Surviving Mozambique - Part II

With Maputo in the books, the beaches of Tofo were the next destination for our adventure in Mozambique. While Maputo was only a brief one day-two night stay, we would be staying in the Bamboozi backpacker lodge in Tofo for six days. Now I had heard of Maputo before beginning my travels to Mozambique (and by hearing I mean I knew it was the capitol city and kind of understood its role in the country's history) but Tofo I knew nothing about besides the brief run-down I read in the information brochure all of us going on the trip were given. And even that tid-bit of information I breezed through, focusing solely on the fact that Tofo was rated one of the top ten scuba sites in the world and that all the pictures of the beaches could have been used for National Geographic covers.

We left for Tofo around 7am, all of us feeling surprisingly upbeat considering the hour most of us went to bed and the empties of 2M, Manica and Laurentina's (the three local beers) littering Fatima's picnic tables. Our group of 17 (the other members were riding in Sean's truck that was towing his boat to the new dive shop he was starting just outside of Tofo) crammed in with a few other Fatima patrons into a chicken bus that I can best describe as the buses elderly people are transported to and from the "home" in except any sort of luxury has been replaced by crammed seating and floorspace covered in all of our luggage. Not nearly as nice or spacious as the Greyhound but we were at least spared having to watch Land Before Time 9 or Beethoven 3.

The drive itself took about eight hours and for the most part was fairly pleasant. Our driver had a penchant for driving with a lead foot throughout the trip, disregarding the dangers involved with passing cars around blind turns or the numerous pot holes dotting the Mozambique highway. For some reasons he decided to mix his Speed Racer mentality with frequent stops along the side of the road, sometimes to fill up on gas and other times either to pick up a couple pounds of dope (not confirmed but likely) or twiddle his thumbs. The road respites did prove to be the most interesting moments of the trip, whether we were all barreling out and overwhelming a convenient store bathroom or gazing out across stunning panoramas of the Indian ocean complete with kilometers (damn, I'm slowly moving over to the dark/metric side) of white sandy beaches and endless palm tree forests. Other than making the mistake of having a breakfast beer and the ensuing bladder issue around hour four, I would consider the trip a success although my tolerance of long bus rides was slowly diminishing.

After eight hours, our bus finally reached the parking lot of Fatima's in Tofo. We would be staying at Bamboozi backpapers a couple of kilometers down the beach so after collecting our luggage, we all ran down to the sand and took our first footsteps in the Indian Ocean. The water was warm but still had enough of a chill to provide relief from the blazing Mozambique sun and the view was just as the breath taking as I'd imagined. I couldn't believe that I was going to be spending the next six days here, definitely one of those pinch/smack me in the face moments I'll remember for the rest of my life.

I would have to write a small novel to cover all of the madness that ensued over the rest of the week so I have chosen to mainly focus on the scuba diving in Tofo since it provided some of the more fun/interesting/scary moments of the trip.

Scuba Diving. Before leaving for Mozambique I still had not completely finished my open water certification so I would be doing my last two dives in Tofo as well as four more dives of my choosing that I bought as part of a package before the trip. Six dives in one of the top ten dive sites in the world seemed unfair for only having two dives under my belt but little did I know things were not going to go as according to plan. My first dive was going to take place on Tuesday, a double tank dive that would finalize my open water certification. Adding to the last few skills of open water certification, we would be learning how to perform a dive from a boat as well as entering the water from shore. The dive master went over these skills in a brief run down as we were all kitting up, none of the directions seeming to be that difficult to execute. Before I knew it, our dive group was alongside our pontoon boat getting ready to go out to sea. It was then that I started to notice, either from the looks on my instructors face or the intensity of the waves crashing in front of us, that things might not be as easy as anticipated. This is where being naive worked in my favor because if I had known how big these waves really were and that we probably shouldn't be trying a shore entry in the first place, my inexperienced self would have been back up at the Bamboozi bar enjoying an ice cold 2M. Instead, I took up my position at the front of the boat and tried not to look like I was about to lose my lunch.

