“Plenty bassfish,” he stated
authoritatively.
Yes, well… we hoped so. I couldn’t
wait.
Our passports were passed around
several times, back and forth between
departments. We were directed to different
officers who, in turn, took several minutes
to carefully scrutinise our documentation understandably this took a while. Eventually,
however, the process was over and we were
handed back our passports. We were cleared
to proceed.
“Welcome to Mozambique… Have a
pleasant stay…”
Before we could proceed any further,
we needed vehicle insurance, which can
be purchased from one of several ‘vendors’
outside the main buildings. This is required
by law. Should you be caught without it or,
end up in an accident, you will be locked
up... End of story!
At last we were clear and on our way.
Chicamba, here we come!
Last time I was in Mozambique was
about fifteen years ago. By comparison
Zimbabwe was still King-of-the-Castle.
The country was in a mess, and you literally
took your life in your hands, at the mercy of
the dilapidated and pot-holed road network.
Back then, we swanned around with an air
of superiority. How things have changed!
Now here we were, making our way along an
excellent, wide-tarred road heading for the
town of Manica, our first port-of-call.
Entering the town, we stopped at a
service station to buy cellphone cards
and air-time, a real bargain at just US$5,
and also to put fuel in the boat. Petrol in
Mozambique is cheaper than in Zimbabwe.
A small crowd soon gathered. A few wanted
to change money, which is not a good idea,
but they were not overbearing and quietly
went on their way. Most, though, were exZimbabweans, who basically just wanted
to have a chat and catch up on news from
home. They were all very pleasant, friendly,
and at no point d Y