Having left Nkhata Bay with our new alternator and battery, we made our way south to Mozambique. We wanted to stop for fuel when we left Mzuzu, but saw the price and figured we’d try getting it at the next fuel stop. Unfortunately, the next fuel stop was about 150km away and didn’t have any diesel. The attendant informed us it was another 150km to the next fuel stop, which we couldn’t make. So off Cory went, in search for the local fuel merchant. After about 30 minutes and a 2km trek into the local village, he reappeared with fuel in hand. The price went up every time it was mentioned, but eventually we bought our dodgy petrol for about 5% more than the petrol station price. Sacrificing one of our water bottles and Cory’s sock for a filter, we put the fuel in and set off. We found a BP later on and filled up for about 30 minutes, which really seemed to piss off the truck full of 40 locals waiting for the only pump. It was here we found out that the fuel price in Malawi is regulated, so the price was exactly the same as it was in Mzuzu. Way to go team.
We reached Lilongwe around 7pm and decided to find a hotel to get on the internet and grab dinner before we headed off for the rest of our trip to the border. In typical WNT style, we rolled in to a classy establishment, dominated their foyer, and proceeded to stink up the place for the next 4 hours. We didn’t even have dinner there in the end, it was too expensive. The looks we got as we left were unpleasant at best. But we’d seen those looks plenty of times already, and usually by guys with AK47’s, so we cared not. Off we went on our merry way to spend a night driving through the hills with a night’s sleep in our car as our reward.
On the way out of Lilongwe Cory was pulled over and asked how many wines he had had to drink. When he replied “none”, the policeman was dumbfounded. He replied with “None?!?”, and asked the question again. After 30 seconds of this, he let us drive off, still in shock that we hadn’t drunk any wine. We continued on with few dramas and a lot of driver changes, eventually making the border around 3am and had three of the worst hours sleep in the history of man, before waking up at 6am for the border crossing.
Getting into Mozambique took a while because of the visas. We kept ourselves amused by giving some kids at the border some biltong and then walking off to let Cory deal with the 6,000,000 kids who flocked to the car for some food. But apart from that it was all normal and the drive to Tete uninteresting. That was until we had to cross the Zambezi on a bridge that looked significantly bent. We waited ages for our turn to cross, then finally crossed and paid our toll. We found out later that the bridge was bent because they drove 20 tanks on to it as part of a national celebration 6 years earlier. So now it only takes one lane of traffic at a time and only lets one truck on a time. It made me wonder where the toll money went, but I hear the president’s house is quite nice.
In Tete we met Joe who works for Cahora Bassa Safari’s, a farming and touring company, and was to be our guide. 14 cartons of beer bought and stowed, and a 2 hour drive later and we were there. The crocodile farm we were staying at is on an island in the lake, so we had to load up the speed boat and head across. On the hour trip out, we experienced one of the best sunsets that any of us had ever seen. Absolutely stunning. All amazed, we arrived at the crocodile farm to meet Doug & Heather who were looking after us, as well as their close friend Gary, their son Ben, and the au pair Marcela. They were all very nice and we settled in on our first night with some dinner, rugby on DSTV and a few beers.
The next day, Joe and Heather showed us around the croc farm, which was very cool. They purely harvest crocodile skins only, so they capture native eggs, and breed the crocs from babies up to good leather size, which were about 6 or 7 foot long. It’s a huge operation and it was impressive to see. They collect 50,000 eggs a year from the lake, but also have a few breeding crocodiles as a backup. We got to feed the fully grown breeders croc heads and barbel (a type of catfish). These huge guys destroyed the croc heads in one bite and the crunching sound was spine tingling. We tried to see if Cory wanted to go for a run in the pen, even trying to push him in at one point, but he wasn’t keen at all. It was a Saturday, so the rest of the day was taken up with watching rugby, drinking Castle, and getting excited for our fines meeting that night.
The fines meeting is a story in itself. The normal amount of fining and resulting drinks went on, but things got a bit crazier with Gary there. This guy’s blood permanently has 1% alcohol in it and was always keen for just one more beer. A bottle of tequila, Power’s Dry Spirit and 400 beers later, we felt we had obliged. Cory and the others had disappeared by now, so it was just Jas, Jimbo, Gary and myself by this stage. But Gary wasn’t really there in spirit, just in body. After standing at the bar and falling flat on his back onto the concrete floor a few times, we decided to put him to bed. Unfortunately for Gary, his bed was next to the dart board, and we had decided to play long range darts. So we stood 10m back and launched a few darts at the board, getting a few good hits early on. But then one of my darts went a bit wayward, hit the wall, and stabbed into the bed Gary was sleeping on, about 2cm from his face. We all fell over laughing for about 10 minutes, and then realized we should probably stop playing long range darts and head to bed.
The next day was Mother’s Day and Heather wanted us out of there. As they had been spoiling us rotten, we gladly obliged and Gary took us out on his kapenta fishing boat for the day. True to Heather’s spoiling fashion, she had lunch and PLENTY of beers packed in eskies for us. She also said she’d send out dinner if we weren’t on our way back by 5pm. So we set off happily… well tried too. Gary turned on one motor and put it in reverse, but we didn’t go anywhere. A lot of pushing and another motor added in and we were off. We zigzagged our way through the lake at about 1 knot, pretty sure that we could swim faster. The zigzagging was due to Gary’s auto-pilot, a piece of rope holding the rudder, which kept coming undone. After a few near misses with land, we finally settled on a little bay and dropped anchor.
We spent the whole day there, relaxing on the deck, drinking, playing darts, and attempting to fish. After about 6 hours and not a single bite we decided this spot wasn’t great for fishing and we were out of beers. So back home it was… or so we thought. Gary fired up the engines again and went to leave, but soon realized we were stuck in the reeds. So Gary jumped in to cut ourselves away, into the lake that has 75,000 crocodiles. He soon exclaimed that the first engine he turned on earlier in the day was missing its prop and the prop on the other engine was damaged and now half the size. He wasn’t sure how long that had been going on, but it did explain the slow speeds. But to Gary’s credit, we eventually got out of there and set off. With the fishing so bad, we decided to hit a few of Gary’s golf balls off the front of the boat into the lake. There were some good shots, but mostly very bad shots. Gary’s was the highlight, as it somehow got so much top spin it seemed to go back under the boat! We all had a laugh and zigzagged our way back to shore, with a few more near misses, for a nice quite night.
The next few days at Cahora Bassa were spent fishing and relaxing. There were a few barbel caught, but the tiger fish still eluded us. We decided to head off a day early so we could spend an extra day in Harare catching up with all our mates there. Doug & Heather were going on holiday and Marcela had finished work, so we all headed off together back to the mainland.
We needed to head back to Tete before going to Zim because we had left some of our stuff there to fit Joe in the car. I decided to drive the way, but we were running late, so I was speeding a bit to get us there in time. Unfortunately for me, a police man jumped out of the bushes to give me a speeding ticket. He took my license and our insurance and told me to go to the police station in town to pay my ticket. The ticket was around US$30, but the grief I copped from everyone in the car was much much worse. I felt so bad and still was worried about being late that I got the guys to just drop me in town and I walked to the station and back to the house. Luckily African bureaucracy was on my side for a change, and I paid the fine in about 30 seconds. I made it back to the house with the guys still packing up, so I didn’t feel as bad anymore. But the grief seemed to stick around for a bit longer. We left Tete, handed in the ticket to the cop on the road, got our forms back, and made haste for Zimbabwe.