Getting the boat into the water and climbing on board went off without a hitch. The skipper was yelling at all of us to strap in our feet and hold the safety line tight, all of which we had gone over in the pre-dive prep talk. Thankfully I secured myself quickly because a giant wave came crashing over the boat pretty much as soon as we got in the boat. "Fuck, that was a big wave," seemed to be the consensus look on the rest of the group's face. But even this moment was short lived as our boat took another beating from a crashing wave. After the second wave I thought that this was just how shore entry's took place and I started to settle in to the onslaught of punishing waves. Everything seemed to be going fine, I even nodded my head and laughed when my friend Chris said it felt like we were in a Nave SEAL mission, until the motor cut off. Followed by the skipper and dive master exchanging looks of panic. Followed by the dive master turning a shade of white I thought only ghosts were allowed to have. Followed by a wave I have since liked to describe as the one that flipped Tom Hanks raft in Castaway only times a thousand. Followed by it breaking right on top of our boat. Followed by sheer pandemonium.

In an instant, I was thrown all the way to the back of the boat, hitting my head on something large and extremely hard before being tossed into the water. The boat's center console had been completely ripped off by the crash, taking no prisoners on its tumultuous journey to the rear of the boat. My dive instructor suffered a deep cut from the consoles freshly torn fiber glass, which thankfully, along with the quick growing bump on the side of my head that reached the size of a small peach, were the only physical injuries of the debacle (the nearest medical facilities were back in Maputo where I imagine procuring a thermometer for a temperature check would take three days). Getting the boat back to shore proved to be fairly easy since the wave had pushed us far enough back into shallow water that we could walk in the boat the rest of the way.

The initial moments immediately following the crash were a little hazy and hard to recall today. It was very similar to scenes in a war movie following a bomb exploding. Everything was really quiet and my vision after emerging from the water was blurry. No one in our group panicked and we were all able to get the boat back to shore where we immediately started to take stock of the situation. We had just survived a wave that had the force to rip apart a boat and were able to talk, even laugh, about it a few minutes later. I am convinced in Maputo that we all slept walk one night and saved all the children from a burning orphanage because our karma must have been through the roof to get that lucky and have no one seriously injured. Hell of a way to start a diving trip.

I am not sure why this experience didn't deter anyone, including myself, a little more from attempting to dive again but I am glad we decided to jump back on the horse. Every single shore entry after that went off without a hitch (ok, so one of our launches was the victim of another massive wave break but the damage wasn't nearly as bad for the boat and no one suffered any wounds) and everything seemed worth it once underwater. The visibility on these dives were unbelievable, allowing us to see gorgeous reefs and a plethora of a sea life I thought only existed in Finding Nemo. I went on a total of four dives (losing a boat on the first dive meant less dive opportunities for the trip) but the best one by far was my first deep dive allowing me to go to 30m. The previous deep dives of the trip saw manta rays and sharks so I was hoping I would only be so lucky. Let's just say it didn't disappoint.

My nerves were pumping as our boat reached the drop point and we went through our last pre-dive safety checks. Usually once entering the water I mellow out and enjoy the tranquil calmness of the ocean, but being my first deep dive, my heart rate didn't get back to normal until we completed our descent. I was actually so nervous about losing my buddy on the 30m drop to the reef floor, taking in too much air and ruining the dive for the rest of the group, and dealing with the effects of nitrogen narcosis (think being drunk without consuming alcohol, causing some divers to do weird things like trying to breath without their respirators) that I completely missed the shark seemingly waiting for our arrival. Soon my nerves evened out (which I am confident would have been impossible had I seen the shark) and the rest of the dive seemed as if I was living a movie. A giant sea turtle entertained our group for the first few minutes of the dive before swimming away much faster than I thought turtles could travel. The flora of "Sherwood Forest", the name of the dive site, served as the perfect picturesque background to schools upon schools of tropical fish that all seemed to move in perfect synchronization. I even spotted a few moray eels lurking inside of coral, by far a much uglier creature that I had imagined. The highlight of the dive took place right before we surfaced as my eyes followed the fingers of a few pointing members of our group. Above us, about 6-8m up, was a giant manta. And I mean giant. It flew (its fins moved like a birds wings in slow motion) effortlessly right above our heads for a couple of seconds before disappearing. I would say a breathtaking experiencing but being underwater you kind of need all the air you can get.

