What is that bird? A boring buzzard…

We return from trying to gather a huge pile of bamboo.  Alberto had beautifully gathered it in bundles tied with string and we spent a great deal of time loading it onto the Toyota, it was very off balanced and finally disembarks in one loud clatter into a river bed. 

We arrive back (with a few sticks of bamboo) and Adamo has captured a raptor that was after the chickens, he got it with a bow and arrow and somehow it is now tied up by its leg.  It is magnificent with electric yellow eyes and a white chest with black splashes.  Poor thing looks quite out of sorts in this humbling grounded position.  I get water and manage to tip some into its beak- probably annoying further.  The arrow wound doesn’t look bad and it is full of healthy fury.  Adamo holds it down with the arrow bow and unties it…lots of pictures taken and finally it flies free.  Free to hunt D’s excessive and alluring chicken herd another day.  Although his encounter with Adamo may have put him off.  But what was this bird?

We study the book and it seems to be a European Buzzard – I have always thought Buzzards rather boring.  But this bird was a captivating, powerful and beautiful thing.  Today it taught me to mend my ways…buzzards are not boring.

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.

WILDLIFE NOTE: bird-ringing and some firsts for Malcolm

In the name of brevity and bloggability.  A summary of activities only:

Early rise for them and birds are caught in the net and bought back for measuring, weighing, recording, identifying, photographing and releasing. I sleep (am so tired and trying to stem severe culture shock from Oxford to wild bush/from 3 degrees to 30 degrees in 48 hours).

A host of people are gathered around the ringing station – park rangers, our rangers, 3 visitors Malcolm, Rebecca and 9month Eva Rebecca’s daughter.

Some firsts for Malcolm.  Stunning small things:

1. Chestnut-fronted Helmet-Shrike
2. Uluguru Violet-backed Sunbird
3. Livingstone’s Flycatcher

Then two birds that are not known to be in this region, so these recordings extend their known range:

1. Mocking Cliffchat
2. Marico Sunbrid

Amazing stuff.  And moods improving. 

My greatest packing success so far: fewer clothes more loo brush holders than usual

So I get 39kg + 12kg + 6kg, one large bag (with lots of magazines and news worthy reading material) through....what a great great success:

• 2 high range radios
• 2 night camera traps
• 2 loo brush holders
• 2 bath matts
• 1 towel striped nice
• 1 food measuring old-fashioned funnel
• A lot of medicine including pink tummy stuff, senokat, immodum all useful things for community, Iperico from Italy (super strong antaeseptic from Heidi Chris’ mum), eye infection anti-biotics (after alarming swollen eye infection in case it hits again)

• Large sponge
• Strong thread and nice pack of needles
• 1 wild boar and pistachio salami
• I packet of nice prosciutto
• 3 tops for rangers
• 2 belts
• I hat
• 1 swivel magnifying wall fitted mirror
• 2 second-hand shirts
• 1 lt of fresh olive oil
• 1 large bag of fresh coffee
• 1 cream jug for cold/hot drinks
• 1 plunger coffee pot
• 1 nice set of hooks with chicken design (metal)
• Mixture of useful washers and nails
• 2 designer glass bird door knobs

Plumbing ....

• 2 rain shower heads
• 2 sets of smart taps
• 2 lever taps and 2 fittings for different pipes...covering a number of possible needs (I hope)
• 4 eco bulbs 8w and 12w
• 3 bags of glamorous herbs from Italy
• 3 packets of seed – radish, spinach and salad leaves

Of course he is not as grateful as I had hoped – i wanted every item to be examined and complimented for its careful thoughtful choosing.  But it is hard to elicit the perfect response on such extreme occasions! Although he was thrilled by the marzipan – in fact supplied by his mother!

Now what a surprise he suggests we go to the Pemba Beach Hotel for the night.  What a lovely treat – we get a suite with a view of the sea on two sides, drink G&T at the bar and then have room service. I wash away the travels and remind myself what my husband looks like and enjoy it all fully.  Tomorrow Malcolm and his group of bird ringers arrive and there will be much to do, no doubt in a panic and last minute.

Back in Moz: communication, communication, communication – women v men, good v bad

(D has just announced that it is weird that I write a blog, like a phantom pregnancy, phantom communications to my fantasy friends – as we are completely free of any form of internet connection. Well I am preparing for the day when we will have communication, safe in the knowledge that communication matters and I will somehow upload my carefully pre-prepared word document to the web- bugger him!)

In all I spent a month away from D in UK – after only 3 months of marriage and some people thought that strange.  I didn’t it was necessary and healthy and re-aligning and all sorts.  (In fact 3 months on and 1 month off might be the perfect marriage!)  But I did miss him a great deal and wonder a lot how he was doing without me – (secretly hoping not far better, having slipped back into blissful bachelor hood!)

