A bearing tower for going in behind Mozambique Island.

We went ashore and we were immediately comandeered by Abdullah who became our self-appointed tour guide. He was obviously hungry because our first stop was the former Club Naval, now run by an enterprising refugee who served meals on the patio. The food was disgusting and, to Abdullah's delight, I was unable to eat it so he devoured his own - then mine. Pitiful starving faces gathered around staring and watching each mouthful. We were given directions to the toilets and as we rounded the side of the building found ourselves on a beach with a row of toilet cubicles. They all faced the public but none had doors!! Children were begging in front of them and the entire area was littered with excrement.

From there Abullah took us on a guided tour of the old King of Portugal's holiday Palace. Both the exterior and interior were filthy and neglected but contained exquisite antique furnishings, magnificent paintings and beautiful crystal chandeliers. As the entrance fee was only a few cents and we were the only visitors it was obvious that the place was hardly generating a decent income. We thought it would have been far more sensible for them to auction these valuable antiques and generate funds to feed and uplift their desperate community. After all, they hated the Portuguese and had no appreciation of these objects d'art which were of no sentimental nor historical value to them.

We strolled through the old stone town to visit the Fort, constantly followed by a crowd of shrieking, starving people. Throughout our stay we were inundated with people paddling out to the yacht in their little dugouts, selling half-rotten papayas and miserable little green bananas. We yelled out to them "Lacosta, lacosta, bring lacosta!" (lobster). Early next morning the dugouts started arriving and ultimately we had three large and four smaller lobsters, between 12 and 24 inches in size (excluding the feelers). The total cost a paltry $40 US.

That evening our crew went ashore for drinks at Club Naval and were again joined by hoards of locals. Much the worse for wear, Ern discovered a little hand rooting around in his wallet pocket and in the cold light of dawn, realised that he'd been relieved of most of his money. Nevertheless we all agreed that our visit had been an intriguing experience.

On 22 May at 09h30 we departed Mozambique Island and headed for Nacala, our last Port of Call in Mozambique. Once again the conditions were excellent but by now we'd begun to take them for granted. We dropped anchor in Baia de Fernao Velaso at 23h00.

Nacala is a fantastic, natural, well-protected deep-water harbour ringed by cliffs. We sat in the cockpit sipping coffee and admiring the bay, which looked absolutely stunning in the moonlight.

Early next morning the Pilot contacted Bob by radio and offered him a ride into town to effect harbour entry procedures. Bob and Ern set off at 08h00 but were forced to wait around politely until after 14h00 before they were finally attended to. As we were the only vessel in the harbour it was obvious that the duty officer had no intention of assisting them until she'd received her "labola" (bribe money). Bob by now had had enough of this practice so he decided to wait her out.

She was a nasty, officious female of ginormous proportion who also doubled as the immigration officer. She yelled and screamed at Bob when she discovered that the officials in Maputo had already stamped us out of Mozambique, with a date two months hence. Bob feigned ignorance, insisting that he couldn't be held responsible for errors made by Mozambiquan officials in Maputo.

That really got her going and she launched into a vicious tirade. Bob never budged. She then suggested that the problem could be resolved for a price! Bob remained firm. Finally she "saved face" by chasing Bob off the premises and giving him 24 hours to get out of Mozambiquan waters.

I begged Bob to leave immediately but he correctly pointed out that we'd had little sleep the previous night and that he and Ern were exhausted from having been forced to sit waiting in the sun all day. He insisted we all needed a good night's sleep before taking off again.

Late that afternoon the crew bought two large shells from a guy in a dug-out and, by drilling holes, fashioned them into conches. They were making a dreadful racket learning to blow these things and, afraid that they'd waken Bob, I suggested they go and blow them on the beach. In no time they were surrounded by a crowd of clapping, laughing, shouting children. Ern then took to the water in the dinghy and put on a water-show, skimming around and around at great speed.

We believe that avaricious eyes were watching that dinghy because the following morning it was gone, together with the outboard motor, petrol tank and anchor. The four pieces of equipment had been chained together on the dinghy, which in turn was chained to the yacht with a 20mm chain, which we assume the thieves had severed with bolt cutters. The biggest shame was that they probably only wanted the motor but in their haste were forced to take it all. Our beautiful brand-new inflatible dinghy, which would be impossible to replace in this part of Africa, had probably been slashed up and sunk!

