For sometime we'd toyed with the idea of relocating our moorings to their marina, so we'd decided to call in on our way up the coast to assess the quality of the services available. At the time we were disappointed with the walk-ons as they appeared to be shaky and unsafe and were also offended by a pungent smell emanating from a factory nearby. We recently returned there to visit some American yachties we'd met in SE.Asia and it's evident that they've resolved their problems as it's now developed into an excellent, popular marina.

By noon the following day we were underway again, in perfect sailing conditions with views of a beautiful, tranquil coastline. Just off Jesser point Sodwana, a boatload of scuba divers came alongside on their way out to the reef. We chatted together and they gave us news of an old friend Neville Ayliff, a diving instructor we'd met at Msikaba where he'd previously been employed as the game ranger. Apparently he'd relocated to Madagascar after his marriage collapsed.

After two days of perfect sailing we arrived at Maputo (formerly Lourenzo Marques) in the late afternoon of 20th June.

He took us to a magnificent double-storeyed house where we drew up at a large, ornate cast-iron gate. When a man emerged from the gatehouse Bob turned to Ed open-mouthed, but before he could utter a word, Ed cut him short with; "Please Bob, don't rag me about this - I'm already sufficiently embarrassed about the situation. This is not our house. We rent it and it comes complete with a housekeeper and that gatekeeper. Unfortunately, we need the gate for security reasons and I'm perfectly capable of opening and shutting it myself. That guy is the housekeeper's son - all her kids live on the property and we feed them - and I've asked him time and again not to do this. He sits in that thing day and night and opens and shuts the gate everytime we move in or out of the place. I've spoken to his mother and she says he does it to compensate for his food and lodging. He can't find work 'cause there isn't any and I can't win this battle so please, do me a favour and drop it"

We'd brought our laundry ashore and I'd ask Ed to point us in the direction of a laundromat. There weren't any - they'd all closed down when the Portuguese left, so he suggested that we make an arrangement with his housekeeper. When we collected it the following day the asking price was so paltry that Bob added a zero. She burst into tears of gratitude.

Shortly Sandy joined us and we all set off for the Costa de Sol. We drew up at a large old hotel (a legend in southern Africa) and whilst it had obviously gone to seed, we could see that it must have been imposing in it's day. Our waiter produced a white starched tablecloth, threadbare but clean and the meal was outstanding - prawns peri-peri, Portuguese style. After dinner we went on to a nightclub in "Sin City".

The patrons sat drinking at tables surrounding a small dance floor and on the stage was a band with a female vocalist. Ed drew our attention to the numerous women moving between the tables and dancing with the patrons, and every now and again a couple would disappear behind a curtain. Most people wouldn't find this out of the ordinary but in 1994 prostitution was illegal in our Calvanistic country - so we gawked in amazement! After the show we returned to Ed's home for a nightcap and much to his frustration and embarassment, the gateman was still at his post.

Next day we met Ed's partner David, who could have stepped out of a Dickens novel. He sat hunched over his desk with his spectacles perched on the end of his nose and steel bands securing his shirt sleeves. He was a little bird of an Englishman - and I just loved him!

Ed was at a conference so David gave us a lift to the restuarant where we were meeting for lunch. He drove a rickety old Ford Cortina which stalled on every hill and continually rolled backwards. In his precise Oxford accent he informed us that he was not at all embarrassed about his car and had no intention of replacing it. "If you buy a new car in this place you only have it for a day 'cause they steal them! But the buggers won't steal this thing. Just look at this car in front of us - see it's tail lights? They're rivited on with steel brackets. All the cars are like that here. Look there, do you see that one? They're all the same. You stop at a traffic light and while you're waiting for the light to change they unscrew your bloody lenses and steal them!"

"Do you see those tall buildings up there on that hill? Most of them eight to ten storeys high. Can you see the burglar guards? Look at them, right up to the bloody top floor! Do y' see them?"... We saw them. ..."Why do they have burglar guards right up there?" enquired Bob. "To keep the buggers out that's why! Security! They climb right up the sides of those buildings. Would you believe it? They climb all the way to the top to break in. They're bloody starving to death now`cause there's nothing left here anymore. That's what those burglar guards are doing up there. Nothing's safe in this place. Silly buggers chased the Portuguese out of here, actually drove some of them into the sea and a lot of them drowned y'know. Then they pillaged the whole bloody place and now there's nothing left to steal. And there's no work either - no one left to create jobs. So they're starving!"

