It would be a long haul to Tofo – 600km. The police had a terrible reputation in Mozambique, stopping any tourist car on any pretext to extract money. There were also new traffic rules whereby you had to carry two red warning triangles and two reflective jackets. The bureaucratic regulations were outstanding:
“It is compulsory for any South African vehicle to have a ZA sign displayed when it crosses any of the borders. The ZA sign must be placed on the rear of each vehicle, and may not be within 150mm of the rear number plate”.
“When travelling with any South African registered vehicle in Mozambique you will need to have a set of red warning triangles in your possession. Regulations as follows:
- Each side of your triangle must be 500mm long and 50mm wide, with a thickness of roughly 5mm.
- The triangle must be uniformly-covered in red reflective material.
- The back of the triangle must either be uniformly white, or have a 5mm-wide white border.
- The edge of the triangle must be yellow.
- The reflective surfaces must be well-maintained.
- The triangle must be visible from at least 100m in the presence of light”.
“It is now compulsory for motorists to carry the reflective jackets when travelling to Mozambique. Your reflective vest must be made from polyester and it must be closable at the front and adjustable on all sides. The vest must be equipped with polyvinyl reflective strips, no less than 400mm wide, in yellow or green on the front, to the sides, and on the back of the vest. The vest must be worn when at the scene of a car accident, when repairing your vehicle on the side of the road.”

We had been unable to find a South African sticker but apparently this is only necessary on trailers. Our border road linked with the main border road, where we were flagged down by our first police check. He wanted to see my drivers licence, the red triangles and the reflective vests. I had left the vests visible in the back. It was obvious they wanted to catch out foreign motorists. We were legal and he let us go without fuss. We would pass through half a dozen police checks, sometimes ignored, sometimes waved on, sometimes stopped.

The major problem with entering Mozambique from the south is that you have to deal with the capital Maputo. A sprawling mass, the highways that loop around the city are a nightmare of road works, police checks, bottlenecks which all bring traffic to a halt. When you actually get going, you pass through small towns with overflowing marketplaces. The resulting traffic also forces you to grind to a halt. It was a painfully inefficient traffic system creating gridlock in parts. In the ferocious heat, dust blowing everywhere and noise of the markets that sold everything under the sun (literally), we crawled along for an hour making little progress. To the left of the road were sandy stretches. Sometimes the public minibuses used them to skirt around traffic, but large concrete blocks were laid across them at regular intervals to prevent people illegally jumping ahead. .

In the end, I snapped. Two cars came past me on the sandy stretch and I just pulled out and followed them. I expected to get waved down by a police officer and fined or come across the concrete barriers but somehow I was able to do a couple of miles and get ahead of loads of cars and pull back into the flow just before a police check. Not that it mattered. We made some distance and then ground to a halt at the next market/police check. It was like pulling teeth. Even the toll road was grid-locked.

A signpost indicated that we were on the EN1 to Xai Xai but the bottlenecks through market towns continued until we finally started to leave the capital behind. Even when we got going along the long, straight flat roads, – sticking to the 100kph speed limit, you would have to slow down to 80 and then 60 every time you entered a town or village and could not speed up until a sign said 100kph again. There was no way to get any consistent speed especially when it was likely there was a police car in every major town (there was) and radar speed traps hidden behind trees (there were). We resolved to stick to the speed limit and just grind out the miles.

I stopped at a petrol station to fill up. We didn’t have any Mozambique currency – the Metical and I paid in South Africa Rand. The attendant who didn’t speak English had to convert the currency rate on his mobile phone. Mozambique garages have also had a bad reputation for selling inferior fuel. I had been recommended to only fill up at busy garages, but we didn’t have any problem with petrol during our visit

In villages and by the roadside, locals were selling baskets, piles of wood, honey, hot sauce and also pistachio nuts which were in plastic bags and hung from tree branches stuck in the ground. It was a poor country. Desperate, some of them stood in the road and tried to flag us down. The inland coastal scenery of low lying vegetation didn’t change. It was scorching inside the car. Even with the windows open, the temperature read 50’C.

