On the 16th of June 1994 we set sail from Durban, South Africa for
Bazaruto - a group of islands in the Mozambique Channel, just North of
Maputo. Our crew comprised of Ern, a new recruit Ken and ourselves. We had swells of up to two metres throughout the passage to
Richards Bay, where we arrived at midmorning the following day.
For
some time we'd toyed with the idea of relocating our moorings to their marina, so we'd decided to call in on our way up the coast to assess the services available. At the time we were disappointed with the pontoons as they appeared to be shaky and unsafe and there was an offensive smell coming from a nearby factory. We recently returned there to visit some American yachties we'd met in SE. Asia and it's evident that they've now resolved their problems as it's developed into an excellent and popular marina.
By noon the following day we were underway again, in perfect sailing conditions with views of a beautiful, tranquil coastline. Just off Jesser
Point, Sodwana, a boatload of scuba divers came alongside on their way out to the reef. We chatted together and they gave us news of an old friend Neville Ayliff, a diving instructor, whom we'd met at Msikaba where he'd previously been employed as a game ranger.
After two days of perfect sailing we arrived at Maputo (formerly Lourenzo Marques) in the late afternoon of 20th June.
Maputo is no longer a popular stopover so cruising yachts usually now call in at
Inhaca Island, which is situated at the entrance to the Bay. We, however, entered the harbour as Bob wanted to visit an old colleague, and we also needed to top up the diesel tanks. We tied up in the small craft harbour and made contact with Ed who came down to the wharf to collect us.
He took us to a magnificent double-storied house where we drew up at a large, ornate cast-iron gate. When a man emerged from the gatehouse Bob turned to Ed, his mouth open and ready to speak but before he could utter a word, Ed cut him short with; "Please Bob, don't rag me about this,
I'm sufficiently embarrassed as it is. This is not our house, we rent it and it comes complete with a housekeeper and that gatekeeper. Unfortunately we need the gate for security reasons and I'm perfectly capable of opening and shutting it myself. That guy is the housekeeper's son, all her kids live on the property and we feed them. I've asked him time and again not to do this but it gets me nowhere. He sits in that thing day and night and opens and shuts the gate every time we move in or out of the place. I've spoken to his mother and she says he does it to compensate for his food and lodging. He can't find work 'cause there isn't any. I can't win this battle so please, do me a favour and drop it"
We'd brought our laundry ashore and I asked where we would find a
Laundromat. There weren't any - they'd all closed down when the Portuguese left, so he suggested that we make an arrangement with his housekeeper. When we collected it the following day the asking price was so paltry that Bob added a zero. She burst into tears of gratitude.
Shortly, Sandy joined us and we all set off for the Costa de Sol. We drew up at a large old hotel -a legend in southern Africa - and whilst it had obviously gone to seed, we could see that it must have been imposing in it's day. Our waiter produced a white starched tablecloth, threadbare but clean and the meal was outstanding - prawns peri-peri, Portuguese style. After dinner we went on to a nightclub in "Sin City".
The patrons sat drinking at tables surrounding a small dance floor - on the stage was a band with a female vocalist. Ed drew our attention to the numerous women moving between the tables and dancing with the patrons and every now and again a couple would disappear behind a curtain. Most people wouldn't find this extraordinary but in 1994 prostitution was illegal in our country, so we gawked like
yahoos. After the show we returned to Ed's home for a nightcap and much to his embarrassment, the gateman was still at his post.
Next day we met Ed's partner David. He was a little bird of an Englishman and looked exactly
like I'd imagine a Dickens character would look. He sat hunched over his desk, spectacles perched on the end of his nose and steel bands securing his shirt sleeves.
Ed was at a conference so David gave us a lift to the restaurant where we were meeting for lunch. He drove a rickety old Ford Cortina which stalled on every hill and continually rolled backwards. In his precise Oxford accent he informed us that he was not at all embarrassed about his car and had no intention of replacing it. "If you buy a new car in this place you only have it for a day - they steal them! But the buggers won't steal this thing. Just look at this car in front of us - do you see see it's tail lights? They're riveted on with steel brackets. All the cars here are like that. Look there, there's another. They're all the same. You stop at a traffic light and while you're waiting for the light to change they unscrew your bloody lenses and nick them!"
"Do you see those tall buildings up there on that hill? Most of them eight to ten
stories high. Can you see the burglar guards? Look at them, right up to the bloody top floor! Do y' see them?"... We saw them. ..."Why do they put burglar guards right up there?" enquired Bob. "To keep the buggers out that's why! Security! They climb right up the sides of those buildings. Would you believe it? They climb right to the top to break in. They're starving to bloody death 'cause there's nothing left here anymore. Nothing's safe in this place. Silly buggers chased the Portuguese out of here, actually drove some of them into the sea. Lot of them drowned y'know. Then they pillaged the whole bloody place and now there's nothing left to steal. And there's no work here anymore - nobody left to create jobs. So they're starving!"
