“Every normal man must be tempted at times, to spit on his hands,
hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”

H.L. Mencken, Prejudices, 1919

This guy didn't even have a business in Africa.

And as of 15 January this year, neither do we. Well not the one that you are all familiar with. We still have WaterWorks, our dive company through which the dhow is registered and through which we will be operating the long anticipated liveaboard safaris in the Quirimbas Archipelago as detailed in the website.

But Bay Diving the lodge and restaurant no longer exists. Having removed the signboards and run naked around the property in delirious delight, we spent the next week marvelling at the amount of paperwork required in order to close a business. We also spent three days at the prosecutors office explaining the Labour law to the attorney and showing certain workers their signatures on the notice they had all signed after extensive explanations three months previously. To no avail, we have yet more court cases to resolve. The main one from last year where Arthur was accused of stealing two buckets of building stone somehow valued at $6000, with the same amount paid for bail, has still not been reconciled by our fine investigative force. Several hours were wasted at the local police station where they were reluctant to actually write a report ("No problem" he says "it's all in my head") on the punch landed by one ex-employee on his ex-Senhora's face. Should it have been the other way around, of course, we would have had a car load of AK-47 wielding law enforcers at our door again. Another biblical lesson we have learnt in our time at Mozambican school is Do unto others as you will have done unto you, interpreted as: Run to the cops with your story before they do with theirs.

This is sounding bitter, and it is not the intention. However, market research has shown that our misfortunes bring the greatest mirth to the majority. Inane babblings about how spectacular our new home and lifestyle on Ibo will be get filed and ignored in ADVERT section. These newsletters banged out over the years can be compared to the gruesome fascination most have with reality shows detailing cosmetic surgery. It is the patient's choice to undergo the mutilation in order to possess what they have always wanted in the long run. See big bouncy tits and a pert nose on an old woman and think of us sailing away on our dhow.

Owning and running Bay Diving was hard work. A simple understatement. But it provided us with the means, as well as a perfect place, to build and nurture Ietermagog. Nacala is a stunning spot. It is especially appreciated by us now that we have the time to enjoy it, and I wonder at the many special memories so many of you have who took advantage of all the area had to offer. For me it's kayaking in the evening on a flat calm sea reflecting the sunset, with owls hooting in the trees and fireflies twinkling in the bush - disturbed only by a huge shoal of mullet breaking the surface and having to rescue Jock who's fallen off the boat - diving in the reserve and checking up on all the new coral growth, counting the new fish fry, walking the surrounding bush and wishing I knew more about the flora.

It's all about learning. Continual improvement and absorption of knowledge. We've done a lot of that in the past years although very often there was none around to absorb and we simply had to invent a plan. With regards to setting up a lodge in post war Nacala, including house building, public road structure, electrics, pool maintenance, dessert creation, oh, and creating a tourist market, one cannot RTFM (Read The F%k#*n Manual) when one is still busy writing it.

We inadvertently became the first to do many things, which, when it comes to licensing those things, becomes very frustrating as the application of many laws, while tiresome at the best of times, becomes seemingly impossible when there is no precedent for officials to refer to. Bombarded with a stack of paperwork, specifications and documentation supporting the application for the first ever liveaboard license to be issued in this country, the director read carefully through everything before shaking his head and declaring the boat unfit because it does not have a bar.

This was obviously also an important requirement for the chef and the manageress, both from Maputo, who we hired last year for the lodge when we still had plans of keeping it operating independant of us. One managed almost two weeks before kayaking off to a local barraca imbetween shifts and crawling back up the stairs 8 hours later screaming abuse at the world before passing out halfway up. The other sweated out an offensive mix of tobacco and alcohol each morning, topping up with stolen supplies over lunch time and inviting various new found boyfriends to inspect her lodgings and leave their mark. Not quite the image we aimed to present, but some clients were pleasantly surprised at the low cost of their restaurant account, half of the items not having been recorded by their generous host.

Watch as the scalpel gouges out the fatty tissue around the stomach during a tummy tuck and dark blood spurts upwards...

So we sail north. The animals have created and solved some dilemmas. Felix the Pig is in heaven. Not via the chopping board, but somehow he got to live out eternal bliss with 99 virgins without having to strap a bomb to himself, although some might argue that he had a built in one. All he had to do was have attempted sexual relations with too many cars, tents, buckets, braais and finally motorbikes to have himself banished to a farm where he, my baby, is official Stud Pig. Forty Miss Piggies are consequently expecting and Felix is exhausted yet content.

Fella and Tsotsi went looking for the same deal and have yet to return. The stinky Yukky who moved in after having been abandoned by her owners, was finally reclaimed. Spooky the ghost cat went hunting and never returned, leaving us with two mewling kittens who had to be hand reared and then given away, so Mullet remains as the only feline representative. She has taken sides with decrepit, scabby old Jock, who pretends not to notice the sinuos body wrapping itself around his legs, and instead stares upwards constantly searching for the lost cache of Tbones and ribs. More than any other worker he realised the personal implications of closing the restaurant, and although he has agreed to stay on, we had to give him a written promise of improvement of conditions. Which is going to be difficult to deliver on Ibo unless he develops a taste for crab, crayfish and oysters that are so in abundance there. The seafood is spectacular in the region and will be the staple of our menus on the dhow, but as soon as we can get a kitchen workspace sorted on land, the famous brownies will appear again.

We bought a 19th Century ruin on the island that in time we will restore into our personal home on shore. Luckily this is not another first, and we have at our disposal the How To and Not To Do It's of those few who have already done it, as well as the expert architect restoring the forts. It will be yet another interesting project and opportunity to learn - one of those things that was never on the list but surprises you by becoming a part of your life experience.

So we'll give the house a facelift, but I reckon to leave the laughter lines and frown wrinkles on our own. Where we are and where we are going is as a result of what we have done. And I'm sorry, but as we move further away from the trappings of the lodge, I don't know many new tales of woe we'll have to regale you with.

Hah, who are we kidding? We are staying in Mozambique after all.

Warm regards to you, hopefully you can join us on a remarkable trip amongst the Quirimbas islands or way out to St Lazarus Banks one day. Keep an eye on the website as we make changes and upload new photos.

Arthur, Sarah and the meagre remains of the menagerie.