It took forever and a day to reach Xai Xai, the first major city outside the capital. To reach it, we had to cross a bridge with a toll. But there was a large dip between the road and the bridge which I didn’t see and the car crashed over that with a loud bang. After Xai Xai, there were no road signs to let you know how far to the next major town of Imhambane. We passed through endless villages. Some were on our map. Others weren’t. The temperature was dropping but we had so far to go, It became obvious that we would not reach our destination before dark.

Weeks ago, I had reserved a hut at Fatima’s in Tofo. I had had to send a 50% deposit (because it was peak season) and got back a list of terms and conditions, one of which was that if you did not arrive by 6pm, then your reservation was null and void and you may not have a room. However, you could call to let them know. I had already emailed the week before to say we would be late. We stopped at a ‘Service Station’ where I attempted to call using my mobile phone but I couldn’t get through. Not sure about area codes etc and would I have to call as if I was calling from the UK, I went in search of help. I met a well dressed man who spoke English and explained my problem. “Who are you trying to call?” he asked. ‘Fatimas” I replied. “Oh I know her. I probably have her number on my mobile” He proceeded to search his address book and call her, having a quick chat and passing me over. “Don’t worry Bob” she said, “I knew you would be late”. Small world!

I had read that north of Xai Xai was a 50km stretch of road that was full of potholes and an absolute nightmare, but when we reached it, the road-crew had already re-surfaced one half which was a relief. On the other half where they were resurfacing, they had laid down a tree branch every 20 ft to stop people from driving on it. It made a change from all the traffic cones we get in the UK. The road crews had blowers and were blowing the dust off the road which was surreal to drive through. How on earth do you get rid of dust with passing traffic next to you. I ha dread that they were Chinese road crews, but everybody we saw was African.

We passed through village after village. Some appeared on our map, but we were clueless as to how long it would take. There was a lovely sunset and then darkness set in. As a rule, Africa is one of the worst places to drive in the dark and I wanted to avoid it. Here we were, driving for the second night in a row. The major problem is that you can’t see people walking down the side of the roads until you are nearly upon them. Anyone on a bicycle didn’t have lights and was also a hazard. I even had to slam on the breaks when there was an unlit cart pulled by donkeys completely invisible. Wendy remarked “You could have had a 2 for 1 special” referring to my previous destruction of a donkey while driving to Mongolia. You have to stay alert to all possibilities.

Eventually, the turn off for Inhambane appeared. It is a small town on a peninsula with Tofo nearby as its beach resort. We were getting closer, but it took ages to drive along a narrow road in the dark with people walking along it. By the time we reached Inhambane, it was 9.00pm. We had been going for over 12 hours. Wendy demanded food and while following the signs to Tofo, spotted a street with a bank and a restaurant. We entered the westernised restaurant and bar (there were only western tourists in it) and took a table. I crossed the road to the ATM which was protected by a security guard. I could never get over this in Botswana and Namibia as well. I think it was to stop customers getting robbed once they had got their money but I’m not sure. Mozambique has changed its currency to the New Metical. I withdrew what I thought was £100. When I got back to the restaurant and asked the waiter what the exchange rate was to the South African Rand, I calculated that I had withdrawn £9. Doh! So back I went to withdrawn the rest.

While Wendy opted for the steak and chips, I went for the House Special which was a strange concoction of crab and prawn stew, fried fish and rice. The stew was a runny green and looked like a case of bad diarrhoea with crab claws in it. But it tasted ok and the ice cold beer was welcome.

We pushed on to Tofu in complete darkness and this also took an age. As we entered the small resort around 10.30pm, I knew where Fatima’s was and drove down a sandy road and found a sign hanging on a wooden fence. A security guard let me in. walking to reception, I could hear some loud jazz being played. It was a three piece band – drums, bass and a saxophone. The drums and bass kept an endless rhythm going for up to 30 mins at a time, while the horn player noodled around. It was quite mesmerising in a “I’ve been driving for 13 hours and am completely wired but at the same time cannot concentrate on anything, can I just lie on my bed please” kind of way. I found someone in reception called Simon. I was completely exhausted and babbling. When I asked him where he was from he said Norfolk. “Whereabouts?” I asked. “Loddon” he replied. “Loddon?” I yelled “I live in Broome, ten minutes away. What the hell are you doing here?” “Christ knows” he said.