Upon reaching the surface I thought our dive was over which would have been fine considering all that had just taken place. But as we were boating back to shore, our skipper stopped the boat unexpectedly and told us all to put on our fins and snorkels. There was a whale shark nearby and he was going to get us close to it. True to his word, within minutes I found myself swimming within a few meters of a massive, deep gray with white spots, underwater behemoth. Objects underwater appear bigger than normal but I'm sure that this whale shark would have given any elephant I had seen at a zoo a run for its money. The whale shark moved much faster than I had anticipated, having to use up all my energy to keep up with it as it moved so effortlessly among us. Then, one of our more adventurous members decided to touch the tail, prompting the whale to slap him around a few times before bolting off into the depths. A great end to probably one of the best dives I will ever have in my entire life.

Obviously I did a lot more than scuba dive in Tofo but the length of this post might be straining the average person's attention span. For a quick summation on the rest of Tofo: attempted but miserably/comically failed at surfing following the worst lesson you could possibly imagine from an instructor that resembled the scuba teacher in Along Came Polly; consumed my fair share of Tipo Tinto, the red tinted local rum that came in overly recycled plastic bottles and looked/tasted more like gasoline than anything; had an amazing seafood dinner following a full moon stroll where we had to avoid thousands and thousands of scampering sea crabs; many late evenings dancing to the one local band at Dino's Beach Bar and Fatima's (they would alternate every other day between the two bars); sleeping in malaria tents and a heavy dusting of bug repellent to avoid the blood thirsty prevalent native mosquitoes. Everything about Tofo was ridiculously awesome, the only blemish being the abruptness with which it ended. Our last night in Tofo we spent partying, disregarding the 4am bus ride back to Maputo we all had to make the next morning. Little did I realize how big of an oversight that would turn out to be, especially considering how grueling the voyage back to Cape Town turned out to be. Until next time.

(sorry for the lack of pictures, my internet connection at work is extremely slow and it takes forever to upload a picture. double pics on the next post, I promise)

Surviving Mozambique - Part I

I can't believe a week has passed since returning from my week and a half vacation to Mozambique and I haven't written about any of my experience. In my defense, I think my body has finally recuperated from the gauntlet of traveling about three thousand miles by land, air and sea, scuba diving at depths of 30+ meters followed by airplane flights at 30,000 feet, a daily dosage of malaria medicine and its various side effects including the most vivid, intense dreams I have ever had, and sustaining an intermittent diet of local Mozambique delicacies and their interesting take on "fried" foods. Recalling my Mozambique adventure has been a bit of a muddled whirlwind, but I think I have managed just fine with the help of my fellow travelers (two heads are better than one even if everyone's memory is in a bit of a haze). Because so much went on, I have broken the trip into three sections: our short stop in Maputo, the capitol of Moz, our week long trip to the beaches of Tofo, and the insane, grueling, mind fuck odyssey back to Cape Town (and that is putting it lightly). With all that to cover, I shall begin...

Following my brief but enjoyable visit with Paul and Marion in Johannesburg, I met up with the rest of the Mozambique group at Park Station to board our Greyhound Bus that would be taking us to Maputo. Everyone looked slightly more groggy than myself but I guess while I was enjoying a leisurely family dinner the night before, they were all doing what young people do on a friday night in a foreign country. I had never been on a long distance bus trip before but my initial opinions of our road carriage were better than I imagined: fully air conditioned, functional bathroom, a mini fridge, TV's and onboard movies, and fairly comfortable chairs that reclined more so than airplane seats. The next eight hours were going to go by in no time, right?

After a few hours I realized that my prediction was about half right, half extremely wrong. Eight hours of anything is generally pretty boring and sitting on a Greyhound was no exception. The scenery was beautiful but for some reason the bus windows soon became heavily enveloped in a thick sea of condensation, severely impairing our vision of the passing landscape. I then took to reading my book but I couldn't even do that once our the in-road entertainment began. Movies on buses are different than planes where you have the option of listening on headphone because the sound is distributed throughout the cabin whether you want to listen to or not. I had never considered how much of a luxury this was until Dr. Dolittle 3: Tail to the Chief fired up and I had to sit through one of the more painfully bad scripted/acted movies of the last decade. Thankfully it was followed by a Disney movie about a dog from outer space which was then followed by the the original 1960's Love Bug movie. Greyhound was really firing on all cylinders, pulling out all the stops to keep their passengers entertained. When Hancock came on as the fourth movie I was slightly relieved to be watching a movie that didn't make me debate whether or not I'd rather be plucking back hairs from obese hospice patient that smelled like moldy mayonnaise, but by that time I had made some ear plugs from balled up bathroom tissue and could finally read. Soon enough our eight hours were coming to an end and we were passing through the outskirts of Maputo.

