When Flip Flops Fail You

A story of razor clams, laughter, and charging headfirst into adventure anyway.

The Africans on the boat were laughing at me. Of course they were. I was walking excruciating slowly through the low tide and holding everyone up. My flip flops slopped and threatened to break with every step. One of my bags was lost on the journey over and these were a last minute replacement for the trip. They don’t work well as water shoes, I’m sinking and suctioning into the sand making for a comical and exhausting struggle every time I lift my feet. To top it off, I felt as though I was walking through a mine field. A mine field filled with razor clams. Pointed out to me a few days earlier, it seemed as though they were everywhere. Everywhere. And as the only American on this trip I was truly and completely out of my comfort zone. This, apparently, was hilarious.

Nine days earlier I had flown from San Francisco to London. London to Johannesburg. And then, in the early hours of the morning, clutching my malaria tablets, I boarded a small plane from Johannesburg to Vilanculous, Mozambique. Thick bush surrounds the small runway in Vilanculous and on the two occasions I’ve landed here, I’ve privately marveled at what it must have been like to initially engage in cutting back the wild, thick bush in order to pour the tarmac. They probably burned it.

The risk of malaria is high in the small airport because the mosquitos get trapped inside and become bored with life. They strike while you wait to get your passport stamped in a tiny sweaty room, they strike while you stand and wait for your bag, they strike while you go to the bathroom. It’s war in there. We’ve armed ourselves with highly toxic (it must be) bug spray, mosquito repellent bracelets, and hope.