Kevin Dugmore
kdugmore@hotmail.com
It was while
listening to an astronomy radio show that my interest was sparked; the
presenter stated that a total solar eclipse is perhaps the most spectacular
astronomical event that one is likely to experience. He went on to say that it
has been estimated that only 1 in 1000 people have seen the moon completely
block the sun (totality) and that a total solar eclipse will be visible from
within a narrow band, crossing central Africa later that year. Motivated by what
I had heard, I began to seek a way to see this eclipse.
The selection of a mode of transport occurred
instantaneously since my delight in exploring new places from the saddle of one
of my motorcycles eliminated any other transport options that I may have
considered.
Lusaka, because of its good chance of
clear skies and proximity to the path of totality was chosen as my
eclipse-viewing site. To travel so far and not do some exploring would have
been a pity, thus I planned route that would take me to the north east of
Lusaka, into Mozambique, across to the Indian Ocean, south along the Mozambique
coast and then back into South Africa (see the map for the exact route).
Through the use of a motorcycling web site I made
contact with Floris Burger, a motorcyclist from Pretoria who was also planning
to head to Lusaka for the eclipse.
The picture shows me speaking nicely to my XT600, asking for
reliability and good fortune. Elsewhere in the country the ‘Comrades Marathon’
was being run and the Springboks were playing a test match. However these
events were far from my mind since excitement, anticipation and nervousness filled
me.
Early on a frosty morning 2 days later,
as planned, I met Floris and his BMW R1150 GS in Pretoria. Minutes later we
were heading north, far happier than the occupants of the cars that were stuck
in the Monday morning traffic.
At the Botswana side of the Groblersberg border,
border control officials sprayed our boots and bikes with a pungent white
fluid. It was up to us to guess what this fluid was and to trust that it would
not cause things such as deformities in the next generation.
A group of British tourists, also on their way to see
the eclipse were congregated close to the customs offices. Judging by the
commitment with which they were eating some boerewors it was clear that no meat
was allowed to cross the border. I therefore had to eat all the meat from my
sandwiches. I wanted to point out to the border officials that, strictly
speaking, even though I had consumed the meat, I would still be taking it into
their country and that I would most probably leave it, in a less pleasant form,
inside their country. I decided rather to be safe and kept quiet.
Even this far from Zambia, people were talking about
the eclipse. The border control official who was supervising the consumption of
my sandwiches said that many eclipse watchers, had in the previous few days
crossed the border. He clearly doubted our sanity for travelling so far on what
to him must have looked like uncomfortable and dangerous transport to merely
see the sun and the moon.
On a tediously flat and straight Botswana road I was
thankful for the entertainment provided by a fly that became trapped in my
helmet. He walked about on the inside of my visor and occasionally tried to
explore a nostril. I was disappointed when after about half an hour he found an
exit and left.
That evening at a campsite near Nata the almost
perfect silence was obvious and it was hard to believe that earlier in the day
I had been in Pretoria’s Monday morning rush hour traffic. It was so quiet that
the sound of a small leaf, falling through a tree’s branches could be called a
commotion.
In northern Botswana there were many large heaps of
processed vegetation, deposited upon the road. Floris’s theory about these
heaps is as follows: While walking through the bush an elephant’s feet become
accustomed to the moderate temperature of the ground. As the elephant steps
onto the extremely hot road surface, the sudden temperature change shocks the
elephant’s system, thereby causing one of the heaps that one regularly sees
along this stretch of road.
At Kusane we entered Zambia by crossing
the Zambezi River on a ferry. There was a 2 hour-long queue of cars and trucks
waiting for a space on the 
ferry. We were able to jump the queue and get onto the first ferry
trip after our arrival since the bikes were small enough to be squeezed in next
to the vehicles.
Above: The ferry
at Kusane
The Zambezi at Kusane is unlike most
other African rivers. Instead of a narrow trickle of muddy water passing
between sand bars, clean water flows powerfully from bank to bank.
Our campsite at Lusaka was very full,
mostly with tour groups travelling in overlanders. On the evening before the
eclipse there was an excitement in the atmosphere and the campsite had the
positive feel that reminded me of a festival.
The day of the eclipse was declared a public holiday.