"And another thing, there's four or five families crammed into one apartment in those buildings up there. They don't pay their bills, they can't, so they've got no water or electricity. Even the bloody elevators don't work". We shrieked with laughter. It was such a sad story and he was so angry and frustrated and here we were, laughing, little realising that all too soon we'd experience similar problems in some areas of our
own country.
The time arrived to press onwards, so we weighed anchor and motored over to a filthy black wall where the diesel pump was situated. It was ebb tide and there was about an 8 metre drop from the wall to the yacht. Poor Ken never seemed to get anything right. He threw a rope which fell pathetically short and when the over-enthusiastic attendant stretched out to catch it, he tumbled off the wall into the filthy, oily water afloat with litter. I was certain I'd felt and heard a bump against the yacht as he went by and added to the melee by shrieking out to anyone and everyone in an effort to establish whether he'd been injured. At last he surfaced and if he was hurt he wasn't letting on. He'd lost enough "face" already!
A crowd gathered and every wise guy was shrieking orders to the next - this was an occasion; this was excitement; something was happening! Usually nothing happens, ... and they have no way of keeping occupied to fill the long, hungry days.
Finally we were tied up and refueling commenced. It was all moving very slowly so I asked Ern to take the garbage ashore. He dumped it into a 44 gallon drum put there for the purpose and in a flash a bunch of kids rushed to the drum and fought to get inside. They threw out the bags and I watched through binoculars as they sat on the wharf rooting through the contents, quarrelling and fighting. Everything appeared to be precious. They classified cigarette butts and plastic bags into piles, then using their fingers, licked everything from inside the tins. They even gnawed on the fruit cores and vegetable peelings. It was so pitiful that from then onwards I classified all our garbage as it accumulated on board. I was certain that irrespective of what we gave them they would still raid garbage cans. There were just too many mouths to feed and so very little to feed them on.
BAZARUTO:
At 15h00 on 22 June we left Maputo for Santa
Carolina, an Island in the centre of Bazaruto Bay. On the way we tried to call in at
Linga Linga in Inhambane Bay but were unable to find the landfall buoy and we later learnt that it had gone adrift. The crew amused themselves by goading the yacht "Seeker" into a race and their noses were quite out of joint when the "Fat Lady" lost. She was built for comfort not for speed! We had some good sailing and anchored off Carolina at 09h00 on 26th June.
We spent the next four days cruising around the stunningly beautiful Bazaruto Archipelago, taking great care to keep within the numerous channels. Ern, the lightest and most agile male on board was hoisted to the top of the mast in the boson's chair to act as
lookout and guide.
We stopped off at Coconut Bay on the island of
Bazaruto where a new lodge appeared to be under construction, and went ashore to have a look around. It was being developed by two delightful young couples who were thrilled to have customers and happy to show us around. They told us that crayfish was on the menu so we decided to swell their coffers by ordering lunch. Bob runs a dry ship whilst underway so we "gave the cat a canary" and ordered a pre lunch beer.
Too late we realised that someone had only been sent to catch the crayfish after we'd ordered, because the meal took a long time coming. The sun was shining, the scenery was beautiful, we were all relaxed and the beer was ice-cold ....................
A note in the log reads:-
"BOB DOES HIPPO-CROCA-POMARULA DUCK-DIVE FOR LOCALS AT COCONUT BAY".
Totally relaxed and slightly inebriated, Bob's rubber sandal slipped from under his foot whilst we were boarding the dingy to leave. He toppled over backwards and was completely immersed underwater, causing shrieks of laughter from both the crew and our erstwhile hosts.....
Almost from the time we'd left Durban there'd been a tense atmosphere on board. Ken was overbearing and officious and behaved like the proverbial nerd in a position of authority for the first time in his life. Although Bob possessed higher qualifications than Ken, his various certificates of authorisation hadn't arrived in the mail by the time we left Durban, so he lacked the official 'paper' to take command of the vessel beyond Durban Port. Consequently, Ken was the necessary 'paper' on board.
Ken had rattled my cage even before we'd left our moorings in Durban. I was in the galley stowing supplies when he officiously summonsed all crew to the cockpit, then raising his voice added "And that means you too - Sally!". Naturally we all complied
and went above immediately and oh my, he really laid it on, barking commands and delegating duties like an immature Captain Cook. Bob's face was expressionless. Ern lowered his head, but not before I saw his suppressed smile. "OK,' I thought "you're going to have to go with this girl'. At this late stage the
twerp is an unfortunate necessary evil, so
let him have his moment".
