Bram's small study of Critters

Corn crickets, the pesty little fellows Maud wrote about earlier, cause havoc with our water melon-patch hardly visible in the background. We do not use poison, so it’s a man-to-man and woman-to-woman battle, which you can see we as Goliaths win easily in terms of size. However, they outnumber us big time. Our security cameras spot all movement - we bash one, two, three, but this species are true cannibals, eating their own kind besides all our greens, so they come back bigger and bitter.
We need the men in black with the big guns, as this is mission impossible in our eco day and age. We also know now they favour our chili plants, but leave the parsley, hot horny (on their back-shield) devils they are.


Talking about creepy crawlers, what about miss Scorpio. Gorgeous beady little eyes, and a big mouth to match her stinger. She was found under the 4 x 4 but had no intentions to go for a drive to the bush. Maud wanted a kill again, as a few weeks ago we discovered how bad a bite can be. Our neighbors' daughter called us: their 'hunting dog had been bitten by a snake’, she thought. I drove immediately down to the vet, half an hour still, so I was happy the dog was still breathing, although unable to move. The vet needed only to touch the animal to know that it was a scorpion bite. Their venom makes the whole skin hypersensitive to touch, and even a healthy dog like Mma Supa must stay on a drip in the hospital for three days.

the Art of Camping

If you want to learn how to camp, go camp with Afrikaners.
First of all they know how to pack a car. When they start offloading, we see with awe they really manage to take 'everything but the kitchen sink': babies, the microwave, fishing rods, grannies, the braai stand, dogs, fridge, and etcetera. Okay, our bakkie is considerably smaller than most of theirs, but still - ours looks like a mess after the first coffee break, while theirs look so organized...


Building up an Afrikaner camp is a very smooth operation. Within a wink the kraal is ready and organized, without any dispute. That's when we remember the camping trips of our youth. Entering the campsite was the signal for the first heated discussion: where to put the tent. That solved, the arguing about how to put the tent together would start. When the family was finally settled, the fun could begin: look how new arrivals bravely fight their camping gear.
Once the kraal is finished and the fridge is hooked up, it's time for the third or so beer and a bite. Where we have to make do with a peanut butter sandwich, they have their big bowls with homemade goodies. The bowls have to be emptied, because granny is already peeling the potatoes for the braai salad.


We already knew South Africans love fishing, but we were amazed by the popularity of other water-fun. So many trailers with boats, jet ski's, water ski's - you name it, they have it. After the first bite, it's time to pack the cooler and go to the shore. The only unpopular water-activity seems to be swimming. Maburu like to sit or stand in the water while sipping a beer, though.


In Xai-Xai we did have our share of fellow-swimmers, but they all looked very Mozambican or Portuguese.


Special about Xai-Xai is the continuous 'room-service', orders to be placed in Portuguese, Afrikaans or English. At the campsite and on the beach everything is brought to you: the baker-boy (recognizable by his white cap) walks by with bread; the ladies deliver fruits and veggies; the kids bring fresh coconuts; and boys and young men sell every souvenir you want, or don't want at all.


At the Xai-Xai campsite the service is even more elaborate. Every tent is 'owned' by a man who'll wash, clean, cook, and do whatever else you want.
However packed this campsite is (and all the other sites we stayed at), for us Europeans it's amazingly quiet and tranquil. No loud music, in fact, hardly any music, no shouting nor quarrelling, no stress - these Afrikaners are so relaxed! They did learn from Africa; who cares whether the braai is served at 06:00 hours on the dot or not - the food tastes just as good anytime.

Maputo

Armed with a map of the city-centre and two not-roaming cell phones we drive into greater Maputo. It's - big time big, if you're used to Gabs, and big time confusing. As Paul said, there're virtually no road signs. The atmosphere in the car is tense anyway; it's one of those moments where de hick-ups while travelling seem more important than the fun, and we're both convinced the other is extremely daft.


The traffic is like the city: big and confusing. Both remind us of Accra, the capital of Ghana. While quarrelling we drive straight to the meeting-point: restaurant Piri Piri, right in the centre of downtown Maputo. Thank whomever for our luck and the straightforward, grid-like basic design of the inner city!


