Surely not?
You do go on a bit…
I have a friend who can be a nag.
Look in the mirror I hear you think.
Still, this guy is something else. If he gets an idea in his head, it becomes fixed… and good Lord he can go on about it.
One of the awesome things in Mozambique is the bread. Particularly the bread rolls. Pão (along with vinho), is one of the few Portuguese words I have learnt. Survival I call it.
The bread is not made with preservatives, so it doesn’t last too long. It doesn’t need to, it’s necessary to eat it immediately. It’s not at all good for you of course, but who cares!
At one point I planned to go on a road trip with a friend (not the nagger), and stay at a coastal resort in central Mozambique. My nagger friend is full of advice. One of his pearls was that under no circumstances should we eat bread as padkos along the route. (Everywhere you go in Mozambique takes an age because the roads are mostly dreadful and there are many police stops along the way asking for refresco). Padkos is necessary.
Eating bread along the way will make you apathetic he implored, you need to eat stuff like nuts and fruit and drink lots of water. You need to stay alert, it’s a long way and the roads are so bad.
I relayed this input to my travel buddy and she immediately objected. But Rosie, she said, you make the most awesome rolls, I was looking forward to our padkos. This is true. I have few (zero), culinary skills, but I do make a good sandwich.
I know, I said, we just mustn’t tell him.
What if he comes to check before we leave she wailed. I know I said, there is a good chance of this, we will have to hide the rolls and show him the bloody nuts and shit.
The other irritating thing this dear friend does is call me constantly. Mainly because he knows I hate it. So, it did not end when we managed to leave and get on the road, our bread rolls safely on board, he phoned constantly to check how we were doing and what we were eating.
The other thing you need if you ever travel in Mozambique, is a strong bladder. This was prior to my she-wee days. I’m not really sure a she-wee is something one can share with a friend? Any input on this matter is appreciated.
Anyway, we didn’t have the benefit of even considering a she-wee to share and it became a crisis.
We knew of a place, you may know it…. Buffalo Lodge…. a great place to stop for coffee and a well deserved ablute.
We were desperate… desperate…. finding Buffalo Lodge was critical.
My friend phoned (again)…. how’s it going, what are you eating…..?
For the love of…..
I saw the sign to turn off and yelled and pointed Buffalo, Buffalo! If we had missed the turning it would have been the end of any dignity we were barely hanging onto.
Buffalo… I heard him say in the distance as I threw my phone down… well, I suppose that’s good, but buffalo?
An honest mistake
Did you hear about the below story…..
A fellow didn’t realise his wife had also got out the car to ablute and drove off. For 160km before he realised she was actually NOT sleeping in the back anymore.
She was left, in the dark, in Thailand. With nothing but perhaps damp panties.
I had a husband that did this to me. This was my pre she-wee days. So, there I was, trying to discreetly do my business beside the car. Hoping to not wee on my shoes or be seen by any passer by.
And he drove off. Leaving me fully exposed of course. Funny guy.
Keep the keys is my advice.
We are divorced now.
Can’t be too careful
In Mozambique, well certainly in Beira, they like to steal parts of your car and sell them back to you.
It’s a very efficient system, you can go to the market, enquire about a recently missing part and buy it back for top dollar.
The solution is to engrave (with some sort of identity number), as much as you can, and pop rivet things here and there.
As with most security, you really just want it to be easier that they steal from someone else.
In a panic, we realised my lovely man’s car was not adequately identified and secured. And, before it could be done, I had to use it to go to the parlour for a wee pedicure.
Unfortunately, at the very pleasant parlour, I have, for some years, been nominated the sadist to attend to my pedicure. Not only is there no sign of rough heels after a session, I am usually limping out on bloody stumps.
As it turns out, she is a very thoughtful sadist. She noticed me peering out the window continually to try and ensure nobody lifted a wing mirror off the car.
She indicated that she was in a better position to watch the car. Then she got everyone else in the salon who wasn’t busy, to watch the car in shifts.
Bless them! I managed to return home with the car intact. Not so much my heels.
