Travelling in Mozambique (part 3 - Bazaruto)

Well, moving on, after drugging myself and lulling myself to sleep at the sound of buzzing mozzies, I woke up good as new and took a boat across to Bazaruto Island, my next stop. Now this place is dubbed a “pearl of the Indian Ocean” for its wonderful natural diversity, be it on land or sea. It is where the few remaining dugongs in the coast of Southern Africa can be seen, and has the best sea life viewing for the interested diver. Again, being the home to such fading beauty, the whole archipelago (including four more islands: Benguerua, Magaruque, Santa Carolina and Bangue; all exquisite) has been declared a protected area, and form part of a massive park, the Bazaruto Archipelago National Park (BANP). I was thrilled to be there. The white sands, the smell of the untouched beach, I’d waited a long time for it, my whole trip had been leading up to this moment. I’d been to Bazaruto once before, for a grand total of 45 minutes on a snorkelling trip. Because it is a protected area, I hadn’t been allowed in any further without a pass from the park that would cost me dearly. Now, I was invited by the park and would be staying in their facilities! Damn, I love my job! When I chose tourism as a career, it was moments like these I had in mind. And now here I was, happily wondering through the park while being offered the respect of a knowledgeable superior. I bled it for all it had. They could have bowed to me if they liked, they were more than welcome to. After practically chasing me out of their precious island once in the past, this was revenge served cold - delish!

Ok, don’t get me wrong; while Bazaruto Island is a piece of paradise, there are different grades of paradise on offer, customised to your personal budget. Accommodation ranges from basic (bring own food and gear, blah, blah, blah) to ultra-chic (a four-star lodge with all luxury little girls like me desire!). In comparison, my modest little place (actually, it’s a spacious beach house) was somewhere in between. The beach was at my doorstep and the water was a 3min walk away, forget hearing it, I could smell it. Only thing was (and this is big for me), there was no eating facility. The option was, cook for yourself or drive to the posh lodge. Well, option one was rejected coz no one told me I’d need to bring groceries along, so off I went to option two. My designated driver was a 20 year-old young man, the same who’d been manning our boat so capably on our ride to the island. I was impressed at such strong displays of manliness at such young age, but hey, they mature earlier in the sticks. My high opinion of him dropped a notch though, as I realised as I got closer to the car that the blaring sound coming from it was none other than (wait for it) Enrique Iglesias’ ‘Escape’. No I don’t mean a random song, he had the whole album on (wait for it again) tape! It was all could do to not express my shock. I honestly think he might’ve taken offence if I had. So we just made our silent trip over, and I kept my mouth shut. Luckily, I knew some of the songs, so I kinda sang under my breath to make him feel comfortable. Someone must ring Enrique and tell him his PR team is doing a heck of a job, what with getting him fans in remote islands at the edge of Africa and all.

Funny though, the path we took for our route to the posh lodge was through the beach (like I recently read in a book - warcrime!) and this is supposed to be forbidden in most countries. Sure, Moz has no laws against it yet, but hey, isn’t this a National Park? How come it’s ok for the staff to drive over sand crabs and run over birds? Not to mention the displacement of the sand… not impressed! (In their defence, it seems the normal path used is flooded due to high tides. My question is: if this is a yearly occurrence, why isn’t there an alternative path?) Anyway, we finally got to the lodge (about 5km from park), and I was told to wait at the bar while a table was prepared for me. This place is truly posh. I found myself wondering if I would be able to afford it. Turns out, they charge $18 for the buffet and $2 for the drink. In retrospect, it isn’t all that bad for a 4**** hotel, but then it sounded like daylight robbery. With the same amount, I had eaten for the past three nights on mainland! And I thought Vilanculos was expensive! Anyway, I smiled elegantly, and paid with a there’s-more-where-that-came-from expression on my face (though there wasn’t that much more), and walked out confidently. Now, this wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t mention that I was the only seated black person in the room (all other black people were either waiting tables or managing the waiters) and the only one there alone. These were good reasons to attract loads of attention. The manager had personally arranged for a table with a view (he was really cool) and escorted me to it. That left the rest of the room to wonder (and maybe him a little too), if I would be able to pay for the meal. The waiter came to me with a calculator at the end, should I need to do some mathematical headstand to cough up the dough. I was offended, of course, and settled my bill with the above-mentioned attitude.

