect location for some down time after a morning of Scuba Diving. Folks from our group would lounge in the pool, sipping on cool cider and beer, looking out into a view that captured the green cliffs of Mozambique and the rolling swells and offshore reef breaks of the Indian ocean. In the far off distance, about 30 kilometers down the beach, there stood a giant sand dune, which my friend and I set our eyes on since day one. Attempting to get their at all costs, we nearly succeeded in organizing an ATV ride with a local, but the deal broke through at the last minute, as the local left town on our anticipated day of dune departure. Deeper into the land there laid a small village, with a tiny store called “Daniel Good Bread.” I made sure to frequent this shop daily, as they sold delicious warm rolls for only 15 cents. (A full bottle of local rum costs only 5 dollars, and sometimes I would purchase that as well, but the rum was always secondary to the bread…) On several occasions, our group journeyed out to the village at night to party it up with the locals, in which there was a good vibe and an overwhelming amount of 90s popular Western music. Luckily, one night, a few locals played the guitar and drums, and besides strumming out some Bob Marley, performed some genuine Mozambican tunes. Despite the fact that the singer was performing with a completely lost voice, I still appreciated the local sound. Our food was cooked for us by the incredible and energetic Ivy. Ivy, a Cape Town local, always made an effort to make some thing extra special for the vegetarian and kosher folk, and as my friends chowed down on chicken, I enjoyed the savory taste of grilled shitake mushroom…mmmm…

5) In Mozambique, scuba diving was the main event of the show. We set out to deep off shore reefs on a boat, and considering that there were no docks nor harbors in the area, getting the boat out past the shore breakers before every dive was quite a project. Basically, a jeep towed the boat to the shore, dropping it off in ankle deep water. From there, all the divers lined up on the side of the boat, pointing the bow towards the sea and holding on tightly to the boat, keeping it straight in the surf. The tall people held on to the front of the boat, keeping the boat straight in the deeper waters. (You can imagine where I was..the VERY front!) The captain hopped on to the boat, and as the waves crashed and the water rolled under the boat, he command us to push the boat forward. In ankle, knee, and even waste deep water, this was an easy task. But as we continued to push the boat out into the sea, the waves got bigger, and when they hit, we had to hold on to the boat with all our might to keep ourselves from getting knocked off. This was especially challenging for the folks up front, as the wave would hit us first in full force, then the rest of the boat, pushing and pulling us in multiple directions at the same time while blinding us with a full force splash. Seizing the side of the boat while the force of the ocean attempted to rip me away was by far the most exhilarating moment of my trip. (Think Truman Show, when Truman is caught in a storm at sea, and with an indomitable spirit, he holds onto his ship. I felt like Truman.) Then, just when we reached a certain point in the break, the captain would order for us to jump on the boat, and we immediately pulled ourselves up and over as he turned on the propellers and we made our way through the giant swells, into the open ocean. (My favorite single moment of the trip was by far when I was in the middle of getting on the boat, not quite inside, not quite outside, and a wave hit the front side and directly on me, sending a forceful splash over my whole body, with my one arm on the side of the boat and my other arm on the center console being my only hold from getting torn off into the sea.) As you can clearly tell, this whole procedure was quite dangerous, and it was only inevitable for things to go wrong…
The surf was average, and it was a normal morning of taking the boat out to sea. We were in the middle of the surf, holding on tight to avoid getting torn off the boat. About to get past the break, the captain turned on the propellers just as a wave hit. It was a normal wave, but even the normal waves demand a certain level of focus and strength in holding onto the boat. 10 divers were alongside the boat, but only 9 were able to hold on. Rosie, was swept away by the wave, immediately pulled under the boat and sucked right towards the moving propellers. She popped up several meters behind the boat, wobbling and disheveled. As everyone alongside the boat froze in shock, I quickly scanned the water around Rosie, praying that I would not spot bloody water, or even worst, a floating limb. Help from the beach quickly arrived, as two people picked Rosie up and carried her onshore. It being a danger to stay in mid surf, the captain ordered us all onto the boat, and we zoomed past the breakers, able to see the outline of Rosie being carried into the Jeep and driven down the beach from the distant. The boat ride out to the dive site was dead silent, all of sitting, internally disturbed at what we had just witnessed, just hoping that Rosie would be ok…
It was only until later that day that we heard the whole story of what happened. As Rosie got sucked under and past the boat, her leg was repeatedly chopped by the propeller. A moving propeller slices through the human body like butter, and Rosie indeed had four severe, deep cuts going from her ankle to her butt, along with a series of smaller surface cuts. The safety team performed an incredible rescue, bandaging her up immediately and cleaning out her wounds efficiently, minimizing her loss of blood and risk of infection. She was then driven to the local hospital, in which one of the trip leaders gave strict orders to the doctor that Rosie was to be air evacuated immediately. Under no circumstances was she to undergo surgery in Mozambique: the risk for a limb-losing infection was just too great. Rosie was placed on a small , private plane directly to a hospital in Jo-Burg, where she underwent a clean and effective surgery. The surgeon in Jo-Burg remarked how lucky Rosie was: every single one of the deep wounds just missed a vital tendon, nerve, or artery by mere inches. If any of the deep cuts had been moved ever so slightly, a host of life-altering tragedies could have befallen Rosie. The doctor claimed that in all his propeller injuries, he had never seen a patient that danced so close to danger, and managed to survive with some serious scars as the only permanent damage.

