guarda o porco branco pequeno

They are leaving today and we are driving half the party to Tanganyanga for the next leg of their ringing tour, 9 days in Ibo ringing waders.  There is some departure tension and the expected pick up by the Park vehicle does not arrive at 10am (not a great surprise).  A delicious large breakfast, no more disagreements and we set off only an hour later than planned.  But we all set off very squashed (9 in the back with cases and three adults and a baby in the front).  I am in the back and just beyond the mountain we meet the other car – what a relief.  We are divided between the two pick-ups  and  off we go with much wind but not too much sun.

We stop after 2 ½ hours at Quissanga for bottled beer, coconuts, dried smoked ‘oysters’ threaded onto strips of maize leaves and fresh mangoes.  The children are gathered around the mango tree waiting for them to drop – one has made this ingenious weapon from condoms.  Malcolm is very twitchy he must arrive on Ibo in time to put the nets up and we are meant to be hitting high tide at 2ish.  All is fine it is only 2.30 and we are off again.

There is a new bridge over the salt marsh (the scene of NY09 reckless 4x4 abandon, large hole and my mild concussion for the blue-moon sand bank celebrations…another story).  We approach the coast to see the tide has retreated – in fact at least 2 hours ago.  Luckily the park boat is still there lurking in the mangrove past a stretch of revealed mud.  Malcolm dashes forth across the mudflats and wades out to the boat.  We stand around with the luggage wondering what to do.  D decides we are not going and will head back to Mareja.  All the visitors are feeling the bubbling tension once more- the panic of bird ringing ‘this is NOT Africa’style! 

Malcolm comes back and tells us the rangers will guard the luggage and will get the boat on its return.  We kiss goodbye and hope we might catch up with them before they leave Ibo.  He asks that me to be sure the Rangers guard his white mouse who has been transported all the way from Johannesburg via a tube in the hold, to be used as large raptor bait.  A mouse…D comes up with the bright idea of calling it a little pig, it is  more likely to be looked after that way.  So I do, with my limited Portuguese instruct the returning Rangers to guarda o porco branco pequeno.  I say it confidently and they look at the mouse and nod enthusiastically!  Good – and off we go again back to the bush.