My Unforgettable Motorbike Adventure in Southern Africa

Mozambique is known for its delicious prawns, but what really stole my heart was their obsession with potato chips. Picture this: after a grueling accident outside Xai Xai, I finally found myself back at the hotel where I had collapsed in exhaustion the previous day. As I stumbled into the breakfast area, desperately in need of sustenance, I was faced with an intriguing dilemma. My options? A mouthwatering combination of chips and fried egg, another tantalizing mix of chips and scrambled egg, or the classic polony and chips. Can you guess which one I chose?

After spending six incredible weeks on the road, exploring the breathtaking landscapes of Mozambique, I can confidently say that I’ve had my fair share of unforgettable experiences. Some might call them mishaps, but I like to think of them as bizarre coincidences that added an unexpected layer of excitement to my journey. And of course, no adventure in Mozambique would be complete without a generous helping of those delectable chips. (In a recent email exchange with my dad, he jokingly mentioned that I’d need to bulk up when I returned home. As if!)

So, there I was, leaving the hotel bright and early in the morning. I had to find a little star screwdriver to fix the accelerator cable on my bike. It had gotten all sticky, and it was making my ride a bit unpredictable. I mean, who wants a bike that keeps going even when you don’t want it to?

Now, the thing is, my destination was still a long way off. I had to get to Durban on my borrowed bike, and it was a thousand kilometers away. So, I needed to sort out this issue fast.

I walked into a store that was packed with tools, car parts, and bike components. Inside, everything was stacked up high, creating a chaotic scene. “I’m on the hunt for a star screwdriver,” I explained to the shopkeeper, speaking to him in Portuguese.

“Would you like a wheel spanner or a screwdriver?” the man responded in English, trying to clarify my request.

“I need a screwdriver,” I clarified, still speaking in Portuguese. “You know, the tool you use to turn screws.”

But the shopkeeper wasn’t convinced. “I think what you really need is a wheel spanner,” he insisted in English.

Undeterred, I stood my ground. “No, I’m absolutely certain that I need a star screwdriver,” I insisted in English.

The shopkeeper then shouted into the back of the store, “Please bring out a wheel spanner!” In Portuguese.

When the tool was handed to me, I took one look and said, “That’s a wheel spanner. I need a star screwdriver.”

A bit dejected, the shopkeeper admitted, “Oh, well, we’re out of star screwdrivers. I thought maybe you’d be interested in a wheel spanner…” He said this in Portuguese.

Once I finally managed to fix the accelerator cable, which took me two tries at two different shops, I decided to find a clinic. My right ear had been feeling all clogged up, like the cable, and I had lost some of my hearing a few days prior. I was hoping to find something to help me out. I must have spent a good hour looking for the clinic, following seven different sets of directions that were all over the place. It was getting frustrating, so I gave up and headed back to the main road towards the hotel. And wouldn’t you know it, right in the middle of the morning rush hour traffic, a lady who was laughing and chatting on her cell phone ran right out into the road in front of me. I tried to hit the brakes, but it was too late. The tires screeched and there was a loud thud.

So there I was, riding my bike, heart pounding in my chest. And out of nowhere, bam! Someone crashes right into me. I couldn’t believe it. “Are you out of your mind? Look before you cross the road! What am I supposed to tell the police? Oops, sorry officer, I’ve got another one for you.” I shouted in frustration. The person I collided with just stared at me like I was crazy. To be honest, in that moment, I probably was. I mean, if I had kept going off the deep end like that, I might have ended up in some padded room somewhere. Who knows?

Leaving Mozambique that afternoon, I thought I was still sane. But as I found myself nearing the South African border, on the other side of Swaziland, something inside me just didn’t feel right. Being back home so soon after my journey didn’t seem quite right. There’s a certain joy in riding a bike, in taking in the beautiful scenery, in leaning into the curves, and in truly becoming part of the ever-changing environment. It’s a joy that you can’t quite experience when you’re stuck inside a car.

However, this joy is somewhat compromised when you’re constantly rushing from one place to another, as I’ve done all too often during this trip due to the numerous breakdowns. I needed a different kind of day before heading home.

So, I opened up a map and made some rough estimations. It seemed like it would be around 600 kilometers to go all the way around Swaziland. Not much, just a good day’s ride. (Distance seems so much smaller in my mind now.) The following day, I circled around that small but mountainous paradise of a country, and what a delight it was. As I rode past, my left hand cramped from repeatedly giving thumbs up to all the friendly waves from people on the roadside. Finally, things were starting to get easier.