He told me to drive to the next gate, where a security guard let us in and we parked. It was a compound on the sandy cliffs by the sea. We were shown our hut which was a little less than expected. Bamboo walls, thatched roof, no windows. Sand floor with a couple of bamboo mats. A bed, mosquito net and some draws. A fan was connected to one of the wooden poles. There were unisex toilets/showers around the corner over the sand. After a stressful day, this was not what Wendy, exhausted, was expecting. She was not impressed and went into a sulk demanding that we leave tomorrow, even though we had two nights booked. The band played on until 12.30am. As I lay on the bed, still driving in my mind, I thought it was hypnotic. I was in another new country and this was the soundtrack.

Thursday December 24rd – Mozambique

I awoke in my 109the country. Mozambique Background: The CIA website says that the “Almost five centuries as a Portuguese colony came to a close with independence in 1975. Large-scale emigration, economic dependence on South Africa, a severe drought, and a prolonged civil war hindered the country's development until the mid 1990's when it became a Republic. In December 2004, Mozambique underwent a delicate transition as Joaquim Chissano stepped down after 18 years in office”.

It is a large poor country slightly less than twice the size of California of mostly coastal lowlands, uplands in centre, high plateaus in northwest and mountains in west. with a population of 22m, of which 21% are unemployed and life expectancy is around 42 with the world's fifth highest known HIV/AIDS prevalence rate. The main religion is Catholic (23%). Average annual income is only around US$900.

Agriculture includes: cotton, cashew nuts, sugarcane, tea, cassava (tapioca), corn, coconuts, sisal, citrus and tropical fruits, potatoes, sunflowers; beef, poultry. Industry includes: food, beverages, chemicals (fertilizer, soap, paints), aluminum, petroleum products, textiles, cement, glass, asbestos, tobacco. Mozambique remains dependent upon foreign assistance for more than half of its annual budget, and the majority (70%) of the population remains below the poverty line. Subsistence agriculture continues to employ the vast majority of the country's work force. Mozambique grew at an average annual rate of 9% for most of the past decade, one of Africa's strongest performances. However, heavy reliance on aluminium, which accounts for about one-third of exports, subjects the economy to volatile international prices.

I had come to Tofo to do some scuba diving. Yes, I know it sounds crazy to drive all that way to do this, but there were excellent reports and I needed a reason to enter Mozambique in the first place. I had used Fatima’s agent Gudrun to book a couple of dives with Tofo Scuba next door and also book Wendy onto a ‘snorkelling safari’ where snorkelling with a whale shark was a near certainty. Having arrived so late last night, I wasn’t sure what was going on and when to turn up. So around 6.30am I got up and discovered that our hut overlooked a small bay fringed by a pristine, wide and white beach which stretched into the distance. I walked down the sandy lane to Tofo Scuba www.tofoscuba.com I found a South African waiting outside – one of the owners John, having his first cigarette of the day. He had forgotten the keys and was waiting for one of the admin staff to turn up and let him in.

I explained my situation. “Well usually, Fatimas send all their people to the other dive place. They get a big discount. But I’ll give Gudrun a call to check”. So he did – at 6.45am! As he was talking, he gave me the thumbs up. “Yeah, you’re with us” He told me to come back about 7.30am and get my gear sorted out. I went back to a sleeping Wendy, but she was comatose. She had already refused to do the snorkelling trip, even though it had been paid for.

I re-packed my luggage and returned to get the diving gear I needed. I saw on a whiteboard that yesterday’s snorkelling group had spent 30 minutes with a whaleshark. I know divers around the world who would lose a limb to do that but that’s a woman’s prerogative to give it a miss. There was a dive briefing. We were going to ‘Manta Cove’.

This was a different type of dive for me. Usually you climb aboard a dive-boat and off you go. This was an inflatable boat. A quad bike dragged it to the sea and then we had to drag it into the waves and launch ourselves into the boat in a systematic way. Everyone else had done it before. I was the newbie and had to be told what to do. We pulled the boat out and jumped in, sat on the edge and fitted feet into foot straps to stop us falling overboard.