The sky was perfectly clear and realising that the presence of clouds would not
be blocking the event an expectant nervousness set in. At mid morning I
searched the sky, expecting to see the moon, on it’s way to its 1pm appointment
with the sun. There was no sign of the moon and this puzzled me.
In Lusaka I witnessed a budding riot at a shop that
was giving away sets of solar filters.
Shortly after the disturbance started the police arrived and defused the
situation by ordering the crowd to form a queue. I suspect that many people
wanted to get solar filters to sell them to tourists.
At midday we took a main road in a
northerly direction out of Lusaka so as to get as close as possible to the
eclipse’s centreline. The road was busy with foreign cars and excited eclipse
chasers. At the entrance to the ‘Solipse’ festival there was a lot of frantic
confusion as people rushed about in an effort to get to the best possible
viewing site. Rather than enter the festival and participate in the confusion
we decided to head a few kilometres back toward Lusaka to a clearing next to
the road at the top of a hill. We selected a spot at the top of a hill because
we hoped to see the approaching shadow of the moon as it races at thousands of
kilometres per hour across the landscape.
At our chosen spot there was a jovial and friendly
faction of locals who seemed more interested in us than the eclipse. Many of
this faction had chosen to celebrate the occasion by drinking a home-brewed
beer (try to guess which one of those in the picture had been drinking).
My first look at the sun revealed that the
moon had just begun to pass over the disk of the sun (first contact). The moon
was not at all visible and it appeared that an arc had been pressed into the
side of the sun. I then realised that the reason I had not seen the moon
earlier was because the sun is so bright in comparison to the moon. Above: Jovial locals on the day of
the eclipse.
I can now understand, because it is not clear that it
is the moon that is blocking the sun, why people of ancient times found
eclipses so frightening.
During the next hour as the light dimmed, the
temperature dropped and the excitement level escalated. Once the sun was about
90% covered the ends of the longer shadows became blurred. At this time the
landscape was bathed in an unusual light. It was as if it were dawn or dusk but
different since the whole sky was dim whereas at dawn or dusk the sky has a
light and a dark side. Even when it was 95% covered, when glanced at without
the filter the sun appeared, as normal, to be a bright circular disk.
Darkness then swept across everything very suddenly
and the temperature dropped further. I was not looking in a westerly direction
at this moment so I missed the view of the approaching shadow. There was
sufficient light during totality for me to read the settings on the camera as I
changed the shutter speed after each of the 6 photos that I took.
Baily’s beads (beads of sunlight that shine down the
valleys at the edge of the moon) were briefly visible. The sky became a deep
indigo colour and it was dark enough for stars to be visible, even at a short
distance from the eclipsed sun. The sun’s corona (the upper atmosphere of the
sun) was clearly visible and extended into the purple sky as sharp points of
radiant white. Since the sun was at the peak of it’s 11-year cycle of activity,
the length of corona was approximately equal in all directions and extended to
about 1½ times the sun’s diameter. The moon, now completely covering the sun,
appeared black. The indigo sky, radiant white corona and the black disk of the
moon are a memory that I will have no difficulty in remembering. It looked like
there was a black hole in the sky and that a beautiful light was shining
outward from the circumference of the hole. Many of the observers were howling
as a dog would at the full moon and I participated in this lunacy.
As quickly as it had become dark, it
became light again and the temperature began to rise. The 3 minutes of totality
had passed in what seemed like an instant. Floris said that as soon as he can
he will begin to make plans to see the 2002 eclipse and that every kilometre of
travelling had been worth it.
Shortly after the end of totality a young Zambian
woman, who before the eclipse had persistently begged for food, returned. She carried with her a half empty bottle of
champagne that a tourist had probably given to her. It was obvious, judging by
her change in manner since our previous meeting, where the other half of the
champagne had gone. She snatched a packet of noodles from one of my bags before
running away.
Because of the alcohol-fuelled rowdiness of some of
the local group, Floris and I decided that it would be wise to leave. Before I
was ‘allowed’ to leave, Ester Lumbe insisted that I give her my postal address
and that I write down her address so that I can write to her. We swapped
addresses and could leave only once I had promised to write to her.
