The Unexpected Journey from Likoma Island to Mozambique
Sometimes when you’re living on the road, the road gives you exactly what you need-or maybe life just becomes so simple that you’re more open to receiving and understanding the messages that guide your next steps.
While soaking in the relaxed vibes of Likoma Island, I remembered something I’d heard months earlier: if you make the short crossing from here across Lake Malawi to Mozambique, you can get a multiple-entry visa. This option wasn’t available, or maybe just too costly, when I traveled from Johannesburg to Maputo a few months ago. But now, with some ideas brewing and the promise of flexibility, it seemed worth exploring-especially since the visa fees were considerably lower with my Caribbean passport: $80 instead of £180 as a British traveler.
With my decision made, I headed to the dock, made arrangements to check out of Malawi, and prepared to cross into Mozambique. Simple, right? And indeed, it was-stamp, stamp, and I was free to go. it was late in the day as id believed the border crossing into Mozambique coincided with the arrival of ferry. ( this was wrong as with all transport in Africa they leave the the vessel is full, its the same for truck, busses, taxis and also mini border boats). either way the short 3 km crossing in a small fishing boat was seamless. As I stepped onto Mozambican soil, I strolled up to the immigration office, the only passenger from the boat to do so. The officer inside looked puzzled as I explained my need for a multiple-entry visa and handed over my passport. He had never seen one like mine before, and after a few calls and some fascination with the tiny Caribbean dot it represented, he issued the visa, taking up an entire page in my passport. Just like that, I was officially traveling as a member of the Caribbean community through Mozambique.
In hindsight, entering a region close to civil war, where over a million have displaced and thousands murdered, without any diplomatic support was incredibly naive and stupid to save a few pounds. The only silver lining i thought was a chance encounter months earlier when I had dinner and attended a concert with the British High Commissioner and his wife in Maputo. It was a fun night out, but I never expected to potentially need his help in a professional capacity.
My immediate plan was to travel from Cobue to Lichinga. But as the sun set, I could still see Likoma Island in the distance, and the bus I was waiting for hadn’t arrived. When it finally did, the roads were terrible, the hilly terrain slowed progress, and I quickly realised I was only going as far as Metangula that night. With no Portuguese skills and very little cash-less than $20, thanks to a broken ATM back in Senga Bay and none on Licoma island -I was in a tight spot. My first hotel in Maputo had cost nearly $80 a night, a far cry from the $10 I’d paid last night at Mayoka Village. I signaled to the bus driver that I only had $20 and needed somewhere cheap to stay. He smiled reassuringly and said, “I got you,” though I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant because he said it though his expression and so so thats what i understood.
As we pulled into Metangula, he led me to a nondescript building, knocked on the door, and a tiny hotel appeared, complete with a few guys drinking beer at a makeshift bar. The man at the hotel exchanged my dollars at a rate better than Google’s (thnk god my sim card from a few months back was still working), then showed me to my room. It was small, dirty, and the bed had a plastic cover to protect the sheets from dust, but it was less than $4 for the night-a price I could hardly believe more so as im sre my driver earned a little commission for the introduction.
After a day of border crossings, long bus rides, and no food, I unrolled my sleeping bag on top of the plastic sheets and tried to rest. I woke up early, sliding across the mattress, far from well-rested but determined not to repeat the previous day’s mistakes. I caught the first bus to Lichinga, paid a few dollars, and then took a taxi to the train station and visited an ATM. The plan was to catch a night train to Cuamba, then head to Nacala, and eventually travel up the Atlantic coast toward Dar es Salaam. Simple, right? Unfortunately, no. There was no train-no passenger service until Friday, and no buses heading that way. It was too late, and I was stuck.
The anxiety started creeping in as I considered the vastness of Mozambique and the unrest in the region. The trip from Maputo to Tofo, with its nearly 20 police stops, had been nerve-wracking enough-and that was in the tourist zone. This wasn’t. So, I decided to change plans. If I hurried, I could make it to Monkey Bay in southern Malawi and catch the Ilala ferry on its northward journey. From there, I could push north toward Tanzania, avoiding the civil unrest in Cabo Delgado and the million displaced people. My sights were still set on exploring the Quirimbas Islands before then heading north to Tanzania and in to Kenya. But first, I needed to find the perfect travel companion for this journey. – thats another story.
With a new plan in mind, I quickly found a local bus to take me to Mandimba, (at the bottom of Lake Malawi), and crossed back into Malawi, ready to start heading north on more familiar and safer ground.