Our luck holds on: there's a parking spot right in front of Piri Piri. That takes care of one staying with the car and one loitering in front of the restaurant, without any means of communication. We keep thinking of a brilliant solution to contact Paul, while hoping he'll just turn up without notification. The brilliant solution is of course very simple: just ask those men, enjoying their after-work beers, to phone Paul for us.


Knowing our host's coming in about 10 minutes, we dare to sit down and order a local beer. We don't have meticais yet, and this is definitely the wrong moment to wander around looking for an atm that will take our bankcards, or a money-changer who will convert our rands, so Paul's our walking wallet.
After Paul introduced us to two colleagues and some local snacks, we travel on. The Jenkins-estate is outside the other side of Maputo. On our way we'll drive past Costa do Sol - a restaurant at the Indian Ocean. Our South-African friend Anel told us their seafood is marvellous, so we'll have dinner there.
It's pitch-dark and rainy by now. We have to follow Paul closely. Driving on after our pit stop (the seafood is indeed mouth-watering) we understand why Paul said we would never find their roundavel unguided. Dirt roads, no signs - we lose all sense of direction.


The coming days we learn our way, driving to and around the city with the Jenkins-family. Paul shows us some of the noteworthy buildings, like the train station, designed by Eiffel. After we get ourselves Moz-sim-cards, we do all the tourist-things: shop, have a bite here and there, and visit a museum or two.


The Museum of Modern Art is preparing an exhibition of objects made out of scrap metal. We particularly like the Jesus-figure below, made out of weaponry.


Inside the museum we're not allowed to make pictures, so we can only show one sneak snapshot. Paul makes up for this by giving us a book for Christmas about Makonde carvings (intricate, symbolic wooden statues).


In the garden we can take photos, and visit the workshop.


Most of the resident artists are working on what looks to us as typically African woodcraft. We're puzzled when we see one guy busy coping Buddha's. Tourists probably won't buy those; are the Chinese moving in after all?


We were already surprised by the lack of Chinese shops; the stores Botswana and South Africa are plastered with, where you find a broad range of cheap whatevers. Being poorer Mozambique is maybe one stage behind, and the Chinese started exploring, but are not retailing yet.


A more public art form are the big murals we come across while driving around. Both the style and the subjects remind Maud of the murals in Nicaragua.
Another fascinating sight are the many formal and informal markets, where everything you might need is sold: food, tools, capulanas, furniture, and etcetera.

Masimo

While we're still not finished posting our holiday-stories, life goes on in Morwa. We drive to town to see friends, clients and suppliers, and to shop. We try our hand at gardening, carpentry, needlework, and so on. Maud's ice-cream-experiments are a routine by now, so she added mixing up lemonades.
Meanwhile the life of most of our fellow-Morwans is taken over by the masimo. It finally started to rain again, which means it's time to plough and sow, and kill the zillion corn-crickets. The elderly ladies, who traditionally are managing the lands, have been restless for some time already. The bags of flour, tea, and other necessities have been bought, the seeds are sorted; everything is ready but for the rain. Now that 'pula a jana' (the rain is here), they have to mobilize their unwilling family-members to join them. "These young people - nowadays they only want to go out and sleep in", they complain. Another complication is the tractor: it's only Pula 250 per morgen to plough, but everyone wants the tractor to come now now.


Bashi took us to his family-masimo. His aunt & uncle planted after the first rains, and are living on their lands with one of their grandsons to look after the crops (maize, sorghum, sugarcane, beans, and members of the pumpkin-family). In the old days the grannies and little kids used to live on the masimo the whole growing season. Also in the old days they had a lot of goats and chickens there, but not anymore, because the Zimbabweans will steal them, people say. Word has it they'll nick the harvest also, and sell it behind Gabs' buss-station, but so far we've only seen them as labour on the commercial farms, working for next to nothing.


Bashi's grandmother has been looking forward to this since moths. Tradition or not, her black clothes, to be worn for a year after her husbands death, will have to go when the rains start, she announced early November, as she send B&B to Mochudi to get supplies for her living on the masimo.

Pride

Contrary to the prejudice of our neighbours, we actually manage to grow something in our yard. Sitting in the middle of our watermelon-field Bram is ever so proud of our kouseband. We even got a lot of seeds, so (grand)ma Bashi also started their kouseband-experiment.