Back at Eureka campsite that evening I had a chat
with 2 other motorcyclists, one of whom had done some riding in Mozambique. I
mentioned my considered route through Mozambique. His response contained words
such as ‘reasonable roads’, ‘azure sea’, ‘white beach sand’ and ‘tropical
palms’. In that moment I decided that I would take my envisioned route through
Mozambique on the way back to South Africa.
Floris’s plans were to try to meet up
with a group from his club who were at that time in the Caprivi Strip. Thus we
parted ways and I would explore Mozambique on my own.
In
the icy pre dawn mist I endured camping’s most dreaded task. This task is of
course the packing up of a dirty, wet tent before the warmth of a cup of tea or
sunrise. However I was soon riding northeast on my way to Mozambique through
beautiful unspoilt countryside and was thankful for the early start.
My
map indicated that there are few towns with petrol on this road. Concerned that
I would not have sufficient petrol I stopped to ask about its availability.
Because of how remote the area was the response to my query was surprising. In
true salesman’s pitch the man claimed, “We provide petrol, diesel, oil,
paraffin and other natural gas.” I decided that petrol rather than ‘other
natural gas’ would the safest option. He assured me that he had the octane that
that I required (called ‘super’ in this country rather than 93) and that it
would be clean. The salesman directed an instruction at a boy who then ran away
into the bush. The boy returned minutes later with a 5l plastic container of petrol. As far as I
could tell, there was no dirt in the container and the salesman was adamant
that it was ‘super’. After calculating the distance to the next real petrol
station, I realised that I had no choice and agreed to buy 5 litres, the price
of which was 24 000 Kwacha (R 60).
The landscape was beautifully set in its autumn
colours, however its most arresting feature was the silence. During a breakfast
stop I heard only birdcalls and in half an hour only one vehicle passed.
For the rest of the day I enjoyed the good road, the
hills, corners, the passing landscape and worried a little about what the 5
litres of ‘super’ may be doing to the engine. The atmosphere was slightly hazy
due to the seasonal burning of the grass. Quite close to one of these fires I
rode through a swarm of bees, which must have been escaping the smoke. I
sustained multiple bee strikes that made the view through the visor nasty and
my jacket sticky.
I spent a night at Tikondane community
centre and guesthouse at Katete. That evening, eager to try the type of food
eaten in Zambia I ordered a dish called ‘beef-nsima’ from the guesthouse’s
kitchen. I was presented with a kind of beef stew; a helping of spinach and on
a separate plate was a thick maize porridge.
Behaving in my ‘first world manner’ I
politely waited, expecting a knife and fork to be brought to me. Hunger and the
smell of the food made me impatient and I asked at the kitchen for my utensils.
The cook resolutely declared that beef-nsima is eaten with the fingers and by
no other means. Obviously this point was not open for discussion and I thus
returned to my seat, rolled up my sleeves and got stuck in. The beef was
slightly oily, flavoursome and combined well with the nsima. By observing
others in the restaurant I learnt the correct nsima-eating technique.
Before I had finished, the cook brought
me a 30cm plastic bowl of cold water. I was puzzled at first because the size
of the bowl prevented me from recognising it as a finger-bowl. Perhaps, in this
part of the world, they are actually called ‘arms, torso and face’ bowls and
need to be so big because of the eating style.
Mozambique was a Portuguese colony, thus I copied a
list of useful Portuguese phrases from my guidebook and stuck this onto the
inside of the bike’s windshield. I memorised some phrases while riding and had
mastered some basic communication by the time I reached the border.
My first night in Mozambique was spent at Tete, the
settlement surrounding Mozambique’s only bridge across the Zambezi. The road
into Tete leads directly to this bridge at which one has to pay a Mt 250 (10 c)
toll fee. I rode up to the tollbooth and then realised that I had just missed
the turnoff to a campsite. Before I could turn around, the cashier had handed
me a receipt and was expecting the toll fee. I tried to hand the receipt back
and attempted to explain that I did not want to cross the bridge and wanted to
return the way that I had come. He became angry, and thinking that I was
refusing to pay he filled my ears with could only have been appalling insults.
Fortunately I could not understand what he was saying as I persistently tried
to hand the receipt back. He finally gave in, took the receipt and lifted the
boom. He must have then been astonished to see me turn around and head back the
way that I had come, thereby refusing the free crossing that I seemed to have
fought for.
