As part of Trade Aid’s work in Tanzania, we aim to promote a sustainable tourism industry in Mikindani area. The following is the impressions of a trip to investigate the tourism and tourism opportunities in Palma, Northern Mozambique.

Palma is a small, fishing town set inside a large bay along the northern coast of Mozambique. It is home to some 10,000 people, most of whom are supported by industries linked to the sea. Like Mikindani, the place is quiet and peaceful and its people and culture are dominated by the influence of the Indian Ocean that surrounds it. In this way, what we expected was something more akin to Mikindani but the reality was quite different.

We arrived in Palma via two pick-up trucks and a boat across the Ruvuma to be greeted by the dusty, sandy sight all so familiar to us after our five months near Mtwara. However, what struck us was the complete absence of the historic buildings and NGO vehicles that dominate the landscape of Mikindani and Mtwara. The vehicle on which we arrived was virtually the only thing to pass through Palma during our stay while the old colonial buildings that dominate the visage of Mikindani were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps this was why Palma almost had a more earthy sense of untampered-with Swahili Coast. The charm of Mikindani lies in the huge mixture of different colonial, native and trade influences that have shaped its past and continues to shape its future. With Palma, it’s great appeal lies in the idea that it never was a settlement of great importance and so you feel, when walking around that this is the natural development of this part of the world.

There was no electricity or running water in the guest house, no Boma to retire to for a cold beer and certainly no hint of mobile phone signal and internet access but Palma itself was all the better for this. These things, along with the presence of brand names such as coca-cola and Pepsi are right for the formerly upwardly mobile Mikindani, a place now beginning to see a revival thanks to enterprises such as the Boma, the brand new ECO2 dive school and the newly revamped Ten Degrees South lodge. However, in a place such as Palma, where people are living on less than a dollar a day and where there has never been a glorious past to compare to that of Mikindani, these things would simply be out of place. We saw no other tourists during our time in Palma, which only served to enhance the feeling of being part of a totally different society. When following a regular tourist route, however sensitive a tour company or hotel may be, you never get to feel as cut off as this.

As part of our time there we went to see a local group of women rehearsing traditional Mozambique song (see picture, left). We were merely walking by when we were invited to sit in on the group during practice. Listening to the women and drums as the sun set and the tide came in really will be a lasting memory of my time spent in East Africa. Later that day we caught a dhow (traditional African/Arabic sail boat) from Palma all the way back to Mikindani. This again will stay with me for the rest of my life as one of the most authentic experiences of the lives people lead in this part of the world. These sorts of experiences, however overused the cliché may be, really are priceless. Money cannot buy memories and certainly looking at the people of Palma or Mikindani, plays no part in happiness or generosity. This sort of journey, away from the beaten track and reach of the guidebooks is highly recommended and, although not to everyone’s taste, will provide lasting memories to anyone willing to embark on them.

At university I read War Studies and Theology. Whilst this makes me a complete weirdo it also means I can write very interesting newsletter articles. I have done one on Religion in Tanzania so now for the bit that keeps St Peter busy, War.

Little is known of East African warfare before the arrival of Europeans but we know the Arabs would have been developed whilst any combat involving the natives would have been small scale using edged weapons like swords (pangas), spears, bows and possibly shields. A look at the contemporary Massai or watching Zulu (great film) will give you some idea of what this would involve. Some Kenyan pangas from the Mau Mau uprising are on display in the Imperial War Museum. The Swahili’s first contact with gunpowder was from the Omani Arabs and then the Portuguese. However, most of the European-Swahili conflict occurred from 1884 onwards with the arrival of German occupation. The huge technological and military advantage enjoyed by the German’s meant that they were going to win most rucks. The British-Dervish battle of Omdurman (1896) with rifles, machine guns and artillery left 30,000 of the Sudanese spear chuckers dead or wounded for the cost of fifty British dead. However, the Europeans did not always have an easy day of battle.

The Hehe tribe had become one of the largest in Tanzania by the time of German occupation and opposed the colonists. In 1891 the heroic Chief Mkwawa led his tribe in battle at Lugalo and gave the Hun a good thrashing. A bit of a one off though as he was up against the finest offensive troops in the world and was soon on the run. He committed suicide and his head was cut off and sent to Germany where it remained until British diplomatic pressure saw it returned to Tanganyika in 1954.