There are some quite big watermelons already, but they're invisible since Bashi taught us how to hide them for the monkeys. Until recently we only had vervet monkeys. Now a group of baboons decided to move into the bush behind our house. Actually the vervets are more irritating, because they're fearless little vandals. The big, shy bobbejane just look so much more impressive when they mooch close to our backyard.

Dutch Soul Food

Add first-class company, Bernard's fruit-salad and beer & wine, and your evening is more than fine!

What We Eat

Bram likes to start his day with Morvite - a sorghum-based porridge, enriched with mineral, vitamins and loads of sugar. According to Bashi's grandfather, who like many Batswana worked in the South African mines, this is miner's food. Mine-food will make you very strong, so the big Morvite-bag travels with us everywhere.


Some people prefer the wide variety of fruits that grow in Mozambique. Mango, papaya, baby bananas, pineapple, grapes - who needs anything else? A healthy and yummy breakfast, especially if you wash it down with champagne (note the green glass).
After the first breakfast follows the second, just to taste if the leftovers from yesterdays dinner are as yummy as we remember.


Meanwhile preparations for the next dinner have to start before it gets too hot. Next to the fruits Mozambicans grow nice vegetables also. A lot of the veggies are quite similar to those the Batswana grow; pumpkin-like stuff, all sorts of leaves, tomatoes.


Despite the similarity in the basic ingredients, the resulting dishes are quite different. According to us Mozambicans have definitely more skills in preparing tasty food, so back home we'll start practising. The mixtures of leaves, ground peanuts or coconut, and yet to be discovered ingredients are especially scrumptious.


Food-wise the ocean and the rivers offer something dry Botswana doesn't have: seafood. Beforehand we only knew the famous Mozambican shrimps; you get them as a frozen luxury item in Botswana and South Africa. But there's so much more: big fish, small fish, squid, shellfish - all very appetizing.


All in one: Mozambique was great! Not only food-wise, but altogether; the people, the landscape, de ocean, the general atmosphere - certainly a place to visit again.

X-mas

Christmas is a real family-do, with us as add-ons to Jacinta's relatives. The hot, humid weather Paul promised won from the cold we experienced upon arriving. Everyone assembles under the big Marula-tree; shade is essential now!


The men and ladies of the house have been cooking something up since yesterday. While Jacinta's nephew Chico, who also lives on the Jenkins-estate, was handling the goat, his wife Jacinta (the second) busied herself with chicken and a lot of other dishes. Likewise P&J prepared a truckload of good food.


By the time the last guests have arrived, and all the dishes are served, everyone is really hungry. It's good we have a mountain of food! The cakes Jacinta's sister brought also go down nicely. Amazing: she even has kruidnootjes, a traditional Dutch sweet for Sinterklaas (December 5), bought in South Africa.


The centre of the group is Jacinta's mother Vovo, the matriarch, here with her great-granddaughter Nina.


The finale of the party is The Group Picture. When finally the group is assembled (try keeping the kids interested while waiting for those who have to do their hair or change), everyone tries to look their best at the same time. Meanwhile the photographers keep clicking; this is only one of many portraits...


Sunset comes near, so the guests need to get back home. It's an acquired art to get as many people and luggage as possible in a car. We notice once more Europeans just don't know how to use transport efficiently. Chico's nephew little Jose, our favourite Pai Natal, nicely fits on top of everyone, and off they go.

Capulanas

What to buy in Mozambique? Being into textiles we have to at least have a look at capulanas, the multifunctional pieces of cloth Mozambican women not only wear, but use for a lot of other purposes to. Carry your kid in it, use it as a towel, serviette, suitcase, or fill your treasure-trunk with them; the applications are many.


Another great Christmas-gift is the book about the history, symbolic meanings and daily use of capulanas. This particular design for instance is for the traditional healers and soothsayers.


Having a look leads to buying. Back home Bram proudly hops on the catwalk with his Frelimo-cloth.

2008

Our first Nwagaa o Mosha-visitors, neighbour Mma Binkie and two of her grandsons.
Note the brand-new Germin dress. This type of cloth (in brown, blue or red, with an endless range of motifs) and dress is the traditional Botswana outfit for women. They say Germin derives from German. I'm not sure if that's because of the print or the dress, or both.