"And another thing, there's four or five families crammed into one apartment in those buildings up there. They won't pay their bills for essential services so they've got no water and electricity and the bloody elevators don't work either". He told it in such an amusing way that we roared with laughter, little realising that all too soon we'd experience similar problems in the cities of our country.

The time arrived to press onwards, so we upped anchor and motored over to a filthy black wall where the diesel pump was situated. It was ebb tide and there was about an 8 metre drop from the wall to the yacht. Poor Ken never seemed to get anything right. He threw a rope which fell pathetically short and when the over-enthusiastic attendant stretched to catch it, he tumbled off the wall into the filthy, oily, litter-filled water below. I was certain I'd felt and heard a bump against the yacht as he went by and added to the melee by shrieking out to anyone and everyone in an effort to establish whether he'd been injured. At last he surfaced and if he was hurt he wasn't letting on. He'd already lost enough face!

A crowd gathered and every wise guy was shrieking orders to the next wise guys. This was an occasion; this was excitement; something was happening! Usually nothing happens, ... and they have no way of keeping themselves occupied to fill the long, hungry days.

Finally we were tied up and refuelling commenced. It was all moving very slowly so I asked Ern to take the garbage ashore. He dumped it into a 44 gallon drum put there for the purpose. In a flash a bunch of kids rushed to the drum and fought to get inside. They threw out the bags and I watched through binoculars as they sat on the wharf rooting through the contents, quarrelling and fighting. Everything appeared to be precious. They classified cigarette butts and plastic bags into piles, then using their fingers, licked everything from inside the tins. They even gnawed on the fruit cores and vegetable peelings. It was so pitiful that from then onwards I classified all our garbage as it accumulated on board. I was certain that irrespective of what we gave them they would still raid garbage cans. There were just too many mouths to feed and so very little to feed them on.

We spent the next four days cruising around the stunningly beautiful Bazaruto Archipelago, taking great care to keep within the numerous channels. Ern, the lightest and most agile male on board was hoisted to the top of the mast in the bosun's chair to act as lookout.

We stopped off at Coconut Bay on the island of Santa Carolina where a new lodge appeared to be under construction, so we went ashore to have a look It was being developed by two delightful young couples who were thrilled to have customers and happy to show us around. They told us that crayfish was on the menu so we decided to swell their coffers by ordering lunch. Bob runs a dry ship whilst underway so we "gave the cat a canary" and ordered a pre lunch beer.

Too late we realised that someone had only been sent to catch the crayfish after we'd ordered, because the meal took a long time coming. The sun was shining, the scenery was beautiful, we were all relaxed and the beer was ice-cold ....................

A note in the log reads:-

"BOB DOES HIPPO-CROCA-POMARULA DUCK-DIVE FOR LOCALS AT COCONUT BAY".

Totally relaxed and slightly inebriated, Bob's rubber sandal slipped from under his foot whilst we were boarding the dingy to leave. He toppled over backwards and was completely immersed underwater, causing shrieks of laughter from both the crew and our erstwhile hosts.

Almost from the time we'd left Durban there'd been a tense atmosphere on board. Ken was overbearing and officious, behaving exactly like the proverbial nerd in a position of authority for the first time in his life. Although Bob possessed higher qualifications than Ken, his various certificates of authorisation hadn't arrived in the mail by the time we left Durban and he therefore lacked official authority to take command of the vessel beyond Durban Port. 'Academic' Ken was the necessary 'paper' on board.

Ken had rattled my cage even before we left our moorings in Durban. I was in the galley stowing supplies when he officiously summonsed all crew to the cockpit, raising his voice and adding "And that means you too - Sally!". Bob gave me the "please don't rock the boat look" so I complied and went above. And oh my, he really spoke down to us, barking commands and delegating duties like an immature Captain Cook. I thought "Stupid little twerp!" and sneaked a glance at Bob. Of course, he was taking it like a true blue NCO so I kept my fat trap shut. Ern lowered his head to avoid my eyes, but not before I saw his suppressed smile. OK, you're going to have to go with this girl, I thought. At this late stage the twerp was an unfortunate necessary evil!