We roared down the coast for 30 minutes, hanging onto the ropes to stop us falling over board and found the dive site. There were 8 divers of different levels, plus an instructor and a couple of trainee dive masters. Once we had kitted up, we all rolled over both sides together (this was a first) to keep the boat balanced. Our BCDs were in negative buoyancy so once we rolled over, we started to sink underwater. We dropped to 25m and hung around while two divers did their Advanced Deep Dive exercises. There was good visibility but nothing much to see. We hung around at 20m for ages looking for manta rays but nothing appeared and the oxygen levels depleted. Divers started to surface. I had an extra large tank with Nitrox air and still had plenty left. By 30 minutes into the dive, there was only the Instructor and my Dutch buddy left underwater. We had seen nothing. We started to ascend.

As we reached 12m, I saw a manta ray swim behind the Instructor. I signalled and we stopped ascending. There were three of them and a pair of them came very close doing somersaults with each other. We could see into their huge mouths as they rolled over. After 5 minutes, my Dutch buddy had to ascend with his air running out. The Instructor and I stayed down and then a chain of 5 manta rays came past in tight formation. They did circles around us for ten minutes. It was an amazing sight. When we surfaced after 50 minutes, we tried not to be smug since none of the other divers had seen any manta rays. The instructor confided later that it was the best manta ray experience he’d had since he had been diving there. On the way back to the dive school we caught sight of a mother and baby hump back whales. It was very late in the season. None had been spotted in 6 weeks. They were in the distance. We could only see the spray coming from their blowholes.

After we had returned and climbed off the boat and I had taken my gear off, I discovered that the other dive would be in the afternoon. Usually, you do the two dives together with an hour’s break. I returned to the hut. Wendy was still asleep. She had been up but feeling exhausted had crashed again. I said I would sacrifice the second dive so we could get going and break the long journey. To be honest, I didn’t see how I could top that diving experience. I had driven for 13 hours, but 15 mins with manta rays rated in my top 5 all time dives, I had only seen them before in Thailand back in 2003.

I went and found Gudrun and explained that we were leaving. The 50% deposit covered everything. When we tried to leave, the security guard insisted on me going back to the reception with him to ok our departure. So we did and he then unlocked the gate and let us out. I would like to return to Tofo and do a few days diving.

We headed back to Inhambane. We passed by endless coconut palm trees, mangroves, bright orange bougainvillaea flowers, yellow sunflowers and the occasional villages of huts made of palm trees, bamboo and straw. Timber for erecting huts, straw stacks for the roofs and piles of wood were for sale at the side of the road, along with local pottery. It was a very picturesque area and a revelation after driving through it in the dark last night.

Inhambane was a sleepy place of 50,000 with quiet shaded streets. It is one of the oldest European (Portuguese) towns in Southern Africa dating from the 15th century. Wendy couldn’t resist the idea of bathing in the Indian Ocean (she could have done it from our accommodation, but couldn’t find the steps to the beach!). The tide was out, so we walked out to the sea (past a dead dog) and Wendy having stripped to her undies, couldn’t believe how hot the sea was. “Like a bath” was her comment.

We started the return journey which we had done in the dark yesterday. It was more of the same scenery and side stalls. I stopped to buy some extra hot ‘sauce’ for my experimental cooking. One small dip on the finger and lick of the tongue left me gasping for water and I like hot food!

The heat was ferocious. I put my Dive Computer on the dashboard and the temperature read 50’c and we had the windows down. We stuck to the speed limits through the towns and villages and enjoyed the fact that we could relax a little because 600km could be done over one and a half days rather than two. Having filled up the car at a garage, we would drive until an hour before darkness and look for somewhere to stay.

We entered a unmarked town called Quissico. I dropped to 60kph. About a kilometre after the village ended, there was a downhill. When I reached the bottom, a policeman strode out and flagged me down. “Drivers Licence” he asked. I handed over my International Drivers Licence. He had a look and then waved someone else over who produced a radar gun that said 72kph. “No way” I exclaimed. I had been driving through every place at 60kph. “I know the speed limit”. He ushered me out and we went to his police vehicle. He stated that I had broken the law and that it was a 1000 Metical fine (about #&163;20). I refused to pay. I pointed out that there was no sign saying 60kph in any direction and that we had left the village a kilometre back. After further protestations of refusing to pay, he wrote 500M on some paper. Oh, so now the fine has suddenly halved. It was a scam. I had read enough warnings about the corrupt police.

