Category: Life in Africa

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Just drive!

I follow a few touristy Facebook pages that give travelers advice. Particularly between South Africa and Mozambique. They are not very informative about travel between Zimbabwe and Mozambique, or Zimbabwe and South Africa, but perhaps I am on the wrong pages.

I absolutely LOVE these pages. Because they are a scream. I’m quite sure that some of the questions are written to amuse us all.

We have the standard queries….

  1. How quickly can I down a tipo tinto once I leave the border into Mozambique? And will there be cold raspberry sparletta available or must we bring our own.
  2. I know there is a foot and mouth problem and meat from SA is not allowed, but is it fine if we vacuum pack it?
  3. Is there food in Mozambique, or must we bring our own?
  4. Is it legal for me to trail my boat, caravan and quad bikes on ONE registration number?
  5. I know it is not advisable to drive at night in Mozambique. We plan to arrive at 11pm, will it be night in Mozambique?
  6. I know we must all wear our seat belts in the car, but is it fine to strap extra passengers to the roof rack. (This, of course, IS fine in most parts of Africa).

The questions asking people to give them accurate information based on travel estimations are fabulous. And it is particularly heartwarming how many readers try to calculate and assist. Bless them.

For example..

  1. If I leave Swakopmund at 03h00, drive for three days, have fourteen bathroom breaks, perhaps stop for lunch, maybe visit Tanie Madelein, will I arrive at the (unnamed) border before it closes?

And my personal best, the surname query (I always feel inclined to reply on these ones, because I have a bit of experience).

  1. My son’s passport has arrived and not only is my three time previously married surname incorrectly in his passport as his mother, they have named my lover as his father instead of my husband. Will this be a problem at the border?
  2. My ID, passport, credit card, birth certificate, organ donor card AND library card are ALL in different surnames, will this be a problem at the border.

On this last one, I am qualified to answer. Yes.

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Can anyone hear me?

My lovely man, and his BFF, the intrepid Mandova. A source of great entertainment the both of them.

Both of them hard of hearing.

Makes it quite easy for me to keep track of what is going on in the household, because they are inevitably yelling updates at each other.

Quite often I will jabber on to them for a few minutes and then regard their blank faces and realize neither have or wish to hear me.

What is our list for today I hear them ask each other regularly. Also quite regularly I am called to survey something they have done together.

The current challenge is keeping the power going. We are blessed with a solar system, but the solar system needs to be topped up by the municipal electricity intermittently. The municipal electricity has been a bit scarce of late (someone must have stolen it).

I am particularly bleak when the geyser gets cold.

Today I was summoned to check on the state of the solar batteries. Low. We all regarded this solemnly.

No boiling of the kettle or running anything that consumes a lot of power. (Hope my wine stays cold).

I think, my lovely man suggested, if we don’t get electricity today or tonight, we must run the generator to boost the batteries.

What I suggest, Mandova stated (oblivious), is that if we don’t get electricity soon, we should run the generator.

What did he say, my lovely man asked me.

So, I said…. Tell you what, if it doesn’t come right, let’s use the generator.

Glad I thought of it.

So we are going to do that.

Love them both. Peas in a pod in their thinking. Deaf peas of course.

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It’s all a big hustle – Life in Africa

Most of the adult population in Southern Africa are not formally employed.  To survive, the people hustle. 

And it works.  Everything is available.  Everything is a negotiation.  I think, therefore, people from Southern Africa struggle in places that work normally.  We are not used to efficiency. It is exhausting here, it is frustrating, but we hustle and when we can’t hustle and there are RULES, we are bewildered.

Also, we get lots of additional services here. Useful.

I was always amused driving down a suburban street in Bryanston, Johannesburg, that advertised haircuts.  (Haircuts, styles, wigs, weaves etc are big money in Africa).  Quite a common thing to have snatched.  No worries about your jewellery or wallet being snatched by a mugger, they are likely to rip your expensive weave off your head. That’s when you have a real bad hair day.