Besides that big scare, Scuba diving was great. For those of you that have been deep under water, you know it’s a completely different world; the sounds, sights, and feeling of anti-gravity- there’s nothing like it. Following up on my luck in spotting shooting stars in the night sky, I happened to get very lucky in my finds, spotting some rare fish on my dives. Always staying to the front or side of the group, I managed to swim after a few devil rays, a sting ray, and a small shark. One of the common but incredibly cool fish was the moray eel, a giant, leopard-skinned, snake like creature that pops its head out of the coral with its mouth open in such an animated way that it actually looks like its cracking up. Looking at these Moray Eels, I honestly couldn’t help but giggle. It was always fun to get up, close and personal with some of the color fish, making eye contact until it got awkward for the fish to the point where they felt compelled to swim away. But by far my favorite activity to do under water was to find a giant school of pretty bluish fish, and just swim in the middle of them, completely surrounded by fish in all direction, trying to casually blend in with the crowd. Despite the fact that I obviously stood out, the fish were kind in pretending not to notice me, allowing me to join the team for a nice swim.

For pictures of Morrungulo, check out this website: http://www.pontamorrungulo.co.za/

6) After throwing a huge bon-fire party on the beach to say goodbye to our beach-side paradise stay, we hit the bus for a 10 hour ride to Maputo, the capital of Mozambique. This bus ride as by far the most difficult of the trip, as we unilaterally decided to keep the windows open which meant that the AC was to be off. Travelling on the open roads with the breeze going by was fine, but once we hit the traffic of Maputo, the heat of the bus reached unbearable levels. This was only worsened by the fact, that despite the fact that we were on an organized trip, no one on the bus knew the actual address of the hostel we were to stay at, and we were literally driving all over Maputo with no specific destination in mind. We decided that the best way to find our hostel would be to ask a local, so we picked up a street seller, brought him onto the bus, got directions, and in return he had an entire bus full of potential customers all to himself as he joined us for the rest of the journey. But we were all too tired to buy anything, and besides one pity purchase, our group did not provide the vendor the business he was looking for, yet he didn’t mind the free ride.

Once in Maputo, we headed out to dinner at the local fish market, a unique experience to say the least. Walking under the shaded market, we were greeted by table after table of buffets of diverse, beautiful, fresh fish. After scanning the options, I teamed up with a friend and purchased half of a huge butterfish. From there, we walked a little deeper into the market, in which there were a host of restaurants and tables. We brought the fresh fish over to a waitress and she took it in, charging about 5 dollars to cook it. For the next hour or so, as we waited for our fish, countless street vendors surrounded our table, insisting our purchase for an assortment of completely random goods. One man tried to get me to buy a pro-wresting DVD, and despite the fact that I told him that I stopped watching wrestling in 7th grade, he reiterated the fact that this DVD had REALLY GOOD wrestling at least 10 times. Other merchants sold more interesting items, such as local necklaces, or flip flops with the Mozambican flag stamped on them, which I bought, because the Mozambique gun and garden hoe symbol is something I feel compelled to sport. By far the funniest vendor was this one guy who, standing off in the distance, held up a giant painting of a scantily dressed woman and creepily peeked his eyes over the top with a completely straight face, just staring at us. Even as we looked at him, cracking up, he would stand there motionless, maintaining the creepy stare at all costs. His shtick obviously worked, as a good deal of people from our group bought paintings from him.
The fish finally came and let me tell you, it was delicious. Butterfish, also known as chicken fish, taste exactly like the perfect combination of the two: a buttery chicken (although a butter chicken is not kosher and I’ve never tasted it before, this is what I imagine it would taste like). Plus, the butterfish was cooked in a lemon-butter sauce, which only means one thing: extra butter flavor! Mmmmm….
That night we went out to downtown Maputo to check out the local Jazz scene. We saw a fantastic band perform some great, funky tunes, and the two highlights of the night came from members of the crowd. One was from a lady who came onto the stage and sang along with the band for a few songs. This woman sang with such a genuinely African energy and sound, that if I were the director of the Lion King, I would cast her to play the lead role in a heartbeat. The second highlight from the crowd was from another woman who dared to go on stage, but perhaps shouldn’t have. This one lady got up on stage, and begin jumping up and down as quick as a pogo stick. She went a little too fast for her own good, and after one hop too many, she literally pogoed her way completely backwards, knocking down several mikes and falling through a few wires before finally hitting the ground. Fortunately, everyone had a good sense of humor about it, as the crowd, the band, and even the girl herself were all cracking up as she pogoed her way off stage and back to lower, safer territory on the ground.