On our way back, I noticed my driver was considerably more… what’s the word… conversational. He asked about my job, my life in Jo’burg, the price of a 2nd hand Nokia 6230i in SA, you know, the usual. I noticed that, probably in an attempt to redeem himself from his choice of music earlier, we were now forced to shout at each other over the blaring sounds of Lucky Dube. Tell you what, this boy has eclectic taste in music (Enrique Iglesias and Lucky Dube are highly unlikely to share a stage, but nowadays one never knows). Anyway, I was still a bit shocked by all the conversation coming out of him when I realised what had triggered it. He stopped mid-sentence to take a double swig of something in a can. I hadn’t realised he had one, coz it was cosily secured between his thighs. Couldn’t have a good look at the label, but from the sweet smell of barley, my guess is it wasn’t Coke. After that, I started paying double attention to the road. We narrowly missed a seagull, I’m sure we squished that crab and we went too close to a bush.

And then we were home. Well, as it turns out, due to electricity constraints, the park has electricity for 3 hours a day (18h00 - 21h00). After that, it is pitch black. We got home at 21h13, and as expected, it was dark. I had to find my way to my house, and that is kinda difficult when all around you is black beyond belief. Something brushed against my arm, and thought I heard a sound in the bush (what is it about the darkness that jolts one’s imagination?). Made it, tripped, stumbled and nearly fell. Fidgeted to get the key in the door (this took a while), got in, got (un)dressed in the dark, and climbed into bed. For a first day, it wasn’t too bad.

Day two in paradise was calm. Went out to do field work early on, the trip to the location is about 90 minutes (30km). On the way, the driver was back to his quiet self, and Lucky Dube was back on the speaker. The vegetation out there is truly exquisite! Green as far as the eye can see, with the odd interruption of perfect dunes of untouched white sand. Here and there, when uphill, the view is breathtaking: a mix of bush and beach sand dunes, with the occasional lake here and there and blue sea in the backdrop. Such diversity! The birds are magnificent, every colour, size and sound (D, u’d love this, really!). Anyway, once at location, it was business as usual. On our way back, we were once again tortured with Lucky Dube’s slo-motioned voice (I tell you if I have to hear him for another minute…), and I couldn’t help but wince painfully.

Later that night, on our way to the posh lodge for my dinner, I was pleasantly surprised (and once again, shocked). Not only had Lucky Dube been dismissed, but another crooner was on the speakers (no, not Enrique): Tony Braxton - the Best Of! I was partly flattered that he was so thoughtful as to change the music, and a bit uneasy about it. I’m a Toni fan with the best of them, but how many guys d’you know that sing along to ‘boy, you’re making me high’? Yeah, neither do I!

For that night, dinner was interesting. I was greeted warmly by another hotel manager, who was fully impressed at the work we were doing in the island. Turns out he was also a Tukkies Boy (a student at UP - read my profile!). Conversation was interesting, as another guest joined in, and so did the Scuba Manager (who could have been a Billabong model - blonde hair, perfect tan and square jaw! Those men actually exist in real life?). Well, the chat got so good, that when I asked to be escorted to my table for one, the Brad, the other guest, invited me to join him at his. He was a nice enough man, so I said yes (and he had been telling me all about his wonderful wife who’d just had to go back to California on work). Now, if I really wanted to get more attention on me than what I’d received the previous night (only black chick in the place, remember?), this was the way to do it. Enter and dine centre stage with a wealthy American heart surgeon (I kid you not, I have his card to prove it!). Of course, apart from the managers we’d been with, everyone thought the dirtiest things about me. But really, I couldn’t care less! Brad was great, a true gentleman, and made for great conversation about, oh just about everything! He did, however, insist on paying my bill, and in all honesty, I really wanted to pay it myself to show those other idiots that I could, but it would be impolite to refuse his offer. Back home, all went smoothly - I’d been smart enough to buy some candles on the way home.


My third night in Bazaruto was a lazy one. I did not go out to do fieldwork but remained in to put pen to paper, so was afforded the luxury of sleeping in. I was woken up by a commotion in the thatched roof, and the agitated sound of birds. Now, I probably should have mentioned this, but I share my chalet with a young couple of lovebirds (and I mean two actual birds, wings and everything). They moved in with me in my first day, and have since begun building their nest from the grass of the thatched roof. It’s a messy affair, as you can imagine, and they might have had a disagreement on the architecture, because I woke up to quite a commotion. Sharp and shrill chirping sounds, followed by a chase around the ceiling, and some displacement of dried grass. After waking up fully, and paying closer attention, I realised that not only was I sharing a room with the couple, I was interrupting their honeymoon - it was mating season! I watched the whole ritual: from the fluffy plumage parade to the coy chasing game and the actual mating. Now I understood why they needed a protected pad. Of course other ordinary birds were happy to have theirs on palm trees surrounded by chirpy neighbours, but not these youngsters, they needed a cosy place with en-suite bathroom.