By 1905 the Swahilis had been forced into labour and as a result of the appalling conditions, rebelled. The rebellion was known as the Maji Maji rebellion (maji = water) as the natives believed the Germans’ bullets would turn to water after firing. If their knowledge of ballistics was somewhat more developed then they would probably not have suffered such terrible casualties. The Germans reacted harshly but effectively using scorched earth tactics which resulted in wide spread famine and malnutrition. Mass executions of tribal leaders especially to the fearsome Ngoni tribe mopped up any remaining resistance. About 100,000 natives perished. Fortunately, the German colonists changed their stance and relative peace prevailed. Until 1914…

German East Africa (GEA) was surrounded by the British to the east in Zanzibar, the north in Kenya, the south east in Nyasaland, by the Belgians in the Congo and the Portuguese were honouring England’s oldest alliance and, therefore, the Germans were hemmed in from the south by Mozambique. This unenviable position was defended by Paul Von Lettow Vorbeck leading at any point about 3,300 Germans and 15,000 locally recruited levies. It was an impossible position really – his armaments were mostly obsolete and re-supply from the sea was going to be problematic.

The German Kriegsmarine’s ship Konigsberg managed to out fox the Royal Navy (RN) and was able to land supplies and wreck the Pegasus as she cleaned her boilers off Zanzibar. She fled up the Rufiji River where her shallow draft meant she could escape from the RN’s guns. If you have seen a particularly shocking Roger Moore film ‘Shout at the Devil’ (nothing compared to Moonraker, “I think he’s attempting re-entry”), then it shows the idea a little. However, the response was not to get a poor quality actor to black up with boot polish and take an alarm clock attached to TNT to blow the ship up. The British got two shallow draft monitors with long range howitzers to shoot it. Before sinking, the Germans landed the guns and ammunition and the Captain later defended Lindi.

Lettow Vorbeck employed hit and run tactics often deep into the surrounding colonies and was still being supplied by the Kriegsmarine. The RN blockaded the coast and supported the movements of the army along the coast. By 1916 the combined allied force outnumbered the Germans considerably and was led by the South African General Smuts. The Germans were rolled up and slowly encircled but the fighting continued in earnest. On 13th September a naval bombardment preceded a land attack on Mikindani. The impressive Customs House was shelled and wrecked and Mikindani claimed its only death of the war, sadly a forgotten villager. It appears the Boma was not attacked and resistance was not offered.

After a long game of cat and mouse and many casualties to malaria and dysentery the brilliant military campaign of the charming and brave General Von Lettow Vorbeck came to an end. He heard of the armistice two days after its signing and gave up his sword honourably on 25th November in North Rhodesia as a truly great soldier. GEA passed into British administration under a League of Nations mandate and became Tanganyika. The coming of the 1939-45 war did not result in any domestic combat but Tanganyikans did volunteer for service in the King’s African Rifles and the population as a whole suffered from shortages and rationing as Britain pulled her Empire into the war. Roald Dahl’s ‘Going solo’ provides an interesting account of life in Tanganyika at the outbreak of war (as well as great snake and decapitation stories).

The war passed as did British rule and now Tanzania is defended by the Tanzanian People’s Defence Force (TPDF) as well as a militia and a paramilitary police. I have personally seen the militia drilling and was not overly impressed. However, the TPDF proved themselves to be the best East African army in the war to oust Idi Amin from Uganda in 1979. Needless to say if America wanted Tanzania I would put money on the yanks, the TPDF’s budget would not buy a single US fighter aircraft. There was an issue a few years ago of Tanzania buying a high tech radar system from a British firm, I am unsure of the outcome.

A walk around Mikindani shows little evidence of current military activity but the historical signs are more common. The Mtwara airstrip was an RAF base, the customs house was destroyed by naval artillery and subsequent neglect, the splendid hotel is a fortified building. The Boma is no great castle but would have been a hard nut to crack. The crenulations (saw teeth type things you get at the top of castles) on the bastion at the back are wide enough to accommodate the large water cooled barrel of the Maxim machine gun whilst those on the tower could only fit a rifle. Both employed at the time of construction.

The now covered well shows that the adage is true that a castle’s defence is only as deep as its well and the witch doctor who dug a whole at the top of the Boma hill looking for German treasure found only spent German rifle cartridges. Using a chicken as a metal detector probably was not the best method of finding treasure though. The fact that Tanzania is relatively boring to a student of war belies its greatest asset. The peaceable nature of its citizens.

The day not long born – Bloody hot already, the sun reflecting off the tarmac and I could already feel the weight of the heat on my back and head, even through my Tilley hat. The fragile looking little single-engined plane, nicknamed in Brazil a ‘Teko Teko’ because of its resemblance in sound and vision to a child’s model plane driven by elastic bands – It stood there and shimmered and glowed in the sunshine while the temperature had not yet even reached 42 degrees Celsius.

