We were warned of Mozambican police, and advised by many to be patient and not give in to bribery.
The signs all over the backpackers warned all visitors to carry their passports at all time while in Maputo. We were not going to get into any trouble if we played by the rules. Passports in hand we were off for a drink and a bite to eat.
Marjaana, a Finnish/English girl we met joined us for the evening. We went to the popular spot called Mundos in the city. The evening went well and we were all in good spirits until we reached the turn off to the backpackers.
It was unbelievably cold for Maputo. Along the way all the guards had their jackets pulled closed and beanies pulled down. We were starting to feel the wind start biting through our jerseys. A policeman walked up to us and asked for our passports. His brash sullen demeanor was extremely intimidating, but we had done nothing wrong so why worry.
We smiled and showed him our passports. By now his “boss” and fellow officer had strolled up to the scene. Marjaana did not have a passport with her. Not good. They said we must go and they would have to wait for the patrol vechile to pick them up and take Marjaana to the police station. Not a chance were we going to leave a lady on her own. “We all wait,” was our response.
It was now a waiting game in the cold. They explained that we could pay the fine to them and go. “1000 Meticais, no passport! You pay, you go.” The bilingual one kept saying. His “boss” just smirking and shaking his head every time someone spoke English. “We all wait,” was the response. “Where you stay?” “There, at Fatima’s!” answered Marjaana pointing to the gates 500 meters away. “We hungry,” blabbed the other officer. His bilingual colleague then stated how cold it was. The “boss” just leaned against a wall waiting.
We then suggested that we all go to the backpackers and get the passport. “No, police stay on street,” barked the talker.
We waited. Then the discussion of hot coffee between the three of us lit up a spark in their eyes. “We go to Fatima’s and we make coffee for you,” said Marc, “and show the passport,” finished Marjaana. No answer. We waited.
It stayed quite for a while and they flashed down a passing vehicle. They chatted to the driver for a while and then he drove off. Still we waited. They started getting impatient. Talking amongst themselves in Portuguese and shaking their heads while laughing at some joke. The “boss” stood straight up and we were on our way to the backpackers. “We go.”
We reached Fatima’s and brought out the passport while getting the kettle on boil. They brush it away and waited. We bring out their coffee and hot chocolate for the “boss”. He doesn’t take a sip but passes it to the guard at the gate. They sit down and chat to the guard and the manager of the backpackers. They make us wait.
Coffee finished, they pass us the empty mugs. We naturally thank them for escorting us home and falsely assure them of what a good job they are doing. They smile feeling praised and get up realising that we have all the time in the world and that we don’t give in to bribery.
It was a late night. Anybody in Mozambique, keep your passport on you, and carry two bags of patience. Let them wait!