When he wasn't throwing his weight around he would lapse into reflections on his life story. He was from a broken home and was raised by "Mummy". It was obvious that "Daddy" regularly kicked ass from a distance, seemingly trying to make a man of him. But Daddy too, was overprotective. He regularly contacted the yacht by radio phone and without even a greeting, would bark at Bob; "I'd like to speak to the Captain please?" and the little twerp would literally wriggle with pleasure when he heard it. If he hadn't caused us to dislike him so thoroughly we would probably have felt compassion for him.

One day whilst painting my nails in the cockpit a tiny drop of nail varnish fell onto the slatted teak bench-seat. He was the only other person present so I pointed it out to him and asked him to be careful not to smudge it as I would be able to lift it off carefully once it had dried. He immediately and deliberately stretched his foot across and smeared it into the timber, looking straight into my eyes with a spiteful expression on his face. I went ape and gave him a verbal bashing, whereupon he burst into tears!

He should never have been on a yacht. The poor chap was awfully clumsy and continually fell over his feet. Everytime he left the cockpit he tripped over one of primary winches almost taking himself overboard but he never seemed to learn that it was there. And the more he embarrassed himself the nastier he became to us. Ern hated the sight of him and on one occasion Bob had to restrain him when a fist fight almost broke out.

In light of this I desperately needed space and solitude so I had a chat with Bob. He felt the same so we decided to find an established lodge to spend a few days ashore.

At 15h00 on the 4th of July we anchored off Benguera Island, directly in front of the lodge and within spitting distance of the beach. We went ashore and were relieved to find that there was accommodation available. We were allotted a delightful, well-appointed en-suite grass-thatched chalet where we remained for four days.

One of the inhabitants was a "Nag-apie" (a tiny nocturnal monkey). He was a gregarious little chap and a great favourite with the guests. He frequented the entertainment area each evening and appeared to be a potential alcoholic. Unfortunately he was the only one of his species on the island and consequently didn't have a mate. No one knew how long he'd been there or how he'd got there.

One morning top management informed him that a business convention was to take place the following day and that he would have to do a lunch hour shift in addition to his normal duties. He was concerned about how he was going to cope as he just wasn't getting enough sleep at night. So he prepared a makeshift bed inside a louvered drawer and placed the little creature inside it - with a lighted torch! Apparently the trick worked.

When we rejoined the yacht Bob noticed brownish marks on the bollards. They subsequently turned out to be stains as no amount of scrubbing and rubbing would remove them, irrespective of what detergent we used. They were left there by the fairies as no one had noticed them, nor did anyone know how they'd got there. Later Bob noticed Ken smashing a coconut open on a bollard and the mystery was solved - the marks were caused by the juice of the coconut skins, but there was no apology or remorse and he showed his resentment by lapsing into one of his frequent sulks.

On 8th July we weighed anchor, said farewell to Paradise and set sail with the intention of having another go at entering Inhambane. Once again sailing conditions were phenomenal and at times our speed over ground was in excess of 9 kts. - excellent for a fat lady! We trolled for fish and laughed at the birds following behind, fighting over the bait. There was great excitement when Ern caught a small barracuda, then the whales put on one of their magnificent water ballets, leaping and plunging and tail-walking and smiling with their beautiful laughing faces. And oh life was wonderful and we were so fortunate to be out here, doing what we were doing and seeing everything we were seeing.

Our next door neighbour in the marina back in Durban, Dr. Roy Wood had previously owned a hotel at Ponta de Barra Falsa (Pomeni Point) and we knew it was somewhere hereabouts. He was forced to abandon the property during the war when guests ceased to come. Someone spotted it; "There it is!". "Where?" "Right up there on top of the hill". "Oh, there!" "Yes, that's it, exactly where he said it would be, on top of that hill!" "Oh, it's beautiful!" "What a fantastic spot!" "Perfect place for a holiday."

By the time we arrived at Inhambane Bay the light was failing and it was too late to enter. Consequently we were forced to spend the entire night tacking backwards and forwards outside the bay, waiting for daylight. Obviously Ern had retained his sense of humour as his 4h50 log read:- "Inhambane to Inhambane in twelve hours".

At long last it started to get light and at 06h00 we positioned the yacht at the point where the landfall buoy should have been, then followed the directions Ed had given us. We were pleasantly surprised to find that brand new channel buoys had been installed right into the bay.