Leaving him was really hard and I thought my new wifely nagging would at least impress the need to communicate – a bit, ideally every day but at least a bit.  Well there were 3 stretches of 5 days of silence, not even any of his half-hearted strange texts, nothing!  (If he had been on the front line in Afghanistan I am sure he would be enforced to communicate more with his wife...) So I set off to get the plane again in one of these communication voids.  I know Mareja resides in a near black hole of communication, however, there is the cashew tree and it does always have a bar of hope (and reception) if you are prepared to wait and, often more than not, three bars.

Sitting in Nairobi airport after I had successfully picked up the tarpaulin curtains/wall for the new guest rooms and was trying to sleep on a very uncomfy chair, my phone rang.  It was D and a quick hello and confirmation of my time of arrival, then he was gone again - he was at the cashew tree (and at least a 3 hour drive away).  You see it is possible to communicate with me when he wants to.

We are delayed a bit and then aboard LAM (Mozambiquan airlines) I meet Steve a nice Missionary and eat a strange meat sandwich and am doused by yet more over zealous aeroplane air conditioning.  But we arrive and I am greeted by warm Pemba air and the usual confusing queue system – I don’t see a waving D anywhere.  I get through the visa control and now wait and wait and wait for my huge amount of exciting luggage.  It finally comes and I push through a mass of people successfully past the sort of customs control and there is D in the dark.  Oh how lovely it is to see him, he is so much better in the flesh, it seems that all his communication energies are reserved for breathing and being. 

First pressed olive oil – Tuscany to Mozambique

Invited for a weekend in Italy olive picking – Chris sent an email which meandered towards me while in Moz.  (I only pick up email when back in Pemba and only then when the local network provider Mcel feels like it and the fishermen have not repurposed the fibre optics into fishing line.)

I read the email and my mind spun into a Tuscan valley bathed in gentle light and chequered with olives and vine yards, crested by Cyprus and turreted villages.  The kind of image where all the dots, dashes and shade create a picture to bathe the soul.  The stresses I experience in Moz are hard to explain and comprehend, even while experiencing them.  The air is full of challenge – mosquitoes with their drilling mouth parts, the Toyota with its now concrete suspension...and the bumps and the heat waiting to embrace you in a suffocating squeeze if you leave the shade.  All sorts of challenges – some obvious, some hidden but all quite different to Tuscany.  It does also affords moment of complete peace, they creep up on you... when you lie on the veranda safe in the knowledge that a sea of forest lies about you and the blue sky is vast above – or at night it hangs full of the brightest of stars.

Anyway I did it – went olive picking and I was right it was soul food, sandwiched with food food, the best ever provided by Chris’ mum Heidi.

The views were just as expected and shades of green, dark green to orange with flashes of red.  The house was a wonderful domestic scene with geese, ducks, chickens and kittens.  And as I arrived people popped out from under olive trees, a fantastic mix of Chris’s friends.  And to top it all we chatted and laughed lots against this Tuscan valley.  Then after we had filled crates full of olives we took them to the press.  Here we met Italian farmers with old tractors and sun-ripened faces all dressed in olive green colours with felt hats that made you look at their bright eyes.  Of course the press was set against another deep valley and next to a castellated large house.  I loved watching the many stages and compartments in the pressing processes - a conveyor belt, washing, de-leafing, pulverising, spinning, and some other hidden process in a large metal drum, then finally this bright almost florescent green oil appeared.  No doubt the preferred tipple of the gods.  Heidi gave us 3 whole litres each.

Then can you believe it, I packed one whole tin and have it here now in Mareja.  What a fantastic treat – the bread we buy that has to last for weeks is now dosed in fresh green oil straight from that valley, a wonder - a wonder of nature and air travel (and friendship)!

Never ever want to talk about Mozambique again!

I had panicked about going Olive Picking - in Oxford consumed by thoughts of fund-raising, networking with researchers, shopping for 40amp fuses and shower heads. And sent Chris an email explaining my fragmented mind and low funds.  He very sweetly insisted saying it would provide a rest and break from the all consuming world of Mareja and Mozambique. 

I do go (it is quite spectacularly wonderful see later blog) and as day four approached I realised I had done nothing but talk of the place...talk talk.  Oh my word it is a trap, the combination of a dried mind and kind interested clever people who see my life as exotic and different.  I think my social skills have rusted with increased humidity and too much time in the wilds - the wheels of light-hearted banter or even deep considered insightful commentary have all but stopped. I found yet more stories Moz-style spilling out – when all I wanted to do was learn of the latest restaurants and new artists and gossip on the high street. 

Anyway  the sound of my rusty voice spurred me on to...try for god sake to improve my social skills AND write a BLOG.  That way my darling friends and family can dip in if they wonder what I am up to.  And when they do not wonder be left in blissful silence!  And then when I manage to catapult myself back into the urbanised northern hemisphere I can talk of them and their lives and all else that I have missed.