There's Room in the Inn -- But That's All!

In preparation for our trip to Nampula, I knew that we would have difficulty balancing my first-world expectations with Mario and Samuel's African standards. Any hotel that we selected, I thought, is likely to be below my standards and above theirs.

Despite some trepidation over the conditions that I would face, I wanted Samuel and Mario to be responsible for making decisions, including where we would stay.

Our first night was spent in a small community called Ribaue. We stayed in the only accommodation that we could find, which cost us $4 each. My anxiety lightened as I heard the responses to questions that Mario and Samuel asked: "Yes, the hotel has private washrooms," was the reply to their first question.

Of course, my anxiety wasn't in retreat for long. I soon learned that this is not the same as having a washroom in my room: what they really meant to say was yes, our communal washrooms have doors on them. And I soon learned that those doors latched closed by the strength of a bent nail hammered into the door frame.

"Does the hotel have water?" Mario asked next.

"Yes," was the simple response, which (foolishly) was enough for me. The hotel has water! (Wait a second. Is it usual to ask if a hotel has water?) What I didn't yet realize was that "having water" and "having running water" are two completely different standards, neither one of which I would even think to ask. Asking about the availability of potable water -- now that's something I would think to ask in rural Africa, but of this there was little room for doubt. There would be no potable water and there was no running water. The flimsy-doored washrooms down the hall were equipped with a bucket filled with the cold water of an open, hand-dug well out back, qualifying its proprietors to indicate that, yes, they have water.

I was starting to get the picture that luxury this was not when having sheets on the bed was the next feature described to us.

And that the mosquito net hanging above my bed would be a suitable deterrent, unless, of course, the mosquitoes were clever enough to find any of the dozen or so gaping tears in its side. (Mosquitoes in Mozambique, as it turns out, are rather clever.)

Despite the shock of being plunged into rural Africa, I slept mighty well that night after a long day of travel.

* * * * *

The hotel we stayed at for the last two nights of our Nampula adventure was closer to my standards (though the fact that we had a room at all was enough after our night of the cramped, sweltering faux-luxury of our pickup truck). At $20 a night, it was a little steep for Mario and Samuel, but they had difficulty finding other options.

This hotel, they grinned majestically as they told me, had cable television and running water! Heated running water, we later learned, which made my colleagues feel like they had hit upon the big time.

The only thing that it was missing was a reliable supply of electricity. We were in the comfort of heaven. What, after all, do we need lights for when we're trying to sleep?