Entering Maputo was an extremely eerie experience. I had very little knowledge of the city, only getting a mini history lesson from Paul the day before and a small puff piece about the current situation in the SA Airway magazine, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Knowing that Maputo is the country's capitol, I guess I had some expectations for what a capitol city should look like, but I was shocked to see one of the poorest, run down cities I had ever seen. There were skyscraper and buildings everywhere, what I would expect from a major city, but every infrastructure looked as if it had not been tended to or cared for for twenty plus years. A large number of buildings were only halfway completed and I am sure never would be finished any time soon. The poverty level seemed even higher I was able to walk around the part of the city where our back packers lodge resided. The streets were in shambles, the side walks looked as if an earthquake had followed month of heavy duty blanket bombing, and trash was literally everywhere. And this doesn't even comment on the people, most of whom looked as if they had been wearing the same set of clothes week in and week out since the Portuguese left in the 1970's (I am promising myself to read up on the history of Moz, it sounds fascinating). There were very few indicators of wealth I came across during my stay in Maputo and even they were surrounded by such high levels of poverty that it was hard to differentiate between the two.

For the next two nights we would be staying at Fatima's Place, a large back pakcer lodge that could accommodate around fifty people. Fatima's also provided a small but painfully slow restaurant service as well as a bar that ran out of beer within the second hour of our groups arrival but our group couldn't care less, all of us just being glad to no longer be on a bus. No one even seemed to mind the warmer beers they ended up serving us later but we all seemed to groan a little when our all-inclusive meal wasn't served until 9 but thankfully the menu of chicken, curry and matapa (a local cream of spinach like dish) were delicious. That night most of us headed out to a club in Maputo called Coconuts, a very upscale, expensive club that did not fit in at all with the rest of the city. I couldn't stop wondering how a place like this existed around the city's poor conditions or how any of the natives could afford to party there when everyone in our group said it was more expensive than any place they had been to in Cape Town. Don't get me wrong, we all had a great time enjoying the five or six bars situated throughout the club, an always packed dance floor with a fog machine that was used more often than all of the Senor Frogs in Mexico during Spring Break, and a large pool that some of us may or may not have used later in the evening, but being surrounded by such wealth in a city so poor was unsettling. The most telling moment of the rich/poor discrepancy was leaving the club and the taxi scene that awaited us. The throng of taxis waiting to take patrons home were all old, beat up cars none of which had batteries. In order to leave, everyone had to push the car until the driver could start the engine and then wait for everyone to jump in.

On Sunday, Fatima's had organized a guided tour of Maputo. After a brief run with a few mates to sweat off the libations of the previous night, our group embarked on the city tour around 10 AM. I am usually a sucker for touristy activities like this and I can even get through a shitty tour guide by focusing on the sites and sounds of the tour. Unfortunately, our tour guide stayed out way later than we all did at Coconuts and woke up to a morning breakfast granola of Valium and Codeine because he lacked any sort of pulse. Compounding the low energy level was a total un-interest in his job and a complete lack of knowledge of the city of Maputo. The only saving grace of the tour was that it was so so so bad, we all could laugh our way through the five hour excursion and be grateful to have experienced such a train wreck. There were some good parts, including a walk through a fishing village on the outskirts of the city and stopping at some of the blown out buildings used during the filming of Blood Diamond, but overall the experience was pretty abysmal. Here are two pictures from the fishing village.



Thankfully the day did not end with tour (which was delayed at the end because one of the drivers smoked weed before leaving our last stop and was too high to drive faster than 20 km/h, no joke) and our Sunday in Maputo was saved by dinner at the fish market. Located in a series of small restaurants, vendor stalls and an open courtyard full of picnic tables, the fish market is one of the more popular attractions of Maputo. How it works, customers walk throughout vendors selling various seafood caught fresh from the Indian ocean that day. You then pick what you want and a 'runner' from a restaurant will come and take your catch of the day to cook on the spot at his place. Our entire group came out for dinner and we all had a blast waiting the two plus hours for our seafood feast to arrive (I am slowly getting used to Africa time but I don't think it will ever be second nature for me). I can't tell if the food tasted good because we were all so hungry but I am convinced it was some of the best sea food I had ever tasted. I guess the constant presence of beer including the giant pitcher a restaurant agreed to fill for $10 might have effected my palate as well but who's counting? We returned to Fatima's after the feast, most of us staying up late trying to sap the bar of its limited beer supply, but we had an early and long bus ride to catch to Tofo in the morning which I'll get to in my next post. Below are two pictures from the fish market. I had to get a picture of the kid in the Spider-Man shirt and the size of the picture had to be documented (check out the painting behind me of the guy doing the same thing, complete coincidence I swear).

