AND THEN THEY WERE FOUR

IN JULIA'S WORDS

5 May 2013

Sunday’s twilight was turning to murky dusk as the smells from Rehana’s pot of beans curry bubbling on our handy campstove thankfully overwhelmed the whiffynesses that occasionally wafted our way, depending on the wind, from the ablution block not far from our camp.

I was working next to her, literally elbow-deep in the stretchy goooeey putty that was supposed to be the dough that would become my very first ever batch of roti’s. Having no clue about what I was doing, and carefully following a recipe written by someone who also clearly had no clue how to make roti, I was deeply regretting my decision to become a camp baker (you would just love the dash of canary-yellow on my burgundy apron).

One of the first things Carol, Mike, Rehana and I had agreed on when we talked about making this trip: NEVER drive at night. Now light was running out. If Mike and Carol didn’t make it over the border in the next few minutes, they’d be driving in the dark on those demonsandroads to get to Ponta.

And then, in the nick of time, BINGO! there they were, right here beside us, in their Big Silva Mobile. Now at last, a day under a month since Rehana and I had started the journey, our travelling party was assembled.

Carol “Cavorting” Clarke, fresh from frolicking with the bottlenose dolphins

Rehana “Risque” Rossouw: Was there ever a snappier snorkeller?

Mike “McGyver” Martin, whose newfound love of Velcro ensures nobody sits on his panama hat

Jules “Groovin’” Grey, doing her bit to bring camp back into camping

Big Silva and Big Red together at last. Carol fears we are too big, too much. She may be right.

Ponta’s been quite lovely in its sandy higglee-piglee-border-tourist-town way, but it’s high time to get going. Tomorrow morning we break camp, to Maputo.




IN REHANA'S WORDS

Friday May 2, 2013

Another small complaint, if I’m allowed: The downside to being a few steps from the beach is that tractors towing the dive companies’ boats and their clients to the beach every morning pass our tent from around 6am. I'm hoping that when it’s our turn to go out to the reefs in one of those boats, we’ll also grin happily at the grumpy campers who scowl at us.

When we left Mabibi for the land of cellphone reception, there was a message from Lana: “I was waiting for this day. Ruhi asked if Nana is coming to fetch him later. He said he misses Nana. And then agreed that Nana is gone far away in the big red car.”

More bitter tears on the road. But I’m also very glad that Ruhi has realised that I’m gone away from him, and that he’s stopped waiting for me to come fetch him later. He’s my screensaver. Julia found his jacket under our piles on the backseat when we were packing the car to leave Mabibi. I’m taking it all the way with me to Egypt.

Our day started off on an anxious note. Jules woke up with a sore throat and apprehension about malaria. We took one of our testing kits and headed for the pharmacy in town. The no-nonsense, efficient pharmacist had her own test that she administered soundlessly.
Jules's finger was pricked, the blood was collected into the plastic test kit slider, she was cleared of malaria and sent away with Strepsils. Jules napped, I read for the rest of the morning but we made up for our slothful ways later with a two-hour walk on the beach.
I have no regrets about quitting work when taking an afternoon walk on a beautiful beach.

Ponta mall. The bakery at the top of the street had the best, freshly baked all day bread

We snorkeled on Wednesday at a reef about 20km from Ponta. It seemed like it took more time to get there in the inflatable dinghy than the time we spent in the water. But it was a stunning ride up the coast, skimming on crystal-clear water. 
We saw our first turtle, its shell the same browns and golds sprinkled on the reef. There was loads of interesting coral and very few fishies – on the open sea they’re the same spectacular colours as at Mabibi, but they’re proper-sized fish.

Yesterday Jules and I woke up convinced we had been eaten by mosquitos in the night despite all our careful precautions; but when the rows of bites turned to blisters and then developed hot, hard heads, we realised we were afflicted by the same itchy scratchy Jules had when snorkeling in Jamaica. We must find out what causes it and how to alleviate it.

Today we walked 7km along the beach to Ponta Malongane for Portuguese chicken and grilled barracuda. The meal was worth every step in the soft sand. We hitchhiked back to Ponta, our nerves failing on the hot sand after we decided to walk down the “main road” back into town. 
It’s been years since I’ve done that, but Julia’s thumb still works – two bakkies stopped for us. We had to stand at the back because we needed to cling to something on the bumpy road.

On the deck at Ponta Malongane

The most popular drink in Ponta is red Sparletta and rum. Everybody drinks large glasses of it: ouma and oupa, ma en pa, oom en tannie. Adults with red tongues look very strange.

Almost all the restaurants we’ve gone to cater for the Ermelo community. Julia calls it moskos, as in “dis mos kos”.  They all have the same menus: ribs and chips, burgers and chips, prawns and chips, fried calamari and chips, fried chicken and chips, toasted cheese and chips and snack baskets of fried dingusse with chips.

We had one good seafood meal in town but if the prawns don’t come fried in a snack basket its like R300 for six. Jules had a pizza at the Love restaurant that serves Italian(!) food. I had a salad, which should indicate to those who know me how kak the food is here. My first prego had a Steers salad dressing (I kid you not) as the sauce; the second was a piece of white steamed chicken breast on a roll with nary garlic nor chillies in sight.

Despite the fact that I’ve been grinning hugely for years at the prospect of travelling up the east coast of Africa, I’m surprised at how much sand there is on the coast. We’re barefoot most of the time, it’s easier than shaking out your shoes every five steps. Even flipflops get buried in the sand.

Every price in Ponta is hugely inflated. Sure, the roads are bad, but there’s a huge Spar just over the border with South Africa, half an hour’s drive away. A 500ml bottle of water is R12 most places and the Laundromat wants R100 for a load. Everybody quotes prices in rands, which is accepted everywhere, and every establishment arbitrarily sets its own exchange rate.

Jules and I are practicing our Portuguese everywhere we go, but the dominant language in town is Afrikaans. Last night we went to watch cricket at the beach bar a few steps from our campsite, where they played boeremusiek. Julia strained to listen to the words, and swore that she heard the word “kommies”. 

Since arrived we’ve been outdoors most days, only going up into the tent to sleep. We  sit outside at night under the pine trees shielding our campsite (hopefully with no snakes disguised as twigs). 

In Ponta, 25 degrees is hotter than it is in Joburg, but most days there’s a breeze off the sea and we can plunge in any time we want to cool off. There are vendors on the beach who set up gazebos for the pale Ermelo boeps. 

I can feel Joburg’s winter chasing us up the coast; we wear long sleeves at night and not only to keep the mozzies off our extremities. But we’re outside, feeling safe and cocooned, and an oom is only a few metres away if we need him.

Final observations on Ponta:

1. Such a fine camper have I become that I can wear the same pants for two days, and when I change I sniff them and put them away to be worn again. I am doing my own washing, by hand. I don't think I ever have before. I did wash nappies a couple of times (thanks Dad!), but my experience with handwash is limited. Fortunately, none of us brought an iron, which is why all our photos are taken from a distance.

2. I have not been in the sea for two days because it is a bit windy - see, I do have some standards. But I’ve not been a total sloth. I’ve read three books in the week we’ve been here, and between the four of us we have hundreds of titles. And we're all on holiday for eleven months!

3. A waitress said “dankie” to me; and despite being in Ermelo-by-the sea for a week already, I got a big skrik jong. Neil Diamond has a big following among the owners of local establishments.

 4. I drank a red Sparletta yesterday, without the rum, and was overcome by pity for myself.