Ern went forward and positioned himself on the bowsprit to watch and ensure that we remained safely within the channel. Suddenly he shouted out to attract our attention and we thought we heard the word shark. We rushed to the starboard side and there, cruising around at No.4 bouy was an enormous, menacing, tiger shark. As we're not familiar with the habits of sharks we don't know whether it's extraordinary that each and every time we passed that particular bouy, he was there - exactly in the same spot.

An hour or two later we noticed two people walking along the beach. They hailed the yacht and waved. Bob and Ern jumped into the dinghy and went to meet them. Wearing a brilliant smile and without any form of greeting the stranger enquired of Bob "Do you play chess?". He replied in the affirmative but added that he was a bit rusty as he hadn't played for many years. It was only then that the stranger stretched out his hand and said "Welcome, my name is Mike". We later learnt that anyone who happened to stumble upon this remote and unknown area was received in a similar manner. If a hapless visitor didn't play chess he was ignored.

Mike admired the yacht so Bob invited them to come aboard. It transpired that he hailed from Bath in England and was in the process of building a lodge on the Linga Linga point, using only local indigenous materials. Later, when they were leaving, he invited us all to join him for dinner that evening.

I was reluctant to go along. Mike's companion was a very young local lass who didn't appear to speak or understand a word of English, making it impossible for her and I to communicate. I believe she was equally as uncomfortable and we must have looked like a pair of half-wits sitting there nodding and grinning at each other!

When we arrived that evening there was a large fish on the barbeque and Mike, oblivious to his guests, was locked in a game of chess with a young man. He glanced up, waved us to some chairs around the campfire and continued with his game. There was no sign of his companion but later when I went into the hut in search of the bathroom I found her sitting on the kitchen floor, propped against a wall and fast asleep.

The game ended and Bob was invited to replace Mike's previous opponent, who then drew up a chair next to mine. His name was Mel and we soon discovered that I'd known his parents many years previously. He hailed from Umhlanga Rocks, an area north of Durban and was currently employed by Mike to oversee construction of the lodge. I remembered the little boy and the fact that he was a brilliant child who'd won scholarships to the finest schools and colleges and wondered what on earth he was doing out here!

The fish was ready so our host tore himself from his game and over supper - which we ate on our laps - he told us a little about his life. He'd apparently relocated to Mozambique shortly after the local war, having heard that there were Russians in the area and he'd always yearned to play chess against a Russian. We found him both fascinating and disgusting and we ourselves couldn't understand why we returned to visit him time and again.

Generally there were between ten and twelve guests at a time but we could never work out where they came from. There was always a bottle of brandy and a glass at Mike's elbow. Once he'd ensnared a chess opponent he became oblivious to everyone else present, giving his full attention to the game and the contents of his glass. The unspoken rules were; if you're hungry help yourselves; if you're thirsty pour yourself a drink (providing of course that you've brought your own and some whisky for your host); find yourself a broken chair or whatever else you can find to sit upon; make yourself at home; don't disturb the chess!

Before we left that evening Mike mentioned that he was sailing over to Maxixe in his small motorised dhow the following day. Ken begged a lift expressing interest in exploring the town. When Mike returned that evening he was alone. On arrival in Maxixe they'd gone their separate ways after arranging a meeting point at a given time. Ken hadn't arrived so Mike had left without him.

Next morning Ken was still missing and we were understandably anxious. We couldn't imagine what had happened to him and were also concerned for his safety. He finally pitched at midday and only when questioned, announced that he'd lost track of time and had slept over for the night. As was to be expected there was no apology or embarrassment for having alarmed us.

Meanwhile Ed, Sandy and their two daughters had arrived in their motor boat and checked into the lodge. We spent the evening ashore with them and they spent the next day on board the yacht.

The following morning 17 July at 09h00 we left Inhambane to return to Durban and a few extracts from the log will give seasoned yachties a good laugh and an inkling of the atmosphere on board:-

20/7 01h00 Mysterious red light to stb.- Ken
20/7 02h00 Mysterious red light still to stb - Ken
20/7 03h00 Mysterious red light's a fishing boat!!! - Ern

20/7 09h00 At last, finished cleaning the pig sty! - Sally

21/7 04h00 We're lost at sea so heading inshore - Ken
21/7 11h00 On track again, we were 8 miles off course - Bob

21/7 13h55 Passed the breakwater & entered Durban Harbour - Sally
21/7 15h00 Whoppeeeeee! Capt. Coconut has left forever - Ern