Living on the Corner of Disa and Trill Avenue

Hard to believe I have been in Cape Town for two weeks already but when I look back at all that I have done, two weeks hardly seems like any time at all. I am actually back in Johannesburg for a brief visit with Paul, Marion and crew before I head off to Mozambique on Saturday morning (more on that in a minute) and it has certainly been great being back among familiar, friendly faces. It almost feels like I never left, fluidly slipping right back into the routine I had established only a short while ago. Paul and I went on one of our "dark and early" runs this morning (I don't know why it has taken me this long to understand that running with people that are training for one of the more prestigious ultra marathons in the world is a bad idea) and I just returned from Jo's all girl school musical production of the Jungle Book. Although I've never been one for musicals and I have recently been having a bad string of run ins with little kids, I did enjoy the precious attempts of synchronized dancing and singing as well as some of the more meticulous jungle animal costumes I have ever seen. Plus, how could I turn down Jo's invitation this morning at breakfast to watch her and her mates don monkey costumes, complete with giant ears and floppy tail, and parade around on stage to the tune of "It's the Bear Necessities." Wow, I come off like a pretty big softy in that last sentence.

However, one of the best parts of being back in Jo-Burg is remembering what its like to live in a nice, clean, quiet house that not home to cockroaches or giant spiders. Not to say that I don't enjoy my home in Cape Town, more that I am enjoying taking advantage of the respite Paul and Marion's wonderful home is providing. But seeing as I've never delved into any details about my digs in Cape Town, I'll give you a brief description and a few pictures of my house so you all can understand a little more of where these feelings of euphoric relief are coming from.

My home on the corner of Disa and Trill Avenue (I knew I was destined to live in Africa after discovering I lived on a street that shares the name with a Bun B album) is actually much better than I have made it out to be. I have my own, fairly large room that at the moment looks like an over sized prison cell seeing that it lacks any sort of decorations and my one window is enclosed with re-enforced steel bars. Thank god for my pink, orange and purple duvet cover, it really brightens up the room and goes well with the pinkish orange towel I recently purchased (damn,I really am turning into a softy. At this pace I'll make Liberace look like Rambo and will have started watching Oxygen movies on Saturday nights). In the middle of the house is a surprisingly large kitchen, complete with a full size fridge and freezer, an oven smaller than what you would take camping, and an assortment of pots and pans that has clearly been collecting since the Dutch first arrived in the 17th century. One of the best parts of the house is a quaint courtyard located just off of the kitchen where we hang most of our wet clothes to dry in the always whipping Cape Town wind. Perfect place for a BBQ, or braai as they are called in South Africa, even though we have yet to use the grill. There are two bathrooms, both of which are more than fine strictly on the sense that they provide hot, decently pressured water.

Now the bad news. Apparently the last set of residents were more messy than most and had a habit of leaving food out in the open or not washing their dishes sufficiently enough. This behavior soon attracted the attention of hungry cockroaches that could easily move in and around the house due to the deteriorating bottom inch of some of the walls touching the outside. With a never congested highway to get to an always present supply of food, cockroaches have now become official residents, even going as far to take up residence in the fridge where more open containers of food can be found. The current set of room mates, myself included, have much better sanitary habits but the damage has been done. Regardless of how many bottles of Doom we spray or bug bombs we drop, the cockroaches are here to stay. Unfortunately the house bug problem doesn't limit itself to one species, an unpleasant reality I stumbled upon after a night out at the bars. I come home and flip on my light switch only to find a spider the size of Shaq's hand perched along the wall next to my door. I am fairly confident the spider lacked any venomous bite, but any bug bigger than the sole of my shoe makes me a little uncomfortable. Especially when it resides within a few feet of my pillow. Although I took care of the spider with a few swipes of a rolled up magazine (notice the plurality of the verb, it was a tough S.O.B.), I can't help but think there's an angry older brother lurking somewhere beneath my bed ready to crawl around my face whenever I'm sleeping. I have never been scared of bugs, snakes are what turn me into a crying ninny as most of you know or have had the pleasure to witness, but this episode put me on the edge. The only other bad part of the house is its proximity to a very busy, loud train station. There seems to be a constant flow of foot traffic and screeching train brakes waking me up at 5:30 every weekday and persisting until I finally roll out of bed around 7 to get ready for work. However I can't complain too much since it does only take me fifteen seconds to reach the train which I take into downtown for work everyday. Also, whenever I start cursing how close I am to the train station, I pop outside and take in the stunning view of Table Mountain from my front yard. Hard to complain when that view stares back at you every morning.

