I woke up, took a bath, drank some coffee and copied down the instructions for getting to the Peace Corps office in my notebook. There are a few different ways to get there, but for simplicity I picked the one that was recommended by our guide book. So, armed with a capulana bag (ok, it was a purse, but I wasn't going to bring my backpack and This Is Africa TIA) my passport and the directions to the office I headed out. I picked Kim up and we went over to the Chapa stop. Chapas are how most people get around in my part of Mozambique. They're basically unmodified versions of the Ninja Turtle Pizza Van. And anywhere between 25 and 1,000 people fit into them. It's a mystery what happens when a person enters the darkened chapa door. Do they actually get smaller? Is the chapa bigger on the inside than the outside? I don't know.
The first chapa was full, so we had a coke and waited a bit. The next chapa had room for us--IN THE FRONT SEAT! Yesssssssss. Chapa-riding lottery. I sat in the middle, between Kim and the Driver and let her have the window. The transportation-chefe (I don't know who this guy was but he was wearing a bring yellow vest that said something like "Transportation of Mboa-city" on it and he was acting boss like) came over and told Kim that she wasn't allowed to sit next to the window. That men Always sit on the window side and women Always sit in the middle. It went like this:
You must change seats
Why?
Because you are a woman.
Oh really, says who?
It is always done
The Government? Is it a Law?
Kim has mastered the Look of Concern and Sincerity and when she arranged her features this way and asked if there was a Law against riding in the window seat The Transportation-chefe couldn't keep a straight face and wandered off. We had the most lovely ride to the big city in that chapa. The front seat of a chapa is very comfortable, but it can be scary because you can see your impending death speeding up on you. Sometimes it's better to NOT see out the windows. But not this time! The motorista was all sorts of turn signals and keeping a safe distance.
We got out of the chapa at Baixa--the parking lot in the big city that all the chapas go in and out of. Then we set off to find our next chapa that would take us to the office. We were on the lookout for a Costa do Sol chapa ("You'll know it's the right one because it has a pink stripe down the side").
We walked up a hill, stood next to the KFC and began waiting. We waited. A Costa do Sol chapa came by. It was full. You can tell a chapa is full when the door won't close and there are butts and other body parts sticking out of the windows. So we waited some more. More full chapas. we thought maybe we should just fight for a space. This is what the scene looks like: We're standing on the curb with maybe 15 people. A chapa pulls up. 45 more people appear from no where and rush the chapa. Without giving anyone a chance to get out the (now 60 people strong) crowd starts pushing towards the door. People trying to disembark get to body surf out of the chapa and somehow about 30 people manage to find their way in. This is varsity level. Kim and I decided that, thanks anyway, we'll walk. So we set off down the street.
We stopped for a hamburger. It had an egg and cheese on it...deluxe. I half-jokingly hoped that the burger would not give me food poisoning I inhaled the first half, then took a better look at the second half. Immediately I begin to fervently hope that the burger would ONLY give me food poisoning.
Then we walked some more. We knew we were going the right way because every 10 minutes or so a Chapadosol would fly by with some butts and a couple feet or hands wagging out the windows at us. Still full. So we walked some more.
Eventually we had walked enough and we found the PC office. (we walked across the ENTIRE city, about 5 miles) The guards let us in and then told us we could get into the volunteer lounge by using the back door.
You know the code, right?
What? No! No one told us there was a code.
Oh, well, good luck then.
We began desperately texting anyone who Might know the code. Too bad all of our "old" vol. friends are not in the country right now. So I was optimistic and tried to guess the code for a minute or two. Then we gave up and laid on the back porch for a while.
While we were leaving, we ran into an actual staff member! He got us in touch with someone who could give us the code. We got in! Yah! There's a water cooler in there and also AIR CONDITIONING. So we chilled for a few minutes, checked our mail boxes (YOU GUYS! THERE WERE POSTCARDS IN MY BOX! This was the highlight of my day. I dodged Mozamtraffic and treked through the WHOLE city and the postcards in my mailbox made it alllllll worth it. So thanks!) and then headed out.
We caught a Costa do Sol chapa headed back to the Baixa. This was another wonderful chapa experience. The motorista drives and the cobrador collects the money and opens the door and tries to convince more and more people that he still has space. The cobrador in this chapa was bumping the Rhianna (this is Kim's favorite artist, she told me 15 times) and he called out all the stops in advance AND he danced for us. Hilarious.
Back at Baixa we made a quick stop at the central market. I bought some cinnamon and a beet! What treasures! Then we decided to find our chapa back to Mboa-city. The first chapa was full. Really full, and didn't look super road-worthy so we passed it up. By not road worthy: I mean it had to be push started among other physical flaws.
The next chapa was road worthy, but nearly full. Kim was determined that we would get in. She got the last "real" seat in the chapa. That means I got the first "improvised" seat. I don't want to speak too soon--because I know the universe is always creative and that it can always be worse--but I'm pretty sure that in this instance I had the Absolute Worst seat on the chapa. In fact, I might be the only person in the universe over the age of 11 who could have fit in this seat. Or, maybe Mozambiquans are just more flexible than me. Ok, so I got crammed behind the motorista's seat. Facing the person sitting in the Actual Seat. Our knees were intertwined. It was intimate. And then , he motorista reclined his seat, forcing me into a 45 degree tilt towards the girl with whom my knees were already intertwined. I had to choose between searing back pain from trying to force my body into a somewhat upright position or to just give it all up and rest my head on the backpack in her lap. I chose the lap. I prayed that my body would go numb, or that I would pass out or something.
But we made it back! I lived! I successfully traveled from Mboa-city to the Big City with no incidents! I got my mail! I ate a hamburger and didn't even get sick!
A successful day. I may even do it again. I'm on my way to becoming a professional Mozamtraveller.
You walked from Baixa all the way to the PC office? Mad props.
ReplyDeleteHilarious! What a great story . : )
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