7) The next morning, we headed out for an 8 hour bus ride to the land of Swazi. Driving through Swazi, we passed by beautiful, lush green mountains, covered in vegetation and mudslides. We arrived at a game reserve in the mid afternoon, and after a quick jump in the pool and a order-whatever-you-want-to-eat-and-we’ll-cover-it-lunch (I got a lot), we headed out on our first safari. Although this game reserve had none of the big five, there were still some interesting sights indeed. Zebra, wildebeest, and various type of deer-like-looking animals were commonplace ( I even petted a wild one!), and although all of this was exciting, the animal to truly get my adrenaline pumping was spotting the hippo. For those of you that don’t know, hippos are one of the most aggressive creatures in the animal kingdom. During the day, they simply stay underwater and swim around like giant cows, occasionally letting their head above the surface for air. But at night, with Jaws that can snap a car in half, hippos are notorious for chasing down and crushing anything they deem to be a threat. What makes them all the more interesting, is that they are completely vegetarian, obtaining all their food through grazing. Their intense aggression and incredible jaw powers are merely used as a defense mechanism. This bit of information made me feel much at ease, knowing that if a hippo did indeed run over to me and chomp me in two, at least it wouldn’t eat the two halves of me afterwards. Our game drive was during the day, and seeing the top of the hippos head pop out of the water and swim towards our direction was enough to get me going. The hippo gazed directly in my direction, making it clear to me that although he looked like a big ol’ fat cow, if his will demanded it, he could destroy me in seconds. Powerful creature, powerful moment…
The next day I decided to wake up early to do some horse-back riding in the game reserve with some friends of mine, Ian and Adelle, who were also experienced riders. As proof of my own riding skills, I told my friends about my time a few years ago at my Uncle Robby’s farm, in which I cantered on a horse, bare back in a track. (I cantered bare back!) I probably told this story to every single person in the trip, and by the time I was set out to ride, nothing short of greatness would meet the expectations laid on me. We got to the stable and I was bummed that we joining a group of beginner riders because I didn’t want any one to be slowing us down from the full gallop. I eagerly requested to ride the biggest horse available, and as we set out through the reserve, I asked one of the two guides if the faster, more experienced riders could split off from the beginners. He agreed, and my two friends and me followed the guide off the path into the open field. When the horses were walking, I felt in control. When the horses were trotting, I felt very much out of control. When the horses began to canter, all I could think of was Christopher Reeves falling off his horse and becoming paralyzed for life. Being aware of my injury prone issue, the word paralyzed repeatedly went off in my head, and I just kept on picturing myself flying off my horse and landing directly on my neck. I tried pulling the reigns back, telling the horse to stop, yet the beast merely went faster, passing all the horses in front of me, including the guide. The guide quickly stopped and whispered something to my horse (metaphorically), causing it to come to a halt as well. Casually, he said, maybe you should go with the beginners… Before he had time to finish his sentence, I was already headed back in the direction of the trail and the slower horses. Ian and Adelle went off, galloping through the open fields, while I slowly followed a lineup of lazy horses, the one in front of me letting out a steady stream of noisy and smelly gas for the rest of my ride….I guess my glorious bare back days are over…

8) Another 8 hour ride later, we were back in Jo-Burg. If you did the math, we spent 48 hours on the bus over the span of the Vac. When we got to the airport we met Rosie in a bar. Unable to put pressure on her butt for a few good weeks, we found her lying, stomach down, on a bench. Thankfully, this didn’t take away from her mood, as she was yearning for some good company and eager to share the gross details of her injury and follow up surgery. She showed us some of the surface cuts, and you can literally see how the propeller made its way up her leg, spinning into her skin every few inches. It was a close call and, and I was stoked just to see her alive, smiling, all arms, legs and other body parts fully intact…

(If you’ve reached this point of the blog, congratulations! You’re reward is an obligatory comment…)