We got that piece of cloth for Mma Binkie in Maud's favourite shop, where she gets acute choice-stress because of the huge variety of fabrics, beads, sequence, lace, ribbons, and etcetera. Actually it's the best shop in a wondrous shopping street (for the Dutchies: Voortrekkers Avenue in Vereeniging), packed with mainly Indian retailers, who sell more textile-related stuff than anyone can imagine.

How to?

Here's another call for recipes. Mma Binkie slaughtered a goat to celebrate the New Year, and presented us with what Bram calls a 'geitenbout'. It's a piece of bone with a big chunk of meat attached to it.
We could of course ask anyone in the village how to prepare this, but apart from the liver and the famous seswaa, Bram doesn't like the Batswana-recipes for goat very much. For seswaa you need at least half a goat (without the head and the entrails, those parts are used for other dishes), and a huge pot, and it involves hours of cooking and pounding. Bram does like the Turkish and Indonesian way to do goat, so if you've got a recipe for that, please mail it or place it as a comment. Talking about recipes, we have too many pumpkin-flowers, and don't now how to prepare them.
The goat above by the way was part of the delicious Christmas-meal at Paul & Jacinta's.

Where We Slept

To give an overview of our Christmas-break, we'll revive our series 'Where We Sleep'. Later we'll fill in some details, like 'who's this fabulous Pai Natal'.


WWS 1: Bronkhorstspruit
Locals would drive the 1000 k's to Maputo in a day, but for us that seemed too much. Therefore we spend the first night on the brink of Bronkhorstspruit Dam, 50 k's east of Pretoria. From our campsite at Kaia Manzi Resort we see the place where our friend Heintje used to have a cabin across the water.
Although we are ahead of the real holiday-migration, the camp is already packed (for European campers the picture will seem quite empty, but here this is really crowded). For us it's fascinating to stay in between these Afrikaners - this is a detail to be filled in later...


WWS 2-4: Paul & Jacinta, Maputo
After a smooth drive we reach the Mozambican border (Lebombo - Ressano Garcia). Apprehensive, because you never know with borders, and because we saw heavy, and heavily loaded traffic driving up to Lebombo. It's really amazing how much you can tie upon any type of vehicle, especially considering the bad condition of some cars and busses. What to take to Moz: bicycles (the village-women use them for transport) and jerry cans (to fetch water at the communal pump).
Compared to how it can be we have an easy crossing, only 75 minutes, and we don't have to unpack our car because Maud gets our paper signed beforehand by a friendly official, while Bram drives the car to the checkpoint. (No, she didn't bribe him; once again we had a bribe-free vacation).


Upon arriving in Maputo we discover for the second time that day we got too depended on cell phones. We manage to find the meeting point, but our phones don't work, so we can't tell Paul we're there. Luckily we look very much 'ah, shame', standing next to our small bakkie after two days of travelling. A nice, very Portuguese looking man phones Paul for us, and after some beers at Piri Piri we travel on.
Jacinta & Paul just arrived the day before from Edinburgh, so they're not totally organized yet. This is an excellent excuse to have dinner at Costa do Sol, a famous fish-restaurant that happens to be en route to the Jenkins-roundavel just outside Maputo.


WWS 5-8: Xai-Xai
We want to experience the famous Mozambican beaches, so we booked a campsite at Xai-Xai, 200 k's north from Maputo. Praia do Xai-Xai is a mixture of ruined hotels and brand-new beach-houses that makes one wonder.


The beach and the Indian Ocean are indeed amazing. On top of that the water temperature is such that even we can swim!


The campsite is again packed with Afrikaners, who, as Paul says, travel with 'everything but the kitchen sink'. And the servants, we might add. This campsite has it all: men to build up your tent, do the dishes, get firewood, clean the daily catch (those Afrikaners love fishing), wash your clothes, and etcetera. In the morning the baker walks around with fresh bread, and during the day the women pass by with fresh fruits & veggies.


WWS 9-10
Christmas eve we are back at P&J's. When we arrived in Mozambique it was cold and stormy, but by now we get the humid, blazing hot weather Paul predicted. This is why you have to do game-drives at sunrise and sunset; during the day every living thing tries to move as little as possible. Only when Paul starts playing his guitar we know it's time for sundowners and action.


Some people, like the guests, can afford to loiter under the Marula-tree all day, but others can't escape some action during the day. Next to the Christmas-cooking Jacinta has to look after the garden, and check out the new gardener.