But, I digress…

Along with the sign to advertise that you can get your hair cut on the side of road in Bryanston, the stylist doubled up as a traditional healer and could cast any number of spells to cure you of any ailment or curse your enemies as required.

I’m lucky if I get a cup of coffee at my hairdresser.

People don’t advertise their (informal) wares on websites really. But, they do so with Facebook pages and the like.

So, the FB page starts off with a clear description of what is being sold.  Zim Cars for example. But, diversification happens almost immediately. 

Here’s a handy service you can take advantage of at the same time you browse for a used vehicle.

•DO YOU DOUBT IF THE CHILD YOU ARE RAISING IS NOT YOURS?

•ARE YOU SUSPECTING IF YOUR WIFE HAD SOME AFFAIRS?

•DO YOU WANT TO KNOW YOUR PATERNAL OR MATERNAL RELATIVES?

•DO YOU WANT TO KNOW THE PERCENTAGE OF YOUR RACE?

•DO YOU WANT TO KNOW IF ITS POSSIBLE TO CONDUCT A DNA TEST WHEN ALLEGED FATHER IS DECEASED?

CONNECTS YOU TO THE TRUTH THROUGH THE APPLICATION OF GENETICS. DO A DNA TEST TODAY AND LIVE WITH THE BEST KNOWLEDGE FOREVER!!!!

Offers a wide range of DNA tests which best suit your condition and YES!!! , we have the SCIENTIFIC SOLUTION TO YOUR SOCIAL PROBLEM.

That’s what we need people, a scientific solution to our social problem. Don’t knock it until you try it.

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Life in Africa – We’re OK, we drink plenty

Japan is issuing stern instructions to their youth to drink more.  They need the sin tax for economic growth it appears.

I have long pondered how the Zimbabwe economy staggers on, and I think I finally understand. 

I read quite a lot of opinion pieces (propaganda), where the government assures everyone that everything is under control and Zimbabwe is booming because of this or that and that it is absolutely fine for them to replace their entire fleet of cars with new Mercedes as a result.

Even when I diligently read the critics and their take on the Zimbabwe economy, I can’t make any sense of it.

We asked one of the banks here recently if, in fact, the seemingly popular purchasing of the Zimbabwe “Mosi-oa-Tunya” gold coin is stabilising things as is being claimed, and they answered ‘No comment’

And therefore we drink.  Because we are confused as to HOW Zimbabwe staggers on.  Well, really, a Zimbabwean has never needed an excuse to drink.

And here is the answer people!  The Japanese know.

When South Africa banned booze (and cigarettes and open toed shoes of course) because some bright spark decided this would help eliminate Covid 19, the Zimbabweans nodded knowingly. That isn’t ever going to happen in Zimbabwe.

Politics is quite harsh in Zimbabwe, but they know better than to take away a Zimbabwean’s beer.

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Topical – Full Disclosure

Did you hear about the Russian cosmonaut that was outside of the space ship doing some job or the other when he was advised to return to base immediately because his battery pack was likely to malfunction and leave him in all kinds of poo?

He must have bought his power pack from the same little streets of Beira shop I did. I also didn’t give them a rave review on line.

First, what is the difference between a cosmonaut and an astronaut?  Apparently nothing except Cosmonauts are trained and certified by the Russian Space Agency, and Astronauts are trained and certified by NASA and others.  There you go hey, no love lost….

Secondly, this wardrobe malfunction probably has more serious implications, although not as widely watched or repeated on mainstream media, as Janet Jackson’s nipple gate.  And various others. 

There is immediate suspicion of course, when there is a wardrobe malfunction that ends up exposing some intimate bit in public that it was intentional, you know, for the publicity.

I have had the odd wardrobe malfunction, but I can assure you I was not coerced into the behavior and I don’t believe any publicity did me any favors.

Once I went to the office loo and tucked the bottom of my skirt into my panties.  I wandered around the open plan area for a while with my bum cheek hanging out. 