When he wasn't throwing his weight around he would lapse into reflections on his life story. He was from a broken home and was raised by "Mummy". It was obvious that "Daddy" regularly kicked ass from a distance, seemingly trying to make a man of him. But Daddy too, was overprotective. He regularly contacted the yacht by radio phone and without even a greeting, would bark at Bob; "I'd like to speak to the Captain please?" and the little twerp would literally wriggle with pleasure when he heard it. If he hadn't caused us to dislike him so thoroughly we would probably have felt compassion for him.
One day whilst painting my nails in the cockpit a tiny drop of nail varnish fell onto the slatted teak bench-seat. He was the only other person present so I pointed it out to him and asked him to be careful not to smudge it as I would be able to lift it off carefully once it had dried. He immediately and deliberately stretched his foot across and smeared it into the timber, looking straight into my eyes with a spiteful expression on his face. Well I lost it, went
ape and gave him a verbal bashing, whereupon he burst into tears!
He should never have been on a yacht. The poor chap was awfully clumsy and continually fell over his feet. Every time he left the cockpit he tripped over one of primary winches almost taking himself overboard but he never seemed to learn that it was there. And the more he embarrassed himself the nastier he became to us. Ern hated the sight of him and on one occasion Bob had to restrain him when a fist fight almost broke out.
In light of this I desperately needed
some space and solitude so I had a chat with Bob. He felt the same so we decided to find an established lodge to spend a few days ashore on our own.
At 15h00 on the 4th of July we anchored off Benguera Island, directly in front of the lodge and within spitting distance of the beach. We went ashore and were relieved to find that there was accommodation available. We were allotted a delightful, well-appointed en-suite grass-thatched chalet where we remained for four
days (see pic.).
One of the inhabitants was a "Nag-apie" (a tiny nocturnal
monkey - see pic), who was a gregarious little chap and a great favourite with the guests. He frequented the entertainment area each evening and appeared to be a potential alcoholic. Unfortunately he was the only one of his species on the island and consequently didn't have a mate. No one knew how long he'd been there or how he'd got there.
The barman shared an amusing story about him with us. It may very well be one of Africa's notorious urban legends but is nevertheless worth repeating. One year when he was away on his annual vacation the Nag-apie took a shine to the replacement barman. Every night when the stand-in closed the bar and retired to his quarters, the Nag-apie would accompany him. Of course this was his "stay awake time" and he wanted to play! So he would scamper around the room, swing from the curtains to the top of the wardrobe and dive-bomb the bed. Consequently the unfortunate 'temp' never got any sleep.
One morning management informed him that a business convention was to take place the following day and that he would have to do a lunch hour shift in addition to his normal duties. He was concerned about how he was going to cope as he just wasn't getting enough sleep at night. So he prepared a makeshift bed inside a louvered drawer and placed the little creature inside it - with a lighted torch! Apparently the trick worked.
When we rejoined the yacht Bob noticed brownish marks on the bollards. They subsequently turned out to be stains as no amount of scrubbing and rubbing would remove them, irrespective of what detergent we used. They were left there by the
fairies as no one had noticed them, nor did anyone know how they'd got there. Later Bob noticed Ken smashing a coconut open on a bollard and the mystery was solved - the marks were caused by the juice of the coconut skins, but there was no apology or remorse and he
simply showed his resentment by lapsing into one of his frequent sulks.
On 8th July we weighed anchor, said farewell to Paradise and set sail with the intention of having another go at entering
Inhambane. Once again sailing conditions were phenomenal and at times our speed over ground was in excess of 9 knots. - excellent for a fat lady! We trolled for fish and laughed at the birds following behind, fighting over the bait. There was great excitement when Ern caught a small barracuda, then the whales put on one of their magnificent water ballets, leaping and plunging and tail-walking and smiling with their beautiful laughing faces. And oh life was wonderful and we were so fortunate to be out
there, doing what we were doing and seeing everything we were seeing.
Our next door neighbour in the marina back in Durban, Dr. Roy Wood, had previously owned a hotel at Ponta de Barra Falsa (Pomeni Point) and we knew it was somewhere hereabouts. He was forced to abandon the property during the Mozambique civil war when guests ceased to come. Someone spotted it; "There it is!". "Where?" "Right up there on top of the hill". "Oh, there!" "Yes, exactly where he said it would be, on top of that hill!" "Oh, it's beautiful!" "What a fantastic spot!" "Perfect place for a holiday."
By the time we arrived at Inhambane Bay the light was failing and it was too late to enter. Consequently we were forced to spend the entire night tacking backwards and forwards outside the bay, waiting for daylight. Obviously Ern had retained his sense of humour as his 4h50 log read:- "Inhambane to Inhambane in twelve hours".
At long last it started to get light and at 06h00,
on an almost full, rising tide we positioned the yacht at the point where the fairway buoy should have been, then followed the directions Ed had given us. We were pleasantly surprised to find that brand new channel buoys had been installed right into the bay.