My lovely man then had the car attended to. I had to get extra money from the company to pay the guy, he announced, I didn’t have enough. Come and look.
Everything is engraved people. And everything else is pop riveted. I think they only stopped pop riveting because they ran out he advised me.
I suspect the car is 50% heavier and the fuel efficiency halved. But hey, its safe.
Holidays hurt man
Give it to me now
My lovely man is a nervous passenger. At least he is with me. Which is strange, because I’m an excellent driver.
My lovely man would do all the driving if he could. Unfortunately for him, we do regular long trips. He has two issues (excluding me). He doesn’t sleep before any travel. Like for a week. But especially the night before. Probably because he is worrying about the section that he has to let me drive. The second issue is he has this whole pain in the bum thing going on. Once again, over and above me. So, his right cheek goes into a spasm after driving for a few hours and then he, very reluctantly, has to let me take over.
This is not a restful time for him. Much foot pumping, grimacing, imploring the heavens to save us and quite a bit of criticism.
All of this I blissfully ignore. Because I’m an excellent driver. I’ve never had an accident that was my fault. (I’ve always managed to drive away before anyone realised I was the cause).
Relax darling I instruct, let Jesus take the wheel. Unfortunately, he replied, you are at the wheel.
On a recent trip as we were nearing Harare, I asked if he thought Surrey pies would be open.
Are you allowed… he started.. and then thought better of it.
I haven’t eaten carbs for two months. Must be something to this theory, because I have dropped 7kg’s so far. What is alarming is that I have more than 7kg to lose.
But now, I was having a pie fantasy. Wait until you are over 50, your fantasies dramatically change.
So, we got some pies. I was still in the driving seat. Please can I have my pie I asked.
They are really, really hot darling, he tried. And you are driving. Perhaps we should wait until we get home.
GIVE ME THE PIE.
My already nervous back seat driver now had to endure me driving with one hand and nibbling on a molten pie. It was too much.
Before you kill us and this literally be our last meal, he instructed, pull over and let me drive and you eat the pie.
Who’s the hangry one really?
I’m just here for the electricity
Black Friday. Are we loving it or not?
Somebody save me
We went for a walk on the beach in Beira. You have to plan this around low tide in Beira. The beach is, sadly, not the cleanest, and requires the pulling in of all that rubbish by the backwash. (Yes, Gretha would actually just fall down in a weeping mess if she ever visited here). Secondly, the beach slopes, and unless you have two severely different leg lengths, it’s terribly uncomfortable to walk for any distance.
And then, of course, if low tide occurs during the heat of the day, any idea of going for a stroll should be immediately discarded.
We managed to venture out at the relatively reasonable hour of 8am. (We actually should only have gone at 08h30… but my lovely man likes to be early for everything). Being early for anything in Mozambique is actually not a good idea, because you usually find yourself alone in your punctuality.
I digress…
On a Sunday, there are usually Church services (and soccer games), happening on the beach. In amongst the debris from the Saturday night party of course. Alcohol is not allowed on Mozambique beaches, but this law is not ever evident from the broken bottles to be found at any given time.
I digress…
Oh look, my lovely man announced, they are baptizing someone. And indeed, there was much shouting and singing and what appeared to be the public drowning of some poor woman.
Baptism in the Beira sea shallows is not for sissies. However, it appears that the banishing of any demons is guaranteed. Standing on the beach observing, we too felt cleansed of our sins. The woman being blessed was not, it appeared, given much time to catch a breath of air between her repeated dunks. There was a LOT to be said about the matter it was obvious, and all of it to the rhythm of repeatedly pushing her under, pulling her out, pushing her under.
The crowd sang on encouragingly. She must have been thinking ‘Just as well I’m being baptized, because the end is nigh.’ Like now.
It this what water boarding is like I asked my lovely man.
It looked to be over… but actually.. a close friend was just removing her…. to deeper water…
I think we should leave I suggested, before we are asked to be witnesses to a crime scene.
Motherhood, gotta love it
