Tar. Tar. Tollgate. Tar. Goats. Tar. Cows. Tar. Potholes. Tar. Wait. Tar. More Tar. And so it goes for about 10 hours. I wish I could say that the drive down to Mozambique was more thrilling, but besides for Loandi saving me from a bad judgment call involving a roadside boiled egg sprinkled with aromat (probably more for her own safety than mine) we made it to the border without incident. Oh wait, there was that 80km detour to the border of Swaziland we took whilst I was sleeping in the back, did I mention we missed our border crossing by 5 minutes and that we were supposed to play our show that same night? In the interest of maintaining peace and order within our ranks I shall not labour the point any further but suffice it to say my genius and sense of direction are not shared by all.
What I will labour is the serious lapse in judgment on all of our parts in attempting to illegally cross the Mozambican border; I mean there’s a freakin’ AK-47 on their flag for chrissakes, which should’ve been a serious warning sign. But sitting there in that temporary bamboo hut with a guy called Grey, waiting to hear news of our imminent border crossing, I couldn’t help but feel that I was in a scene from Far Cry 2, the hairs were standing up on the back of my neck as I waited for the Jackal to double cross us. Fortunately plans fell through for the illegal fence jump and we later heard from a reliable source that such an endeavor would’ve probably resulted in us being shot at or doing time in a decrepit Mozambican jail. So… phew. We live to see another day!
Instead, we spend most of the night drinking at a bar in Kosi Bay that took us hours to find mainly because some sadistic assholes have put signs up for backpackers and B&B’s that lead into the dunes and eventually lead to nowhere and I could’ve sworn I heard the giggles of locals as we stopped to debate our next move. Again the frustration was quelled by the fact that it felt like Far Cry 2 driving around the African back roads in a gangsta jeep, which makes me wonder what the long term effects of extended Xbox game play really are.
Fortunately on our arrival in Ponta Malongane people were happy to see us alive and well as rumours of our attempted border crossing had spread (and inadvertently upped our rock ‘n roll street cred) we were allotted a new time slot after Valiant Swart, who I might add made it through the entire festival without Loandi spilling any beer on him.
In life you can’t truly appreciate the good things without the bad to juxtapose them and after such an arduous journey stepping foot onto the beach at Malongane was like being granted access into heaven (the heaven where I get to hang with Jimi by the pool). Add some great tunes into the mix, a bar that overlooks the beach, some good friends and you’ll realize that there is nowhere better on earth.
All that said, the best things I took away from the festival were that there are many like-minded people out there who are keen to seek out music that is unique and honest, that people recognized in us the fact that we aren’t doing what we’re doing to please the masses but rather to please our own selfish agendas and that that’s a good place to start. That life is good and bad and sometimes both at once but as long as you keep breathing you’ll be OK. That my band mates and I keep growing as friends and can endure any setbacks as long as we add a good measure of humour into the mix.
I’m going to end this now because I don’t think there are many “readers” who’ve made it this far anyway, so blah blah if you aren’t reading this you look like a buttfaced greyhound har har har.
Oh if you are reading this, thanks.
Onwards and upwards to Potchefstroom!
P.S. If any local says “Welcome to Mozambique” it means you’re about to part with more of your money.
Peace in the Middle East
Tessa Lily