Ern went forward and positioned himself on the bowsprit to watch and ensure that we remained safely within the channel. Suddenly he shouted out to attract our attention and we thought we heard the word shark. We rushed to starboard side and there, cruising around at No.4 buoy was an enormous, menacing, tiger shark. As we're not familiar with the habits of sharks we don't know whether it's extraordinary that each and every time we passed that particular buoy, he was there - exactly in the same spot.
Once we got into the inner bay we proceeded to the
Linga Linga point and dropped anchor in the lagoon. Seerose swung on her anchor only ten metres from the
beach (see pic). We tidied up and ate lunch.
An hour or two later we noticed two people walking along the beach. They hailed the yacht and waved. Bob and Ern jumped into the dinghy and went to meet them. Wearing a brilliant smile and without any form of greeting the stranger enquired of Bob "Do you play chess?". He replied in the affirmative but added that he was a bit rusty as he hadn't played for many years. It was only then that the stranger stretched out his hand and said "Welcome, my name is Mike". We later learnt that anyone who happened to stumble upon this remote and unknown area was received in a similar manner. If a hapless visitor didn't play chess he was ignored.
Mike admired the yacht so Bob invited them to come aboard. It transpired that he hailed from Bath in England and was in the process of building a lodge on the Linga Linga point, using only local indigenous materials. Later, when they were leaving, he invited us all to join him for dinner that evening.
I was reluctant to go along. Mike's companion was a very young local lass who didn't appear to speak or understand a word of English, making it impossible for her and I to communicate. I believe she was equally as uncomfortable and we must have looked like a pair of half-wits sitting there nodding and grinning at each other!
When we arrived that evening there was a large fish on the barbeque and Mike, oblivious to his guests, was locked in a game of chess with a young man. He glanced up, waved us to some chairs around the campfire and continued with his game. There was no sign of his companion but later when I went into the hut in search of the bathroom I found her sitting on the kitchen floor, propped against a wall and fast asleep.
The game ended and Bob was invited to replace Mike's previous opponent, who then drew up a chair next to mine. His name was Mel and we soon discovered that I'd known his parents many years previously. He hailed from Umhlanga Rocks, an area north of Durban and was currently employed by Mike to oversee construction of the lodge. I remembered the little boy and the fact that he was a brilliant child who'd won scholarships to the finest schools and colleges and wondered what on earth he was doing here!
The fish was ready so our host tore himself from his game and over supper - which we ate on our laps - he told us a little about his life. He'd apparently relocated to Mozambique shortly after the local war, having heard that there were Russians in the area and he'd always wanted to play chess against a Russian. We found him both fascinating and disgusting and we ourselves couldn't understand why we returned to visit him time and again.
Generally there were between ten and twelve guests at a time but we could never work out where they came from. There was always a bottle of brandy and a glass at Mike's elbow. Once he'd ensnared a chess opponent he became oblivious to everyone else present, giving his full attention to the game and the contents of his glass. The unspoken rules were; if you're hungry help yourselves; if you're thirsty pour yourself a drink (providing of course that you've brought your own, and some whisky for your host); find yourself a broken chair or whatever else you can find to sit upon; make yourself at home; don't disturb the
chess game!
Before we left that evening Mike mentioned that he was sailing over to Maxixe in his small motorised dhow the following day. Ken begged a lift expressing interest in exploring the town. When Mike returned that evening he was alone. On arrival in Maxixe they'd gone their separate ways after arranging a meeting point at a given time. Ken hadn't arrived so Mike had left without him.
Next morning Ken was still missing and we were understandably anxious. We couldn't imagine what had happened to him and were also concerned about his safety. He finally pitched at midday and only when questioned, announced that he'd lost track of time and had slept over for the night. As was to be expected there was no apology or embarrassment for having alarmed us.
Meanwhile Ed, Sandy and their two daughters had arrived in their motor boat and checked into the lodge. We spent the evening ashore with them and they spent the next day on board the yacht.
The following morning 17 July at 09h00 we left Inhambane to return to Durban and a few extracts from the log will give seasoned yachties a good laugh and an inkling of the atmosphere on board:-
20/7 01h00 Mysterious red light to stb.- Ken
20/7 02h00 Mysterious red light still to stb - Ken
20/7 03h00 Mysterious red light's a fishing boat!!! - Ern
.........
20/7 09h00 At last, finished cleaning the pig sty! - Sally
.........
21/7 04h00 We're lost at sea so heading inshore - Ken
.........
21/7 11h00 On track again, we were 8 miles off course - Bob
.........
21/7 13h55 Passed the breakwater & entered Durban Harbour - Sally
21/7 15h00 Whoppeeeeee! Capt. Coconut has left forever - Ern