Later in the day I needed to cross the bridge to get
to Tete’s market. Unfortunately I had to deal with the same cashier that I had
annoyed earlier. I approached and handed him the only Mozambican money that I
had. His response was once again one of anger since I had given him a Mt 50 000
note for a toll fee that was Mt 250 and he did not have change. Now very upset,
he tried to short-change me and handed over Mt 20 000. I refused this as well
as the Mt 30 000 that he insisted was the correct change. Eventually he
aggressively returned my Mt 50 000 note, shouted something in Portuguese, the
last word of which was Joburg, and then lifted the boom to let me through. I
think that what he shouted meant something much less polite than ‘go back to
Joburg’. Relieved to have survived this confrontation I crossed the bridge.
Tete
is a very run down, dirty and unpleasant town. The streets are potholed or have
small islands of tar. The buildings have broken windows and have not been
painted for decades. I saw many buildings and facilities like tennis courts and
a large swimming pool that have for years been left to ruin. With the nearby
river, its Portuguese architecture and facilities, Tete must have been a very
interesting and pleasant place about 20 years ago.
In Mozambique, bicycles are used to transport almost
everything, livestock included. It is common to see up to 6 (living) chickens
tied to the handlebar of a moving bicycle. I also saw a large pig (not piglet)
tied onto a bicycle, which was being ridden. It was not clear whether the pig
was alive.
Left:
Sunset over the Zambezi.
There was still noise and music coming from Tete’s
waterfront bars and nightclubs when, before dawn, I began to pack before
leaving. I heard the Muslim call to prayer from somewhere in the town, an
indication of Mozambique’s Arab influence. After a last look and saying adeus
(goodbye) to the Zambezi I began the long ride to the costal village of
Vilanculos.
Later
in the day I became irritated with having to frequently slow down for livestock
in the road and foolishly approached a flock of sheep without slowing
sufficiently. One of the sheep struck my front shock absorber then my boot and
I was lucky to leave the scene on two wheels. I rode away, thankful for my good
fortune and with my system buzzing with adrenalin.
Late in the afternoon while still 200 km from my
destination, my back tyre went flat. An ominous coincidence was that I came to a
stop in a remote area next to a graveyard of wrecked vehicles. The grass around
the rusted chassis’s had been cut and red stakes had been driven into the
ground. I remembered reading that as result of Mozambique’s independence war
millions of landmines remain unaccounted for. I did not know what these stakes
meant but the thought of landmines worried me. The weather changed; for the
first time in my trip it clouded over and began to rain. The combined ‘evil’ of
the puncture, the rain, the thought of landmines and the rusted vehicle
skeletons made me wish for a second that I had never left home. It amazed me
that it was only minutes earlier that I had been happily crossing the landscape
without a worry in the world and that my outlook had changed so quickly.
Rather than adding myself and bike to the graveyard I
attempted to repair the puncture. I removed the wheel but could not separate
the tyre from the rim. Soon after starting the repair a foreign tourist and his
wife stopped and asked me whether I was all right. I explained that I had a
puncture and was struggling to fix it. His response was, ‘If you see a lion,
bite him before he bites you’. He then
closed his window and drove away.
It was soon dark and was I thus forced to camp at the
roadside. I positioned the tent close to the road because of the danger of
landmines. It was a quiet evening, very few vehicles passed and I could not get
any signal on my radio. I ate with grease-caked hands since I did not have
sufficient water with which to wash. Later the clouds cleared and the stars,
meteorites and satellites entertained me. I imagined that departure of the
clouds marked the end of the ‘evil’ events.
In a sleepy daze at dawn, the reality of my situation
struck me. With a fright I was awake and an instant later I was longing for the
return of my oblivious sleep. Since I did not have sufficient water, on the
morning that I most needed it, I missed my cup of tea. Still groggy with sleep,
I pushed the bike to the roadside, removed the rear wheel and waited for the
next vehicle.
Shortly, an old truck approached and stopped after I
indicated that I needed help. The driver jumped out of the cab and threw an
empty gin bottle onto the ground. I noticed crude tattoos on his arms and that
the skin around his eyes wrinkled as he peered at me. His crew of 5 appeared
from various parts of the truck.