Anyway, besides the birds, not much else happened. Got some work done, read a book in the sun, walked along the beach and had a cosy nap. Fed the birds in the garden, watched the lazy cat sleep amongst them (unbelievable!), and watched the squirrels run on the trees. Opted against going to the posh hotel for dinner, was invited to eat in instead. One of my hosts had arranged for a meal of calamari and crab to be prepared, double delish! After all this, I was ready to go home. I missed my family (especially because they live in a house with hot water and TV), but most of all, I missed my boyfriend who was desperately lonely without me (at least I like to think he was). The first was less than 24 hours away, and the second followed closely only 15 hours behind. I just couldn’t wait!

My 24 hrs in Mozambique was marked by travel and exhaustion. First I flew from Bazaruto to Vilanculos in a tiny charter plane. The short flight has three stops: one side of the island, then to another, and finally to Benguerua, a different island. All this is accomplished in a space of 20 minutes! Very impressive! While I hate flying small planes (don’t feel very stable to me), this beats the 2hour boat ride to mainland.

Once in Vilanculos, I had a couple of hours before my flight to Maputo, so decided to spend those at the airport restaurant. As there was no free table in the shade, I got all bold and approached a young fellow that was looking lonely on a perfectly situated table. He was happy to share it with me, and we got to chatting. I realised when he asked me if I was married that I’d been asked that countless time since I’d arrived in Moz. This worries me: does it mean I look married, or does society expect it of me now? Alternatively, I’d just assumed it was men’s way of ascertaining my availability, but if that was it, this displayed acute unoriginality from Moz Men. Anyway, my flight to Maputo lasted 60 minutes, followed hours later by another 50 minutes from Maputo to Johannesburg.

And that brought me to the end of my travels through Southern Mozambique. I must admit, the experiences were priceless, and the lessons invaluable. I made friends along the way and met a variety of people I do not want (or will be able) to forget. Despite the misfortunes and misadventures, I enjoyed every exhausting minute, and look forward to repeating the experience in further exploration of my home country.

And to you, I hope you enjoyed reading this half as much as I enjoyed writing it. If I came off a bit (or a lot) whinny, than I apologise. The intention was to show the experience from a city girl’s perspective. And that’s me. Your average Big City Girl. I’ve come to terms with it. Maybe someday the world will too.

Travel in Mozambique (part 2 - Vilanculos)

My next stop was Vilanculos, further north in Mozambique, but still in the country’s southern provinces. It is famous for its great and beautiful beach. Great people, wonderful weather (if you can stand the clammy humidity), sunshine and clear water all year round! By this time, my birding-enthusiast colleague had abandoned me to go conduct a birding tour through South Africa (when I said enthusiast, you thought I was exaggerating, didn’t you? Well, turns out he’s a real pro, so there!).

Now, Vilanculos, despite being the equivalent of a bustling metropolis if compared to Chirindzeni, has loads to do before it can impress a big city girl like me. I’ve been there plenty of times before on family h-days, but being there on work made it different. Now I needed i-net and photocopying facilities, for example, and turns out that they charge an arm, a leg and a kidney if you want to photocopy a double-sided sheet of paper. But, my attention (and worry) was directed to my accommodation. See, while the area has the most magnificent lodges, these cost the going rate of 20 pints of fresh human blood in the black market per night (had to be more expensive than a copy). Well, as it turned out, I was booked into a tiny lil place (dingy might be the word I’m looking for). The good news is it had en-suite bathroom. The bad news is (or are, coz I have a list):
 The toilet leaked when flushed (which means all that was being flushed away, leaked a little on its way out… Eew!)
 The toilet did not like to flush (which means that a bucket of water stood next to it at all times. It stripped me of all dignity having to ask someone for water whenever I dared to pee.)
 There was no hot water (unless warmed at request, which meant that extra 45 mins had to be budgeted for bath time).
 There was no water whatsoever from 8h00 onwards (a secret no one let me in on, so found out the hard way. How does one describe the dry silence that follows the opening of a tap, when one is standing with toothbrush in hand? Needless to say, a bath from bucket was in order… charming!)
 The place is infested with mosquitoes, true to the area. In all fairness, they do have mozzie nets, but these were really dusty, and I couldn’t breathe under one, much less sleep.
Alright, to be fair, maybe I am exaggerating a lil, after all I am a true city girl, through and through, and anything beneath 2 stars is beneath me (camping excluded). That being said, it wasn’t half bad, if we exclude the crappy toilet (pun intended), the lack of hot and all water and the dusty nets. To their credit, they improvised to something resembling room service, which was greatly appreciated by me (even if they checked on me every 10 mins to know if they could have they could have their plate back, lest I run with it and sell it in the black market. On second thought, the mismatched cutlery might fetch a high price, so I can see why they worried).