Meanwhile, a South African vehicle had been stopped going in the opposite direction. The driver got out and protested. We started talking. He had also been stopped for doing 72kph. He then also told me that he had been stopped an hour before. The police had tried to do him for speeding and one of his children not wearing a safety belt in the back. He had paid the fine. But this time, his vehicle was on cruise control at 60kph. He knew he wasn’t speeding. It also seemed very coincidental that the radar gun said 72kph for both of us – going in opposite directions. “What are you going to do?” he asked. “I’m going to refuse to pay it and ask to go to the police station” I replied. “We’ll follow you. I’ve had enough of this shit.” I continued to refuse to pay and said “Police station”. In the end, he and his mate packed up and told us to follow him. A small convoy of 3 vehicles, one with a family inside returned to the police station at Quissico which was just a couple of ground floor rooms in a small complex.

We entered an office with just a desk and a few benches. The police officer explained to the duty officer that we were refusing to pay. They examined our driver’s licences. No-one spoke English. We sat around and waited. Eventually a senior officer rolled up. He couldn’t speak English either but tried to explain we had broken the law and we must pay. “No money” we said. “Did not break the law.” I tried the usual tactic of ‘we are just tourists in your country, we are not here to break the law’ line that usually worked. But they had our licences and they weren’t budging and neither were we.

When researchiing Mozambique, I had come across many incidents of corrupt traffic police. There was a South African government guide which said “Should travellers encounter difficulties with traffic police or other authorities en route to their destinations, particularly if these officers are attempting to illicit bribes or are threatening, you are advised to do the following:
"Be as cooperative as possible
Insist on a written or officially printed fine
Don’t pay the fine to the police officer, but take it to the nearest police station for payment and get an official receipt; stamped if possible.
If the police/traffic officers request a bribe, ensure that you take the name of the officer, and ensure that the location and time of the road block is noted. Without this information there can be no recourse.
Do not pay the bribe!
If in Mozambique, report this to the SA High Commission (number given) “

Wendy attempted to call the number and explain the situation. She made little progress with the High Commission. As we sat around, Craig introduced his family. He was an electrician and had bought his family to Mozambique last year. They were on their way to start their holiday. The three teenage children sat in the car bemused that their dad was having a stand off with the police over a traffic fine. Craig’s wife asked Wendy of me “Does he do this often?” “All the time. He just refuses to pay and usually gets away with it. Ironically, for once, he wasn’t speeding so he really wants to wind them up.” She concluded “It’s about time someone took a stand. If they keep getting away with it, they’ll just end up stopping every tourist for anything they can fine them for.”

We had left Tofo to make some distance and break the journey, but holding off against the police became a little adventure and it was strange to sit outside in the shade while no one did anything. We weren’t exactly criminals and it was rather fun just challenging Mozambique authority to wind them up. They could hardly throw 3 kids in jail.

After an hour the traffic cop returned to his spot for more false speeding offences (at least he couldn’t do anything while dealing with us), and the senior officer disappeared as well. That left one officer in the other room. Meanwhile, a criminal had been bought into the room and chained to a bench and sat on the floor while he cried his eyes out.

Craig tried approaching the other officer. He tried to offer all the cash he had in his wallet which was just a mish-mash odd currencies and was about half the fine. He had handed his only Rand over to pay the previous fine. The officer made a phone call. Three new police officers turned up , one who spoke minimal English. He intimated “You must pay the fine. If you don’t you will have to go to court”. “Then lock me up”, I said, pointing at the hand-cuffed criminal on the floor and crossing my wrists. He laughed with two other two police officers. Craig tried to explain his cruise control but the officer said “It must be faulty” “Faulty?” Craig retorted, “the car is only a month old.” Eventually he drove off as well.

This left us with the other two who we called “Tweedle De” and Tweedle Dum”. They sat outside on a bench with us and pretended to speak no English, but we suspected they were just there to hear what we were saying. By now, we had been there for nearly 3 hours and we weren’t getting anywhere. The senior officer came back. Craig tried to explain that he couldn't pay the fine because he had no Rand, but he couldn’t get any Rand because they had his driving licence so he couldn’t drive to a bank. In the end, they let Wendy drive him to the ATM where he got cash. I was still refusing to pay just to see what happened.

