Into The Light

More paradise here - Tofo Beach, Mozambique. I think I'm going to make this the last white sand beach with lovely warm water and palm trees for a while, because they are getting quite boring. And I haven't seen an elephant for a couple of weeks so I think it's time to hit Kruger National Park.

In the mean time, I wanted to comment on a couple of milestones. Whilst on the aforementioned hellish journey there was a brief moment which was rather nice, when we spent half an hour or so travelling through the Zambezi Delta. And then got to a massive bridge over a massive river with the sign 'Zambezi' written on it. This is significant because the first time I crossed such a bridge over this same river was in Namibia - six countries ago.

Since then I have encountered the Zambezi in a number of ways and names - getting smashed and dancing like a berk on the banks of the Okovango, cruising down the Chobe watching massive herds of elephants, jumping off a bridge with just a rope tied round my ankles over Vic Falls, white water rafting on the Zambezi rapids, and then finally driving over it in a bus that stank of vomit as the sun was setting. Quite a journey - and I didn't get bitten by a crocodile once.

The next milestone to comment on concerns two possessions of mine that I did not think would make it this far. One is my yellow fever certificate (known as my 'Namibian Health Passport'), the other is my Andrex tri-ply.

When I get home I will take a picture of my yellow fever certificate. The only reason I can actually give for how I have been allowed into so many countries with it is that this is Africa. Where they seem to accept a photocopied dog-eared piece of paper with the words 'yellow fever' written in a doctor's illegible scrawl followed by his signature, which has got rumpled, crumpled and dampened more times than I can remember. But it's ok - because it has the words 'Namibian Health Passport' written on the front. So it must be legitimate....because Namibia has such a strong reputation in the field of healthcare.

So why NHP over NHS? Well, I didn't really plan to go to Tanzania. And then it kind of happened, but Tanzania has yellow fever, and I didn't have a vaccination - so I did what every intelligent, health conscious, western traveller would do: I rolled into the nearest medical centre and asked for an injection. Only this one happened to be quite close to the Namibian desert. In fact, you could go as far to say that the centre was in the middle of it. Still, the fact that after having the jab in my derriere the fact that I couldn't sit down for an evening didn't bother me too much. This was because I had the magic piece of paper that would get me into every further country without any trouble (as long as it was accompanied by a number of small green pieces of paper with a picture of a certain federal reserve on the back).

And now my yellow fever certificate is more of a morale booster for me than haribo or dairy milk could ever be. Crossing African borders can often be stressful, especially if it is into Mozambique, when the man decides that on that particular day a visa costs US$80. At which point I protest, saying that the embassy told me it was only $25, at which point two of his colleagues look up at me and the American bloke behind me whispers in my ear, 'Just pay it man, it's not worth it.' I was unhappy, but was sufficiently buoyed by the way in which they accepted my yellow fever certificate without question that I soon got over it.

Obviously the Namibian Health Passport has its sternest test to come, when I try to get into South Africa in a few days time - South Africa being a proper country and all.

Now, onto the Andrex Tri-Ply.

In terms of toilets, Africa is better than I was expecting. Having travelled in Asia, where the toilet seat is the air immediately above a hole and the toilet paper (henceforth known as bog roll) is your left hand, I was expecting similar standards here. However, it seems Cecil Rhodes did a better job than Robert Clive in instilling western standards and as a result most toilets have seats, flushes and, often, bog roll.

It is really only the worst toilets which don't have any proximate wiping device, and it is in these situations that many might despair. They might think of holding it in, they might think of just going for a #1 - they might even come over all asian if desperation has reached such a level. But not me.

It is at times like these I return to my bag, open the main compartment, thrust with one arm all the way to the bottom, past dirty boxer shorts and stained shirts to a small airtight, watertight, protective bag at the bottom. I can feel its softness before I even see it. Out it comes, slightly crushed, slightly ruffled, but when I take it out of its bag and unroll a few sheets it is there in its full glory. Cotton white, triple ply, extra soft.

I return to the questionable toilet with a spring in my step, knowing that however bad the start and the middle of the process is, there is always going to be a happy ending. Andrex Tri-Ply, I salute you.

If I was a psychologist reading this I would probably identify the tri-ply and NHP as tangible coping mechanisms used to deal with uncomfortable situations. And I would agree. Without them, I would be a lot less happy.

Had the nicest meal so far in Africa yesterday - it was cooked by a Frenchman. Rhodes didn't do too well on food, to be honest, but I think he was more concerned with diamonds and continental power struggles than cuisine - but still, he could have tried. No more prawns after tomorrow, but elephant should be back on the menu before too long. My favourite.