In what seemed like slow motion a fat mechanic slowly hand pumped fuel into the plane’s tank. The smell of aviation fuel added itself to the tropical morning smells as Adam Baines and I stood waiting nervously to load and board this Teko Teko. Denis, the pilot, stood there in his beautifully cut, fashionably faded Khaki. This forty-something, athletic pilot exuded confidence as he emerged from the cockpit holding a slender glass phial which he dipped in the fuel tank. Denis looked at the yellow liquid in the phial against the blue, blue sky. He slowly brought it to his nose and gently sniffed it and rolled it under his nose with the concentration of a wine connoisseur. In Cruzeiro the pilot’s nose makes the final decision between aviation fuel and anything else that could find its way into tank!

Denis eyes turned to us, then drifted slowly over our baggage. He was not in a good mood. We were last minute passengers with extra weight, forcing him to remove all his various boxes, destined for different jungle stops and reload the craft again. On top of that we were going to pay the $900-00 with travellers’ cheques instead of US dollars cash. Denis looked us over. I could feel him wondering if the traveller’s cheques would bounce. He starred at these two Europeans and he probably wondered if we knew what we were getting into. I said, “The traveller’s cheques are paying for the return as well as the outward journey and, if they bounce; you won’t have to bring us back. Chief Biraci will vouch for us anyway”. Right he said, looking at my waistline “Back to the cargo hanger to get you weighed”. Finally, now having to believe that I really did weigh 85 Kilos, we approached the plane again.

Instrument checks done, the tower gave us clearance, chocks away. Propeller whirling, he shouted above the engine in English, let us sway. Mystified for a moment, then Denis loudly said the Lord’s Prayer in Portuguese and asked for the Lord to watch over our journey. A moment of reality came through the excitement and I prayed to whatever gods are up there, please keep an eye on us. The plane slowly surged forward, gathering speed, it lifted off and skimmed above the trees. Cruzeiro gradually disappeared behind us. At last, the adventure was to begin as we soared up, up and away.

I saw a carpet of green under the sky blue canopy, the sea of endless forest stretching as far as the eye could see to the edges of the horizon. I had a feeling of how small and insignificant are men in comparison to this wonder of nature. We flew on, gradually leaving behind the amazing golden beaches of the snaking river Jurua, so different from any riverbank I had come across before in either Africa or Australasia.

I was sitting in the seat by the pilot with my camera at the ready. Ready for what? I looked down at the trees so tightly packed together, my imagination was running away with the thought of what might happen if our one motor took sick and died. Chief Biraci had said, “There are no bad old pilots in the Amazon. Bad pilots die young; and so do their passengers”. Quickly glancing round I saw Adam starring out of the window, obviously moved by the sight of such beauty. Not the time to spoil his dream with a possible nightmare, for at that moment a rainbow appeared across the jungle and made what was already wonderful, magical. I looked at the Chief relaxed in his seat. I began to feel some of passion he had for his home, and also began to understand how he stood up at a conference in Panama and caused consternation by tearing up a prepared speech while shouting, “The Yawanawa want their land back”.

This man, who had lived on the building sites of Rio Branco and earned a pittance of money, had not only fed and clothed his body, but also fed his mind and soul and to become a survivor. At a time when most Indians ended up on the bottom of the human scrap heap, became alcoholics and the low life of the gutters of these fifth world towns. Chief Biraci had educated himself, fought for Indian rights to become their spokesman at the various conferences that became fashionable in the 80’s when the 1st world became aware of environmental issues. This plane journey was giving Biraci a small escape from his almost constant responsibility for the tribe. We had been in the air now for about 75 minutes, a journey that would have taken about fifteen days on foot or twenty by canoe.

Denis, the pilot, banked the plane and we moved on to another compass heading. He shouted over the roar of the engine in as much of a conversational tone as possible, “Don’t forget to be back on the grass strip on the date we agreed. We were cutting it fine by planning to be back just a couple of days before the start of the rainy season and the plane would be unable to land if the strip was waterlogged. I had already had a bad landing on a previous trip on a water soaked landing strip, the plane had tipped up on its nose – So, I had been there, done that and had no desire to repeat the excitement. “I make two passes and then I leave – That’s the deal”. I shouted back to the pilot,” I won’t forget, nor will Adam we both know that a seventeen day walk as the wet season starts could be the end for us”. Denis smiled,”Could be? It definitely would be”. “Thanks for the vote of confidence”, I shouted. We banked again and Denis said, “Sete Estrellas, time to land”. We swooped down low, crossing the river Gregoria and making for the grass strip by the side of the small group of thatched huts that was the village of Sete Estrellas and the jumping off point for our trip into the unknown.

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