Garden is too small a word for the 100 by 300 meter plot P&J have north of Maputo. The huge Marula was already there when they got the plot about 25 years ago. By now they added a lot of mango's and other trees, so we can eat luscious fruits all day.


29 years after they first met, and still in love.
All in one it's a real X-mas, with good company, beautiful presents and delicious food - but that's also to be filled in later.


WWS 11-12
Boxing day we leave for Swaziland. This border (Namaacha - Lomahasha) is heaven compared to RSA-Moz via Nelspruit - almost no other crossers, and a fully computerized visa-system. A small setback is that we have to pay import-tax on the capulanas (cloth) we bought in Maputo, but Bram manages to talk that one down big time.


Luckily most of the cashews we bought along the road in Moz are stashed under our camping-equipment, and the small box with our daily ration gets in untaxed. By now we have this game: getting a smile from any official (police, customs, soldiers) is 1 point, a laugh is 2 points, and chatting 3 points. If the official initially was unfriendly, you get double points. (This all has to be achieved without bribing.)


Hlane Game Sanctuary, where we booked a campsite, is just over the border. But that goes for everything in Swaziland because it's tooo tiny (it's even smaller than the Netherlands). We picked a place without electricity, hoping that would guarantee rest. (Afrikaners like to bring their microwave, water cooker and so on when camping.) They were indeed surprised when we booked, saying 'it's never full'. And empty it is, a beautiful, spacey campsite, with not too much other guests - and a tame ostrich, that likes it's braai-meat medium. All night we hear the lions roar, which adds to the 'back to nature'-feeling.


The sanctuary itself is also pretty, although some parts suffered heavily under the elephants. That's the usual problem with sanctuaries for elephants: they either die or manage to settle nicely - and breed more enthusiastically than the little space they get can carry.
Driving around we get to suspect the lions are lured to a private part of the reserve, close to the campsite. It's fishy: they stay in approximately the same place all night and every night. Like their prey is delivered on a golden platter at a fixed place, and doesn't have to be chased. (The platter must be golden, as the whole reserve belongs to the king.)
For practice they seem to hunt down the occasional biker. Along the highway that runs through the reserve there're these road-signs: 'Bikers beware of lions and elephants'.


WWS 13
After Swaziland we slowly drift back home. Driving to the border we pass Manzini and Mbabane, and deduce from the billboards the formerly famous Swaziland-casino's go online now. Swazi used to be gamblers-heaven for South Africa. Since the RSA-government legalized gambling, there's no need to travel to the Swazi-casino's anymore.
It's another smooth crossing, although there's a bit of waiting, because Ngwenya-Oshoek is an important border, and the visa-system hasn't been computerized yet. Still we have ample time to drive to Vereeniging to buy - stuff (materials for Maud's endless textile-projects) before we look for a camping spot on the brink of the Vaal.
Some years ago we spend a lovely day along the Vaal with friends, a river that's by now a world heritage site. We always wanted to go back, and we find a nice campsite at Vaal Wes, close to Paris. It's packed again, but although we didn't book, manager Willie van Rensburg (his dad was Dutch, he says) finds us a spot right next to the river.


WWS 14
We're very close to Potchefstroom now, but all our Potch-friends are of course celebrating their holidays somewhere else, so we only go there because it's Bram's turn to shop. It's weird to enter Potch and see Louis' house without staying there!
After Bram's shopping-spree we have to decide what to do. We can easily drive home today, but that would end the holiday. We know where to get the keys to both Louis' and Anel's house, so we have the luxury of 'pick your place' in Potch. We decide to do something unplanned, and drive on to Groot Marico. That's on our way to Morwa, and several Botswana-friends say it's great place for a break.
The Indian shopkeeper, where we buy our firecrackers, points us to yet another lovely campsite, at the brink of the Bosveld Dam in the river Marico. It looks packed, and we didn't book, but everyone is very relaxed about that. 'Just pitch your tent anywhere you like', says the son to owner farmer Jan.


Next afternoon we take the back-road that, according to Jan, reduces the distance to Gabs to 120 k's. No Golden Highway via Zeerust for us anymore, except in rainy weather, because than this dirt road will change into a car-trap.
Back home we find everything in impeccable order, thanks to Bashi. Our vegetables have grown amazingly, and we can pick our first kouseband - yummy!