Somewhat worried about how they may respond, in
Portuguese I said ‘Good morning, please, puncture’. To my relief they
understood me and did not hesitate to help.
Having lit a cigarette for motivation, the driver
directed the others and they set to work on the puncture. The truck’s sound
system was turned up and I was pleasantly surprised to hear familiar tunes by
the band ‘Dire Straights’. Within an hour the repair was complete. I was
extremely relieved and thanked them many times before they left.
By
midday I was overlooking the sea at Inhassoro while leisurely eating fresh
bread and bananas. A Dire Straights song was merrily replaying itself in my
mind. Nearby, fishermen were repairing nets and under a tree a boat was being
built at an unhurried pace. On the beach there were small groups of people,
waiting for the return of dhows that were visible, scattered between the
coastline and the Bazaruto islands. I spent some time on the beach, talking to
the fishermen and to a man who was in the process of building a motorised boat.
He was very eager to show me his boat and explained that once complete, he will
earn a living by ferrying tourists to and from Bazaruto.
My tranquil mood was shattered when,
after lunch I noticed that my back tyre was flat again. I found a workshop that
specialised in puncture repairs. The workshop was made from a few sheets of
corrugated iron and its surrounds were littered with tyres, tubes and a family
of foraging ducks. On the corrugated iron wall that faces the road, the words
‘Serious Repair Year 2001’ were painted. After the tube had been removed it was
appeared that the patches that had been stuck on earlier in the day had not
stuck properly. These holes were re-patched and when tested the tube
successfully held air.
Above: The
team at ‘Serious Repair 2001’
While waiting for the puncture to be repaired I was
amused by a soccer match between two local club teams. It was a public holiday
and it appeared that the entire village was in some way or other participating
in the match. The field was very uneven and when taking a corner kick, the
kicker had to run uphill out of a ditch before reaching the ball. The players,
referee, spectators and linesmen were however all as committed as those seen in
a televised premier league match.
At a roadside stop while on my way to Inhambane a man
handed me a huge paw-paw and indicated that it was a gift. I accepted it,
thanked him and then had a problem since I had no space in which to carry it. I
put it in the bag that I carried on my back and had to stop a few km down the
road to repack since the weight on my shoulders was uncomfortable.
My (sometimes) logical engineer’s brain told me that
this problem had two solutions. I could either increase the size of the free
space within my bags or I could reduce the size of the Paw-paw. I chose the
easiest and most enjoyable of these two options and began to eat. Proud of my
problem solving ability, I was soon full and was able to fit the leftovers into
the bike’s top-box.
Later in the day the dreaded sideways wandering of
rear tyre returned, indicating that it was again flat. Not knowing what else to
do and while muttering choice adjectives, I began to remove the rear wheel.
Shortly thereafter a Landrover with very foreign looking number plates stopped
and the driver asked whether I would like some help. I accepted his offer and
he introduced himself (Arend) and his wife (Claudia).
While working on the tyre Arend explained that the
two of them had been on the road for 5 months and had driven all the way from
Germany.
Their Landrover was equipped to make any adventurer
envious: it had solar panels, extra tanks to carry up to 400l of diesel, modified suspension, water
tanks with a pumping system, a laptop with maps on CD, a GPS, a tent on the
roof and a special box between the front seats for their puppy. They had bought
this puppy in Malawi and had called him Peanut.
The cause of the puncture was, yet again,
the patch not sticking to the tube. Arend suggested that it was possibly the
puncture prevention product that I had used that was contaminating the glue and
preventing the patches from sticking. It was clear that I needed a new tube
since patching the puncture would not work.
Realising that I had serious problem I
began to consider my options. I considered leaving the bike at a nearby hut and
catching a bus to a town where I could buy a new tube. Arend, obviously
planning something, began measuring the bike and the width of the Landrover.
Shortly, he revealed his plan: “We tie zee bike onto
zee back door of zee Landrover. Zen you travel wif us to get a new tube.”
My first reaction was that his plan was ludicrous and
that a stranger with crazy plans should not be trusted. Thinking that it would
eliminate his crazy idea I stated the obvious: “Because of the puncture the
entire (heavy) bike will have to be off the ground and there is nothing to put
the bike on.”