Well, during my stay there, I was lucky enough to be afforded the experience of falling ill in the area. Came down with bitter case of tonsillitis, and was seized by a chilling fever, complete with all aches and pains complimentary to any bed-ridding illness. The people were great and extra attentive, got me medicine and occasionally threw a sympathy look in my direction (don’t you just hate those?) But, it is important to note, and I should have mentioned this earlier, they were all way older that I am, emotionally and/or physically. The youngest of the group was 21 years old, but is married and has a child and single-handedly manages her household for her husband. I felt small; after all, I can’t even manage the pot plants my sister left in my house (by the way, Nan, two died, and I’m holding my breath with the last one). Anyway, if you know me, you know that I’m as petite as they come, and have the face and body of a mid-teenager (16-18yrs). Showing I couldn’t handle a throbbing headache, fading eyesight and freezing chill on a sunny 27oC afternoon was a grave sign of weakness. I wanted their respect, not their sympathy.

However, my fading strength was put to the test when I finally got to the hotel and ordered my meal to be brought to my room (I could do that on account of their perception that I was well connected. Also, there were few other tenants, so it didn’t make major difference.). Well, it was about 15h45 when I was finally released from my group of enumerators and dropped at the hotel. Bearing in mind that I hadn’t had any proper food since the previous night (3 tennis biscuits in the morning and 5 during the day hardly count as proper food), I was starving, and the pills I’d popped to numb the pain were beginning to eat at the walls of my stomach. So I figure, I’ll order something simple and quick to make - grilled chicken. Now, in Moz chicken is a staple diet, we can make it anywhere at anytime, and we’re not half bad at it. Sadly, my assumption was wrong. At about 16h45, I mustered the strength to drag myself to the kitchen to know where my food was. At this point, my body has begun digesting itself and I am wondering what could be taking so long in negotiating a chicken to wilfully jump into the fire for my sake. See, the way I see it, plenty of time had passed, and the chicken should have given in by now. After all, I only required a quarter of its limbs, and there’s no reason why it wouldn’t be willing to donate that for a good cause.

Well, what d’you know, turns out there was a bit of a glitch with the damn bird. After strong negotiations, and finally agreeing to contribute to the cause wholeheartedly, the chicken got stressed at the sight of the butcher’s knife, thus resulting in the stiffness of its muscles, and making it difficult to prepare (i.e. they ran out and got one but it was still frozen). The cook kindly asked me to wait why he lulled it to a relaxed state, but that would mean another 45 minutes excluding cooking time (no microwave there). I would be dead with my stomach firmly stuck to my back by then. Then I got desperate. I asked the receptionist/ bar lady/ concierge/ waitress to give me anything. Anything would do, as long as I could digest it without convulsions of disgust, but please, could she give some food by 45 minutes ago. To which she said, sure, lemme see what I can do. Sure and Suzan, I got me a plate of prawns delivered to my room in 30 minutes. I kicked myself for not having begged in an undignified manner before, and devoured the little things with the decorum of (and I hate to admit it,) an ill-mannered cave-child. If you know me, you know I love prawns, but what the heck, I didn’t taste these, I didn’t even enjoy them. I just threw them in to fill the void. And that they did, so I finally took all my drugs, with the peace that should I feel nauseous (and I had the whole day), at least now I had something to contribute.

Travelling in Mozambique (part 1 - Chirindzeni)

Hello again, it’s been long since my last entry, but I have a good excuse. I have been truly busy with work, and most of all, I’ve been travelling. No, not to a thousand exotic places, just across the border to Mozambique (home for me).