I was telling a friend about the incident and that I was contemplating killing myself, or at least resigning, and she said that she had gone to the lav and also tucked her skirt hem and the toilet paper she’d been using into her panties. She trailed a long stream of less than pristine loo paper from her panty elastic for some time.

I think she won.

This, unfortunately, has not been the worst incident I, (but mostly those witnessing), have suffered.  Our Mandova was diligently cleaning out the lounge very early in the morning once and glanced out the lounge French doors, across the stretch of the verandah and straight into the bedroom French doors where I was leisurely clothing myself. Sadly, only in the very beginning stages of this dressing process.

We have never spoken of this, but it is not something he can unsee I suspect.  He is no longer as diligent about cleaning so early and if he does, he keeps all the drapes closed and his head down.  I suspect he has also started drinking.  I know I have.

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Life in Africa – yes, we have tape, it’s red

We had cause to transact with a government department.

Always a time to gird your loins, particularly in Africa.

The first government department we were channeled to were super pleasant but directed us to another department and building down the road. You need to go to the 13th floor they advised. Of course, it would be the 13th floor.  Didn’t think they even allowed 13th floors in buildings, isn’t it bad luck?  It certainly was for us.

What are the chances there is a working lift my lovely man asked as we navigated our way there.

There was a man here yesterday trying to fix the lifts, the ground floor reception fella told us. But, he continued, the problem seems more complicated than his ability.

My lovely man, at this point, could have sent me up into the ether by myself, as it was my issue, but, he is super supportive and courageously led the way. His two knee replacements no doubt saying ‘hang on a bit.. is this wise?’

As we braced ourselves at the bottom, our senses were assailed with a strong urine smell. So, shallow breaths for 13 floors was required.

I did sympathise as by now my bladder was prompting me for attention.  However, I managed to restrain myself from piddling on the staircase you will be proud to know.

My Samsung watch went into overdrive.  Alerting me to the fact that I was exerting myself. It has never been so excited quite frankly.

We staggered, gasping to the 13th floor reception and she immediately said we needed to see someone on the 12th floor. There was no oxygen available from what we could see.

These people, bless them, do this every day. A couple of times a day I imagine.

We met another unbelievably pleasant lady on the 12th floor, and she laughed at the condition of us. There was little sympathy, she is doing this climb daily 5 months pregnant.  The lifts have not worked for two months. Honestly, for me, that would have been contraceptive enough.

Thank you for coming she said, you are in the right place, but, in fact, you need to write us a letter with your request and bring it back for our consideration.

This is Africa, there is no point in asking – is this information readily available anywhere as to what the process is?

There is also no POSTING a letter.  One must deliver it personally.  Can one leave it at the ground floor reception we asked tentatively… better to bring it up to the 13th floor reception yourselves we were advised.

Of course. 

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My Lovely Man – A Weekend with the Boy

Hot off the press.

I have received an email invitation to be part of a reality TV Show in Mozambique. On one of the islands. We will be one of two young couples apparently. Of course I received this in Portuguese, but it seems to translate into Weekend with the Boy.

Everything will be paid for they say, and there will be entertainment and games. We are only obliged to portray how young couples love each other in Mozambique.

Why are we invited my lovely man immediately queried. We are not young.

Also, he said, what if they require us to stay up after 8pm? I don’t think we can be entertaining after 8pm. Will they let us have our afternoon nap? And watch our soapies?

Well I said, people only have to pay 10 Mets to watch us they say, so I don’t think their expectations will be very high.

Will they want us to drink those fancy cocktails he fretted. We don’t like those. Check ahead how much beer they have.

It doesn’t look high budget I worried, might be more like Survivor. We are not into roughing it.

We’ve considered this long and hard over our morning tea and biscuit, and sadly, we are going to have to regret the invite.

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Daily Life – The Slow Movement

Have you heard of Carl Honore? He of “In Praise of Slowness’” fame? https://www.carlhonore.com/

I’m reading his book on my Kindle.  Slowly of course. Very insightful.

