Trials, troubles, tribulations

Getting here was hard. I underestimated the distances, conditions and duration of the travel.  I was too confident in my own ability to handle the stress and exhaustion. I got sick.  Here I am, with humble lesson learned, in the Ilha de Mozambique. This one will not be about the island. It will be about how I got myself into the island of trouble and tricks. 

It took me three days to get here. After short chapa ride from Vilankulo to Pambarra (junction with the main south-north road) I had to wait for the bus. Anything that goes north really. In the heat of the day, the undefined waiting time dragged painfully. There is no timetable – you just wait until the buses coming from the south reach the point where you are. It could be anywhere between 10 and 16. When, after 4 hours, they started coming – none would take me. Sorry, too full. Certainly this is not a thing you expect to hear when you travel in Mozambique. Let’s call it unusual. One that would actually take me, could offer only a floor space for a small bribe amount. Hey, at least we are going.

Janice – a lovely lady I met in Vilankulo -  was traveling with me. She had no choice but to go - she needed to catch flight from Beira the next day. A companionship was a blessing for both of us. We reached Inchope, another key junction between north, south, west and east, after dark. This was already bad. Why? Go figure.  I mean, you are free to think it is safe. I don’t. We managed to catch last chapa to Beira. It would still wait another 2 hours before leaving. Why? We had one seat left… Merciful driver would escort us to the hotel. Janice has been attacked in Beira about a week before, therefore any act of tourist bravery was a ‘no go’ here.

Beira doesn’t really have much of a backpackers scene, so your only chance is to stay in the hotel. And let me tell you, this was a blessing – airco, comfy bed, en-suite bathroom and TV. I watched Kardashians instead of exploring the city. I loved it. So what. 

4 am I had to catch the bus from Beira to Nampula – the capital of the northern province. I was prepared for 14 hour drive, which would be already optimistic for 900km distance. Beginning was pretty smooth. Suddenly, the bus would start jumping like crazy on something that was not really a road. It was more of road leftovers being an obstacle on the dirt track. We were driving 10 km per hour in the extreme heat.  45 degrees outside, 42 inside. Dirt and dust. Nevermind the size of the seat, it was the least of the problem. I almost cried when I realized how long it will take us to go through 900 km with that speed. The road condition is the consequence of RENAMO activity in Gorongoza area. I decided to go, since the last attack was registered in 2016. Since then it has been relatively quiet. Was it a good decision? I don’t know. 

After 5 hours of ill driving road got relatively normal. However, we still had 700 km to go.  The bus reached Nampula around 10.30 pm. I had a sleepover in the hostel, and in the morning took a direct chapa to Ilha. How they stuff this ole little rusty thing with luggage, bags of potatoes, charcoal and human beings is truly beyond comprehension. Luckily, this drive was ‘only’ five hours. When I pushed myself outside I was smelling like dried fish (despite the open trunk, and windows, and side door, the smell of fish bag of one of the mammas literally went through everything). First thing I did after arriving in my hostel was to put everything I had to washing, and shower away the dirt from my body. 

Ok, that is a big fat lie. I had a beer first.

Before I had the chance to really get to know the island I started feeling sick. I did malaria test. Negative. Day after I didn’t really feel worse, but I didn’t feel better either so I went to local hospital to repeat the test. Negative. Then I took the blood test. Now, I could go for ages about the horrid conditions of the hospital. It is what it is, and it is pretty horrid. Selfies with poor hospital not included. 

It is not the conditions and dirt that would be the worst part. The lack of educated and properly qualified personnel - that scared me to death. One of the ‘technicians’ handled the results, said ‘malaria’ and shut the door on me. Believe me, I panicked. Talking to the ‘expert’ had no point whatsoever, although, I did try my best, but he really didn’t know the answers to my questions.  I called my friend Alex and did as advised. I took a 90km ride to a closest city with private clinic and got properly evaluated. It turned out I didn’t have malaria but typhoid. Not exactly the kind of relief that I expected.  I got sick despite the fact that I got vaccinated against it.  Thank you, West World, for letting us believe that these things actually work. A new kind of opium for masses, I guess. 

It is a privileged story, peeps. Hopefully it ends well for me. For you it is one more to read through, if you are willing. 

  

Story as such doesn’t really have a happy ending, does it?