For those of you who haven’t bothered to read my profile (family an true friends excluded), I’m Mozambican. Now, since Moz is in the South of Africa, and I leave in the Republic of South Africa, guess it’s safe to say that I’m an African. Well, turns out that its not as easy as that… as a matter of fact, some would disagree entirely, stating that because my values and belief systems are so deeply influenced by western culture (I blame my mother, but who doesn’t?), I am obviously not as African as I should be. Of course this argument is only valid if you completely ignore my dark complexion and coarse hair, but there may be some truth in it somewhere. For starters, I do not speak any of the native local languages/dialects. I’m currently learning Tsonga (my mother tongue) and Shangaan (similar to Tsonga, so trying to kill the proverbial two birds) but at the moment, my pronunciation is laughable and my vocab leaves loads to be desired. I can, however, speak fluent English and Portuguese, and even dabble in French with minimum dignity. This means that while I can converse with an American tourist and chat to a French nun, I need an interpreter when visiting my grandmother. Needless to say, I get my fair share of disapproving stares form the older generation out in the sticks. And that is exactly where I went during my ‘travel’, and the reason for this entry, so here goes.

I was subcontracted by another consulting team to participate in a project in Mozambique (if u’d read my profile, u’d know I’m a consultant), so off I went to the sticks in the motherland for 2 weeks. My first stop was the Chirindzeni Sacred Forest, near Xai-xai. Gorgeous piece of nature, and true to natural wonders, it was out in the middle of nowhere. The forest is surrounded by the village of Chirindzeni, which in turn is part of a group of five villages in the area. Now, the fascinating thing is that the Forest, unlike most of our natural habitats, is that it’s not heading towards death and devastation. As a matter of fact, while it’s a protected area, it is not endangered at all (how cool is that!). The only reason for this is that the Chirindzeni community has taken upon itself to preserve it and keep it alive and well. Ask me why. Ok, here it is, the forest is one of the many sacred forests in the country, and where the community communicates with the ancestors. This means that according to the rules set by the community, no tree or fruit should be collected from it for sale. And, the belief is that should the trees be cut, the spring housed in the forest will dry out, taking away the community’s only water source. Rumour has it that those who have stolen from the forest got lost in it and could not find their way out. A ceremony by the traditional leader had to be made asking the Spirits’ forgiveness and mercy. Now, how cool is it that a forest be best preserved through fear and tradition than through educated knowledge of consequence! Anyway, I was lucky enough to be allowed into the forest with my colleague, an avid birding enthusiast, who showed me a beautiful variety of birds, making that experience practically magical… Oh yeah, among the rules of forest no-no’s are any romantic endeavours crossing your minds at this very moment (yes, even that last one, you dirty minded children!). As a matter of fact, it is believed (or rumoured, not sure) that any couple engaging in the original sin in the forest will be stuck together until the cleansing/forgiveness ceremony is performed (which is a pity, seeing as it is such a romantic environment for picnics with all types of dessert…).

Moving on, I was totally impressed by the difference in values out there to what I live in the ‘city’. See, if a stranger, say you out in the world reading this now, pitches at my door unannounced and unfamiliar (as strangers often are), my instinct would be to speak to you monosyllabically from the crack of the door allowed by the door chain. This would eventually tell you that I wanted you to leave before I called someone to forcefully remove you from my property. In the sticks, however, the story goes differently. At the sight of an approaching stranger, unfamiliar or otherwise, the host will run inside to get some chairs (or send the nearest toddler to do it), and accommodate the stranger even before knowing what he/she wants. No conversation is had before you are comfortably sat under the shade of a big tree with the fresh breeze dispelling the blazing heat. Only then can the stranger state his/her case, be it good or bad news. Needless to say, I prefer this warm and fuzzy neighbourliness, but chances are that I won’t be getting any in the great and cold Johannesburg, South Africa.

Anyway, as you can imagine, communication with the locals was… challenging for me. Luckily, our local partners were kind (and unlike me, local) enough to know the language and translate it to me in Portuguese. This made for a cute little translating chain, look:
Local chief -- Local partner (Shangaan)
Local partner -- Me (Portuguese)
Me -- My S. African colleague (English)

Like I said, an interesting lil’ chain. Of course, if my Shangaan was as decent as it should be, a level of the chain could’ve been eliminated, but oh well.

Luv Bite

Well, so I met this guy...