Craig paid and got a receipt, but was adamant it was a set up. Just to prove the point, he got the English-speaking policeman and took him for a ride in his car to show that the cruise control worked. The senior officer was now really getting pissed with me. “I’m going now. You can pay or you can spend the night here”. We only had 2 hours to darkness and we had taken it as far as we could. I produced the cash equivalent to #&163;20 and got an official receipt. As we said our goodbyes to Craig and family who had rather enjoyed the experience, Wendy said “Well that was exciting”. It had been a strange way to spend an afternoon when I was originally supposed to be diving and sunbathing. It was the first traffic offence I had paid in years. Even in South Africa last year, I had talked my way out of a traffic fine.

Now the pressure was on. We had had our fun, but we had to make tracks. One problem could be that the police called ahead to the next few towns and tell them to look for our car and pull us over for anything. So we stuck to the speed limit and crawled through the towns and villages. The cashew nut sellers were still trying to wave cars down in the middle of the road while their produce hung in plastic bags off branches. We returned back through the ‘potholed’ section where the road crews were still blowing dust off the road. It was all a bit déjà vu.

Darkness fell. We had seen nowhere to stay and aimed for Xai Xai (‘shy’ ‘shy’), the capital of the Gaza province which definitely had hotels. The heat was still ferocious and humid. On the main road in the town centre we were looking for the ‘Kaya Ka Hina’ hotel. I spotted a busy restaurant with the name but no hotel. We drove further down the road until I spotted a pharmacy and asked for directions. They couldn’t speak English but directed me back to the restaurant. Inside I asked about the hotel. Someone pointed outside and upstairs. Doh! In the darkness, we had not spotted the hotel sign on the first floor.

Parking behind the restaurant in a courtyard which was monitored by an all night security guard, we were relieved to have found somewhere. The room was clean with no frills. A cranky old air conditioner, a B&W TV with 1 channel. A large shower and sink, both of which took an age to drain the water. After a wonderful shower, we went downstairs to the restaurant. It was full of locals. A shy pleasant waitress bought us the menu. I chose the ‘Kaya Ka Hina House special” which turned out to be half a boiled chicken with a boiled egg, chips and tinned vegetables. But the beer was ice cold and refreshing. It had been a strange day.

Friday December 24th

Having only reduced our journey by three hours yesterday, we decided to get up at dawn and make tracks before the sun rose and the heat boiled us alive. Paying the small bridge toll, we had empty roads until we reached the suburbs of Maputo. Mid morning, the suburbs were as clogged as we remembered them two days ago – grid locked stationary traffic surrounded by bustling markets and pedestrians everywhere. We crawled along at a snail’s pace and were stopped at one police check point. It seemed to take an absolute age to find the turn off for Highway 4 which would take us to the South African border. I wouldn’t wish Maputo traffic on my worst enemy.

It didn’t take long for the EN4 to suddenly back up with traffic when we reached the tollbooths. Normally, you pick a gate and line up and eventually get through, hoping you picked a fast line. In Mozambique, drivers would drive in-between the lines and then try and cut in. Everyone in line would edge up bumper to bumper and not give any opportunity for getting ahead. Tempers frayed. Someone, trying to cut in, got hit by a truck. More bedlam on the roads. More gridlock. And then we were through and the road was relatively empty and a dual carriageway and it was bliss.

As we approached the Mozambique border at Rossano Garcia, there were trucks lined up for a couple of miles. The relatively few cars could take an outer lane and by pass. The border was relatively simple – just an exit stamp in the passport, fill out a customs form to take the car out of the country, get a slip of paper with a stamp on it and a cursory check of the car by customs. The only problem was that drivers didn’t park properly. They just left their cars in the driving lane which held everyone else up and stopped people like us who had parked properly, from getting out. As we left Mozambique, there was a police officer at a booth who had to check our passports and take the slip of paper. “Have you a Xmas present for me?” he asked, angling for a bribe. “Yes. Happy Xmas” we said, pretending to be oblivious to his request. He let us through. It was a relief to be out of Mozambique with the car intact and only one police fine. I’ll have to go back one day and see the rest and hopefully do some more diving. The country has potential as a holiday destination if you don’t mind roughing it and dealing with corrupt officials. In retrospect, I should have left Mozambique off the itinerary. It had been a long return haul, and not the most relaxing way to start off a trip but it was a good introduction on what to expect on a more comprehensive stay.