He promotes us all slowing down. This surely is a good thing? In Italy, I understand, there are cities that strive to transform themselves to Slow Cities. A meal there, for example can take an age deliberately.  One must not arrive hungry, because they probably only start harvesting your grub when you order.

I personally have very fond memories of spending the whole day at Clube Nautico Restaurant in Beira with friends. Completely inappropriate conversations that lasted the whole day.

The Italians, I further understand, are also known for their very fast driving. This, of course, is somewhat incongruent to the slow movement ambition.

Africa, is not always burdened with an enormous sense of urgency. The nation must have read this book and fully embraced it. Amanhã will do in Mozambique for sure.

When I moved to Mozambique from corporate Johannesburg almost a decade ago, I thought I would go mad. Or have a stroke. Of course, it was me that had to adapt to some extent. Finding a balance between high standards and not giving myself and everyone around me an ulcer.

But perhaps this is an attitude we should all embrace.  So much competitiveness and a need for speed.  Can’t be good. We need to be more Mozambican, or Italian maybe.  Wine and good food. I’m in.

However, there is clearly a fair bit of Italian in a Mozambican. Once they are behind the wheel of a car, it’s a race. Every second counts. One must get there urgently and then relax back into a snail’s pace.

Speed bumps and potholes do not in any way deter most drivers in Africa. These things are to be navigated in top gear. Like pulling off a plaster really. Do it quickly and put the jarring, shuddering pain behind you.

I used to drive hellishly fast. Was proud of my behavior too. Aggressive. I wasn’t going to take any nonsense from anyone. Johannesburg cured me of that. Along with realising I was going to give myself a heart attack, my aggression resulted in a confrontation I had to back down from. Road rage is not clever, and you don’t want to meet someone that is prepared to take it through to the end.

So, by the time I was driving in Mozambique, and indeed Zimbabwe, I was in the right head space.

And it’s always about head space, isn’t it? Everything really.

My lovely man is an excellent driver. He’s a good deal more assertive than me, and more inclined to nip around and push himself into spaces. Despite this, I feel very safe with him.

I suspect; however, he does not feel the same when I drive. And, when we do long distances, I often drive more. He’s got this bum thing going on that when he drives or sits in a car for a long time, he gets a pain in the bum.

He is, in fact, a pain in the bum when I drive. Nervous and critical. And his brake foot pumps excessively and impotently in the passenger seat.

A lot of calling out to Jesus to save him.  And the irritating ‘watch it, watch it’

Just close your eyes and relax I urge him. I can’t he tells me, who will watch you.

At least, he says, we are likely to go together.

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Historical – My Lovely Man – Life in Africa

Things have largely calmed down with regards to having to be hosed down and disinfected every time you go anywhere. Thank goodness. We still get disinfected and have to wear a mask into shops here in Zimbabwe and Mozambique. Us cynics suspect that the governments are NOT likely to lift restrictions totally because there is still AID to be begged for and subsequently exploited.

Certainly in many parts of Africa the washing facilities that were insisted on were less than desirable and likely to leave you with more disease than you started with. It was also quite common, it seemed, that they carefully tracked down the village leper to disinfect you.

Anyway, here is a post from March 2020 to remind us.

We trundled back to Beira from Harare yesterday. Spent an unpleasant few hours at the Consulate in Mutare, patiently waiting for them to do a 5 minute job of issuing a work visa, applied for a month ago. Why did it take so long? To flex their power I presume after I stupidly explained we had animals in the car outside and needed to get to Beira that day. The mind boggles. Smiled and kept my 😎. Arrived at the Moz border and was waved down frantically having driven past the Corona Virus check point unwittingly. Stopped and was instructed by the muffled voice through a face mask that we must have our temperature taken and wash our hands in the chlorine treated water. So there you go, Moz will be safe now.

Watched my lovely man dunk his hands in the dirty bucket of water.

Darling, I said, what are you doing ffs?

He said I must wash my hands..

That’s the catchment bucket sweetheart, use the tap above it.

Never mind he says, we’ve complied, let’s go.

Might let him touch me by Christmas.