Road Trippin’

It’s about 120 degrees inside the chapa, and aside from having a long metal skewer jammed through my torso, I feel like one of those rotisserie chickens you find at the grocery store. I’m caked in a marinade of sweat and dust, dehydrated and sleep-deprived.  Now, I’m roasting.  It’s a great combination.

There are ten of us in this car: four volunteers, four professors, a motorista and a cobrador.  It’s not surprise that we’re packed in like sardines, though they did let us sit three to a row instead of four so long as we had some sort of item resting on out lap.  My legs went numb long ago; my ass followed suit soon after.  We’ve been sitting in the Chapa for about four hours, and little do I know it, but we still have another four to go. Luggage fills the back seat from the floor to the ceiling and grocery bags holding everything from vinegar to toilet paper have been crammed into any remaining voids.  Four big black trunks, four large cardboard boxes and four humongous two-year bags form a mountain on the roof that’s capped off with four and a half bicycles.  All of it’s being secured to the luggage rack with about a mile and a half of rope, and there’s not a doubt in my mind that if we turn to hard, we’re gonna tip over.  Oddly, I’m calmed by the thought of being able to use this example to help demonstrate the concept of Center of Gravity to my students when I start teaching Physics in a few months.

We’ve already dropped off Jackie, another volunteer, at some road-side town in Nampula and are now slowly making our way north to Cabo Delgado, the last province before Tanzania.

We make a few other stops along the way, errands for the various Africans in our car: the motorista wants to buy cashews, another guy needs credit for his phone, one of the professors is bored and wants to buy beer.  The Cashew Excursion was my favorite, followed closely by the stop for mangos. Both were totally reminiscent of the train stops along the Kazakh Steppe.  As soon as we pulled over to the side of the road, an army of criancas dressed in tattered clothing and selling fire-roasted cashews engulfed our car, each trying to show us why their tray of was superior.  The prices were just as shocking as the taste.  Maybe it was because I haven’t eaten anything since 5am, but at this point in the journey, I’d eat roasted goat meat if it had been purchased on the side of the road and served to me in a plastic bag with raw onions (and then I did…).  I’ll tell you what though, I could get used to paying next to nothing to live off a diet of mangos and cashews…if my stomach would let me.

Around 3pm, we roll into Mariri, a small village 17km off the highway (an African highway….so it was mostly a road that goes one-way in each direction, or one that’s been under construction for three or four years and just a dirt road next to a road that in the process of being paved), to drop off two more volunteers (Elizabeth and Jamie).  They end up getting right back in the car after storing their bags in the director’s house as aside from a secondary school and a beautiful view, there isn’t much else there.  Wait, there’s a lake; can’t forget the lake.  Anyways, they need supplies and Montepuez is the place to get them.  They are planning on staying with Anna, my site-mate (someone who lives in the same city/town/village, but isn’t necessarily your roommate), for the weekend and returning to site in a few days with their hands full.

After removing a couple bags and bikes, the roof mountain is now more of a hill and we are that much more aerodynamic.  The motorist takes advantage of the decrease in wind resistance by putting the pedal to the floor.  We have 80 more klicks to go as soon as we hit the highway and for the first time all trip, we’re speeding.  It feels great. Next stop, home.

The conversation on the way to Montepuez is an interesting one. We begin talking about monkeys.  Do they have them in Cabo? Yes.  Are there a lot? Maybe.  Do they eat them here?  No.  I jokingly mention that I want one as a pet.  My mindset quickly changes to a more serious nature as I start to get lost in thought while pondering how I’ve actually always wanted to have a real, live pet monkey in real life, and how I might actually be able to fulfill that fantasy in Africa.  I’m brought back to reality when the conversation turns to elephants.  Do they have them in Cabo? Yes.  Are there a lot? Maybe.  Do them eat them? No.  I know that I can’t keep an elephant as a pet, (that’s not to say I don’t want one too, but I’m turned-off by how high-maintenance they seem to be), so my mind doesn’t wander in that direction.  Instead, I sit and listen.  The director sitting next to me starts talking about how about once a year, an elephant will wander into the city.  He also mentions that usually this results in someone dying.  Sad story yes, but on the other hand, everyone dies at some point (except for Keith), and that seems like a pretty interesting way to go out.  Not for me though; I’m keeping my finger’s crossed that when my day comes, it’ll incorporate an explosion, a feast, world record accomplishment, a certificate, and old age.  Mainly the old age part.

As we enter the district of Montepuez (districts are the Mozambican equivalent to counties in the states), I focus back on the surrounding and begin to let it all sink in.  This land, with its sweltering heat, short, craggy mountains, and endless networks of coconut trees that reach high above the houses, is my new home.  I will work here.  I will eat here.  I will play here.  And, I will sweat here all the while…all the time. Because it’s hot.  Did I mention that yet?