He was aware of these difficulties and explained more.
Having few options and even though I doubted its feasibility I accepted his
offer.
With the innovative use of a sandladder
and tie-downs we constructed a platform at the back of the Landrover. We then
lifted the bike onto the sand ladder and secured it with tie downs between the
roof rack and the bike.
Wet with sweat and smelling as miners would at the end of their
shift we stepped back and admired our work. Appearing impossibly out of place,
the bike was about a meter off the ground, parallel to the back of the
Landrover. The length of the sand-ladder was just longer than the distance
between the bike’s axles so each of the bike’s tyres were barely on the corners
of the sand-ladder.
With all 3 of us in the front seats and with windows
open so as to prevent the accumulation of armpit odour we travelled to
Inhambane. Time passed quickly as the conversation drifted from travel stories
to the many gadgets and modifications in the Landrover. Inhambane province
seemed to be immune from the effects of winter. Being Mozambique’s agricultural
centre the countryside was alive with citrus orchards, coconut, paw-paw and
pecan nut plantations. I kept a worried eye on the bike in the rear-view mirror
and breathed a sigh of relief when we arrived safely at the campsite.
The following day we explored the town of Inhambane while looking
for a new tube. It’s old architecture; Indian population and the fact that it
is clean and well maintained make it different to other towns that I have
visited in Mozambique. I even saw some road-works taking place (something that
I did not think existed in Mozambique). The town is situated at the end of a
peninsula and a turquoise bay separates it from the mainland. Many dhows were
on the bay as they ferried people to and from Maxixe (pronounced ‘Masheesh’),
on the other side if the bay. Coconuts are grown around Inhambane and there is
a small coconut processing industry on the outskirts of the town.
Above:
The bay between Maxixe and Inhambane.
A dhow is in the foreground.
I found a replacement tube and because of my
desperation gladly paid the ridiculous sum of money for it. With the new tube
fitted and functioning as a tube should I could relax and enjoy the beach and
sea.
My newfound German friends signed up for a scuba
diving course and would thus stay at a campsite near Inhambane for about a
week. I was pleased with this arrangement and spent a few days with them at the
camp. We had many interesting discussions about the changes that have happened
in South Africa and the effects of the merger between East and West Germany.
The only thing more beautiful than the tropical
landscape was what could be seen underwater. I hired some snorkelling equipment
and managed to sneak onto the dive school’s ski boat for a trip up the coast to
a reef. The water was clean and the reef and its life were as spectacular as
one would see in a dive magazine.
After 3 days at the dive camp it was time for me to
begin the ride back to South Africa. Between Inhambane and Xai-Xai the road
passes between many wetlands and freshwater lakes. These lakes have very little
development or tourist facilities and I felt like I was missing something by
just riding past and not stopping to explore.
It was, in a way, good to be back on South African
roads. It was pleasant to see vehicles
that are in a good condition rather than as in Zambia and Mozambique where most
vehicles are overloaded with bent chassis's, no working lights and wobbling
wheels.
I have learnt the value of trying to speak to people
in their own language. Attempting to speak Portuguese to Mozambicans always
resulted in a positive and friendly response. Do not miss out on experiencing
an interesting place because you cannot speak the language. A book of
translations and the correct attitude is all that one needs.
Travelling on one's own and on a motorcycle has its
advantages. While travelling alone I found that I was more likely to initiate a
conversation and that likewise, other people were more likely to approach and
speak to me. A motorcycle, loaded with bags and equipment is unusual and
therefore attracts attention. I frequently found that while stopped at the
roadside a crowd of spectators would begin to gather. I was once ordered by the
police to move away from the bank because a crowd of curious locals had
gathered and the police were worried about the security of the bank!
The next total solar eclipse will occur on the 4th
December 2002 and will be visible form around Messina and Tzaneen in South
Africa. I’ll see you there!
Comments, suggestions and queries are welcome, send
to:
kdugmore@hotmail.com
A sand-ladder is a stiff aluminium plate about 2m
long and 50cm wide. Sand ladders are used by driving the vehicle onto them so
as to free it from soft sand.