A policeman stopped me on my way to the shops. I had just left the young hearts at the old head and needed to restock my groceries. I have a spare day on my Mozambique Visa and decided to catch up and relax at Msika Camp and Resort for the day and prepare myself for departure into Zimbabwe. Not really, I just need a day of catch-up.

‘Driver license and International driving license!’ The officer said. No hello, no nada.

‘You are the first officer, person in fact, that wants to see my International Driver’s License!’ I explained. ‘It’s right underneath the stuff behind me in a safe place. No one ever asks for it.’

He was adamant to see my internal license to verify my Australian License and I kept repeating myself. Eventually, he was happy to see my passport but couldn’t help by telling me, that next time I need to verify with my International Drivers License. ‘Have a nice day.’ Sure, it started well.

I didn’t tell him that I didn’t apply for a piece of paper with my photo on it for 2024.

Because! NO ONE ever asks for it.

I arrived at the gates of Casa Msika around lunchtime. An ostrich lady greeted me first with an enchanting dance performance. Nice to see you too lady. It was the most emphatic welcome for a while.

Camp Msika is alongside of Lake Chicamba, a huge water basin in the Manica Province.

My campsite lies at the shores of this enormous lake, facing east. A brilliant spot for early morning drone shots.

There weren’t any other campers here. In fact, the only other visitors were young boys from an orphanage in Beira. Talking to John about ‘his boys’, only the hardest cases will be accepted at this organization. ‘Otherwise, we will be inundated and won’t be sustainable for the little we have. But for now, we organized a little getaway for the boys to just relax and enjoy.’ Isn’t that fabulous?

Count yourself lucky, people, it’s crazy in Africa.

I used the time to catch up on some much-needed computer work. Photos needed to be organized and stories needed to be written about past adventures even before getting to the mountains.

I was up before sunrise on a calm misty morning.

The water temperature was warmer than that of the lake’s water, and steam roses evaporated.

Rick did what he did best, cruising the perimeter high and low. Near and far.

Owner Pieter came around for a quick chat, asking me if everything was okay. Yes, so far so good. I will be packing in shortly and making my way over to Zimbabwe.

‘Did you fill in your TIP ( Temporary Vehicle Import Permit) via the internet?’ he asked. ‘I give you the link to do so.’ That will save me some time and hassle by the border.

I didn’t get that far.

I didn’t get far with this email application either. It kept doing its annoying things as it does. It’s wasting my time. Something didn’t feel right as my gut feeling was alarmed on all levels.

Take your time, keep your cool, and go with the flow I kept telling myself. Surely within an hour, I will be on my way to Mutare, Zimbabwe.

Border crossings for white travellers are not much fun, particularly when traveling alone. Everybody wants something off or from you, large crowds gather around vehicles and follow you through the process of paper trial. But that’s just how it is. Just smile and wave.

Forbes Border Crossing is a step up to this chaos. Trucks and lorries are stuck and lined for kilometers along the road to the border posts. Even so much so, that small vehicles need to drive on the right-hand side of the road to reach the border post. In between are the truck drivers and vendors doing whatever they are doing. Leaving a concert stadium afterward is easier.

Check out on the Mozambique side was efficient and effective. I just needed to drop off my TIP and a stamp in my passport sealed my departure.

Or so I thought.