Hum, where to begin? Mm, let start from the very beginnin (duh!)
The time is October 2003
Some 3 years back, I went home for the weekend (for those who dont kno, im a Mozambican in South Africa). Coincidentally, my cousin Bia was having her birthday party on the same weekend so i joined her and her friends for a bit of a celebration. Now, sometime later that afternoon, in comes a tall, absolutely goodlooking male specimen. Now, I talking broad shoulders, beautiful lips, dark eyes and gorgeous smile.
Well, as heaven would have it, he was the boyfriend of one of the gals in the crowd... had come to see her, bla, bla,bla . Well, that was the end of that. I bit my lip and looked away, resisting the temptation of flirting maliciously with that delicious piece of short-bread!
So a couple o'days later, we (my cuz and her gals) venture to catch a movie. Sure enough, what i thought would be a wonderful girls' night out becomes 4 long hours of temptation island, as i resist all in me that wants to snatch this man from this little girl and show him what a real woman can do to him... (well, maybe not so graphically!) Anyway, being the good christian that i am, I held it in, and lusted in silence.
Back to the present: the time is April 2006.
So there I was, arriving at the airport for my flight back home to spend the Easter weekend with the famly. Turns out, the guy at the counter doesnt have my e-ticket... have to wait 15mins... As i move out of the queue, i catch a glimpse of someone from the corner of my eye. Nothing focused, just a black t-shirt... uhm, and the scent of a cologne... do i know that smell? Naa, they all kinda smell the same... nice, though. Real nice.
Anyway, 20mins later, no sign o'my ticket. Im getting impatient. Turn up the music on my ipod, read another chapter of my book. Sit on the floor, ignore the world.
45mins, and no ticket! Now Im pissed. Let me at him, Im gonna show that man why "Hell hath no fury..." Im mumblin curses under my breath, and about to go threaten the guy when, oh, turns out im not the onlyone waiting for my ticket. Someone stands in line behind me also waiting for a ticket to materialise from the counter... anyway, who cares? Ignore the world, remember? Ignore the w- but wait, that's really good cologne! Stop it. He's probably Mozambican (Moz is smaller that u think--- every1 is related to everybody-- incest is rife!)
Anyhow, turns out that my "mumbling under my breath" thing was kinda loud (never advisable to mumble curses while listening to ur ipod at in full volume), cz the guy behind me goes
"im sorry, what?"
So I turn around and... Lo' & B'hold! If it isnt the delicious shortbread from Bia's party!!
Well, admittedly, I handt realised that untill i looked straight at him... but, hey, i never forget a beautifull man! Well, while he still looks hot (and i mean it), I remember he is younger than I am(did i mention that before?oh, sorry. well, he is), and i had totally forgotten all about it (no really, it was 3 yrs ago!)
Well, we start chatting about the incompetence of our national airline (trust them for an agreeble topic of conversation... but not much else!), and turns out he's also going home for easter. We live in the same city (OMG), bla, bla, bla...
Aha, the guy at the counter does a magic tric, and voila! a plane ticket. His, not mine. So off he goes, leaving me behind... alone... ticketless... furious! 20 mins more before I make a scene at the check-in counter, and scream idle threats. By now, the clerk's getting kinda scared, so they stick a boarding pass in my hand, and send me on my way. Like i said, im pissed. its ugly when i get like that...
Get to the otherside, everyone is boarding and the boy is nowhere to be seen... well, too bad! Im in a bad mood now anyway. Ah, there he is, as i get in... in the VIP section (nice!). I pass by in a huff, throw him an annoyed smile as he smiles sweetly to show his pity... i dont need that!
Well, lets try again: turn up the ipod. read another chapter. ignore the world... and the irritating guy next to me trying to get my attention (damn, i hate cattle class! they let anyone in here!) where was i? right, ignore the world.
AH, we're here... Maputo (Moz's capital), my home town... warm, wonderful, full moon, and... oh, look at that, the Boy is lookin...no, he's waiting. for me. Wasnt he in vip, what's he doin here with us, little pple? (Well, il answer that for you, he wanted to chat... to me!) Takes my number in SA, we pick our bags from the rolling thingy, and he disappears amid the tribe of family members waiting for him outside... i go with my tribe, happily smiling to myself...
Two weeks later, ring-a-ding-ding! If it isnt the Boy! Just wanted to say hello(right). Wanna get together sumtime(sure). Make a plan, bla, bla, bla. Eventually have dinner and a movie, and turns out he has brains behind all that brawn! A couple more conversations revealed really freaky coincidences:
we went to the same primary school (but in Moz, who hasnt! its a popular school)
we swam for the same swimming club
with the same coach!
we now live in the same city
And through it all, we never met!

Well, we met now, and are as happy as ever. Turns out, he is all that girl said he was... and more! So there, Im in love! But better yet, I'm loved! So very much!!

So B, this is for you... Adoro-te!