We reported the matter to the police and offered a substantial reward for its recovery but they opinioned that no amount of money would tempt the thieves to return it due to the unavailability of this type of equipment in the area. We soon realised that losing the dinghy was tantamount to having our legs severed.

We departed Nacala at 13h00 on Wedesday 14 May. It had been our intention to visit Tanzania but as we'd had enough of "the thieves in the bush" we decided to proceed directly to Kenya where we hoped to replace the stolen equipment. Whilst sailing out of the Bay we gazed at the magnificent "ghost" mansions lining the cliffs. We'd seen so many of these on the Mocambique coastline and mused on the value of the abandoned real estate in Africa, figuring that these homes would be worth millions in first world countries. We passed Cabo Delgado at 14h00 on Friday 26 May and "blessed" Mozambique goodbye.

Still enjoying perfect sailing conditions our days continued as before. Ern, who was fishing for the pot, got a mighty hook up into a Marlin and had the time of his life playing it. His elation was short lived and we all heaved a sigh of relief when it got off and disappeared into the deep blue.

At midmorning the following day the barometer started falling and it was evident that squalls were on the way. We were in depths of over 1000m and I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the magnificent navy blue seas.

By midafternoon Bob was exhausted and needed to rest so he asked me to take the helm. I shall always remember this as the sail of my life as the conditions forced me to proficiency. We were in the midst of a 30 knot South Easter with wild seas and I'd overheard Bob telling Ern to keep a close eye on my course. This was the challenge I needed to stick to the course like glue and was more than a little chuffed when my captain later dubbed me "Mrs Schmidt" (Messerschmidt).

That evening Bob picked up a South African ex-pat Mark Chapman on VHF. He was transmitting from Mafia, one of the Spice Islands. They had a long chat during which Bob gave him our heading and shared with him our reasons for wanting to proceed directly to Kenya.

Mark urged us not to by-pass Dar Es Salaam as, in his opinion, the yacht club was the finest on the East Coast of Africa. The fact that we'd lost our tender wouldn't present a problem as they operated a free ferry service to obviate congestion at the landing. He assured us that the Port Officials were not corrupt and to crown it all, as a result of the recent reformation in our country, South Africans were now the "flavour of the month" in Tanzania. He then educated us about the country and her inhabitants and we decided it was definitely worth a visit.

We were experiencing stormy weather and just prior to the end of his watch, Bob noticed an albatross struggling to settle atop the mast. Shortly afterwards we heard birds calling to each other and subsequently discovered that we had a "stowaway" on board. A small black and white seabird had landed on the yacht, crawled into the cockpit and was calling to it's mate to join it.

Within minutes about 50 birds settled on the yacht. Bob brought one into the saloon and it appeared to be as tame as an old dog. With no fear or agression, it settled itself comfortably in Bob's hands and fell asleep! It was golden/brown in colour and about 10 inches in length, with webbed feet and a needle-shaped fishing bill.

There was also a black and white species, similar in size and shape but with a broader beak. None of us were able to identify them nor could we find them in our bird book. They were obviously exhausted as their feathers had been soaked by the storm, and they'd taken refuge on the yacht to rest and regain their strength.

Early the following morning the "stowaways" started leaving in dribs and drabs and Bob finally evicted the last straggler by holding it in his hands and "throwing" it upwards into the air. It probably sounds soppy but I felt a deep inner peace after having had the privilege of hosting these small, friendly creatures. Over the years we experienced many delightful encounters with birds at sea but could never quite recapture the joy of the first. The most astonishing thing of all was that there wasn't a single bird dropping on the yacht.

By now we were 45 minutes from Dar Es Salaam harbour so Bob called the Harbour Master on VHF for permission to enter. He offered to send a pilot to bring us in but Bob assured him that we didn't require assistance. We set about getting the yacht shipshape prior to entering and ultimately dropped anchor in Dar Es Salaam harbour during the midafternoon of Sunday 28 May.