The description of of my house would be incomplete if I didn't include the best part: my room mates. Lauren, Liz, Sarah and ZaZa (who has since moved out) are all great and have made my adjustment to South Africa that much easier. Ever since ZaZa left us last week, I am now living with all girls which initially scared the shit out of me. After living in a fraternity house in college, I never in my wildest dreams could imagine living with one girl and now I am living with three. I always assumed that I could never live with girls because a) the constant smell of "girl" always circulating through my lungs, b) the never accessible bathroom which, even when I could get a five minute window of opportunity I would be result in me being accosted for leaving the seat up and toothpaste uncapped, and c) the inability to watch Sports Center because Grey's of Next Top Model was on (the list goes finishes at dm) but I decided to save everyone's time by providing only three). But my room mates have been anything but my greatest fears and I consider myself extremely lucky to be living with them. Not to say that I don't miss watching sports all day and knocking back a few cold ones with the guys, but I think I'll walk away from this experience with some valuable lessons and easily a more feminine perspective on life (crap, another reference to transformation. I need to grab a twelve pack and watch a couple Wrestlemania's as soon as I finish this post soon).

That's about it for the house but I realize that I haven't spoken on any of the things I have been doing in Cape Town for the last couple of weeks. I also realize this post is a little on the long side so in attempt to not bore any one with another thousand words or so, here's a brief summary that I'll make sure to expand upon next time:

1) Visited Clifton beaches, easily one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever been to or seen in pictures. Compounding its beauty are the luscious green hills that sit behind the beach and further aback are Table Mountain, Lion's Head and the Twelve Apostles. Look for pictures on-line because none words of mine can capture this landscape. Further on down the road and assuming I have enough money to invest in a vacation home, Cape Town beachfront would be my first, second and third choices

2) Went to a famous township braai called Mzoli's. Imagine the best day party you have ever been to, multiply by ten and then add ridiculously good food (that is if you are a carnivore because they only sold meat). Combine that with a phenomenal, friendly atmosphere where even though I was one of five white people in a crowd of three hundred I never felt uncomfortable. I have pictures and will post them soon.

3) Hung out a few times with an old friend from Oxy who is studying at University of Cape Town, Ben Flitter. Haven't seem in him about two years but we picked up right where we left off. He will be here until June and I imagine some of our adventures might be the focal point of a post or two down the line, including our planned trip to visit the highest commercial bungee jump point in the world. Don't worry mom and dad, I've heard its safe.

4) Got acquainted with the local Observatory bars that are a two minute walk from home. That's right, two minute walk. Hard to beat multiple neighborhood bars pouring dollar beers and offering cheap food specials almost every week night. If they only carried American sports 24/7 my heaven on earth would be complete.

5) Started my job at the South African Human Rights Commission. I have a lot to say about my experience working there so far but I will hold off and give it a few more weeks before I offer any substantial observations.

6) Got certified to scuba dive.

As I mentioned earlier, I am off to Mozambique for a ten day Easter holiday vacation. I am going with a group of about twenty, half of which are other interns with the VAC that I have been getting to know the last two weeks. The other half are friends of Sean who, among being one of the creators of the VAC, runs a dive shop in Cape Town and is driving out with us to start a second shop in Moz. The beaches we are going to are rated as a top ten scuba diving site in the world due to the warm waters (24-27 degrees Celsius), 25-30m of visibility and a diverse array of marine life including a large population of whale sharks and manta rays. Sean has organized a few dives for all that are certified and when not diving I plan on taking part of the awesome deep sea fishing, surfing spots ideal for beginners and a local rum that is supposed to pack a pretty punch. Life in Africa sure is hard.

Cheers