In Which TJ Chases Wild Geese

Last Tuesday I got called off the bench and put into the game. As not excited at all thrilled as I was to take part in this errand, I soon discovered that it was the equivalent of being put in to defend Kobe Bryant when the starters all say, “I don’t care anymore” and he is on pace to put up 60 points.

So Tuesday morning it was. Nice and early, I think around 7 am we left. After the calm three hour drive later we made it to Nacala. Charles and the other guys and I pulled up to the beach, and began to relax.

What’s that? Oh, right. Why were we at the beach? Well, a while back we got ourselves some mattresses donated back in the states. Rather than strap them to the backs of whales and ride them over here like majestic, aquatic chariots (my idea), wiser heads prevailed and the mattresses got put on a ship and sailed over to us. We got a call from the port broker on Monday night that they were ready to pick up. On Tuesday morning once arriving in Nacala Port we met with the broker who told us that he would call me on my cell phone when it was ready to leave and in the meantime to go about our things. Well, since my things include getting life to resemble a caricature of South Pacific, we headed to the beach.

By that benchmark, the trip was a failure.

I made the trip with Charles, who is Victor’s brother. He was the driver of the massive truck we would use to bring back 60 brand new mattresses for the kids. Along with him was our help/muscles for the trip: Maurio, the boy, and the fat man. The boy and the fat man have real names, I assure you, but we don’t know them. And I mean that honestly. It is extremely common, especially among the poor and working class (everybody I hang around with) to say your name once and then just wait for a moniker to stick. The boy was pretty easy, because he looks about 15, and the fat man is self-explanatory.

Pictured L to R: The fat man, Maurio, Charles, and the boy after many attempts of waiting to take a picture until the water was above waist level. We were not smart enough to bring proper swim attire.

After an awesome, fresh grilled shrimp lunch we set off to killing time until the broker called with our mattresses to be picked up. Maurio, the boy, and the fat man kept swimming. Being slightly fairer skinned, and not wanting to taunt melanoma, I headed for the shade and kept occupied building immaculately detailed sandcastles.

Just kidding, we were hanging out next to the strangest development of hotels I have ever seen in any country ever. They were far from being finished and locals said it had been a while since anyone had been working on them.

Meanwhile, Charles went to work sitting under a hut and getting himself into a game of this board game they have here. I’m pretty sure this is one of the oldest games ever found in the world and most cultures have a variation of it. One name is Mancala. If you’re familiar. It’s a board with spots for marks/rocks/stones and it’s a head-to-head strategy game to have the last person with marks left on the board. After about an hour of watching I figured out how to play it, but I refused to jump in and play. Partly because the pace was torrid, and partly because Charles had firmly placed himself on the top of the mountain as a 5^th degree advanced grand champion of whatever-it-was-they-were-playing. He waited long enough to have a go and then for 3 HOURS never lost a game. Onlookers called him the professor from the way his was dishing out lessons.

Which I though was hilarious, but none of them know who Professor Charles Xavier was, and it got less funny.

That evening rolled around and we called the broker, almost sad that our tropical getaway was done for the day. The broker, much to our disappointment, told us the mattresses weren’t going to be ready until the morning. Very much upset, we phoned home to Victor who told us to just get a hotel for the night rather than spend money on all the gas to come back and return the next morning.

Charles told us that he would take us back into town and he would see if he could find a place to stay. We pulled up into a little motel called the Canal motel. Most of the motels in this country are little 6-10 room places with a little courtyard and a restauraunt/bar inside the gate. We parked and Charles and I walked in to inquire about some rooms for the night.

When we passed the gate, everyone on the inside jumped up, threw their hands in the air, waved them like they just didn’t care, and shouted “Charlie! Hooray.” I thought to myself, Either Charles had either saved, like, 30 babies from a burning building and is a town legend in Nacala, or he stays here a lot. Well, the next post isn’t titled “The one where Charles saves 30 babies from a burning building”. So you can guess which one it is. Charles’ work, as a truck driver, takes him through Nacala quit a bit, and lets just say he has a fan base.

We showered up and got dinner for the night, and that meal would be the last peaceful moment I’d have for the next 4 days. Part two, coming up!