John Mustart takes his trip up East Africa day by day
N JUNE 1968 at the age of 21 I arrived at Nova Freixo (Cuamba) in northwestern Mozambique. I had spent the last month hitch-hiking round Mozambique, the year after my father died.
The following morning I walked to a bridge outside town to wait for a lift. Soon a military Land Rover skidded to a halt, and four rifle-bearing Portuguese soldiers leapt out and ordered me into the vehicle.
They took me back into town to a building with the signage of “Portuguese Interpol” where I was questioned.
On seeing my South African passport they became friendly. I was heading for Malawi and was told to stay in town and wait for a lift to the border with a policeman at 5pm. Frelimo, the liberation army fighting the Portuguese, was infiltrating Mozambique along this route.
Later I accompanied the policeman in his Land Rover to Mandimba, at the Malawi border. The road was a rough track through dense bush. As there was a danger of being ambushed, he drove the 191km at scary speed.
After arriving in Madimba, he invited me to have dinner with him and his wife. While eating, the policeman was called outside to interrogate someone. The ensuing squealing was very unnerving. He soon returned and after dinner I was shown a bed in the dining room where I slept.
When day broke I thanked my hosts and walked the short distance to the border post. After having my passport stamped I walked to the town of Namwera close by. The Malawian police
Itravelmag@sundaytimes.co.za cautioned me not to walk out of town and advised me to catch a bus, which I soon did. The jampacked bus travelled over beautiful highlands and after a while I could see Lake Malawi from quite a high vantage point.
We finally arrived at a little town on the Shire River, where it leaves the lake. I crossed the Shire on a ferry and got a lift to Monkey Bay, where I made my camp close to the lake. I rigged up some mosquito netting on four sticks around my head and spent the night lying dead still. The netting became black with mosquitoes.
The next morning I moved to mosquito-free and beautiful Cape Maclear. There was a run-down hotel at one end of the beach, a fishing village at the other end, and a small island about a kilometre or two offshore.
The island looked inviting so the next day I persuaded a Malawian to take me there and fetch me three days later. He was at first reluctant as he believed the island to be haunted, but nevertheless took me and my box of supplies, just purchased from the store, to the island in a small dinghy.
We landed on a small beach shaded by trees. The coastline was rocky and the water crystal clear. It was so beautiful. I happily set up camp, and while writing in my diary (sadly lost) an otter came close and inquisitively peered at me from behind a tree. I took a picture of it leaping into the water.
The following morning two fishermen glided onto the beach in their dugout canoe heavily loaded with a good catch and their nets. I gave them coffee and in return they gutted a fish for me. After they left I walked the length of the island, taking a few hours to reach the other end through thick bush.
At one point a two-metre snake slithered past me. I saw a large leguaan and I could hear the cries of fish eagles constantly. On a little beach at the far end were some fishermen who kindly took me back to my camp in a canoe. I spent the rest of my stay relaxing and swimming in the crystal clear water. I felt very happy.
At the appointed time the boat came chugging towards the island to return me to the mainland. The “Captain” was relieved to find me alive and well. The next day I got a lift to Zomba and continued my journey. — © John Mustart