Moheli in Comoros - a destination with a difference

Guest writer: Anna Nilsson Spets

Moheli aka Mwali is the smallest of the Comoros islands, at 213 km2 (think the size of Orust) it is barely discernible on the map. Fomboni is the main town. The flight takes 20 minutes from Moroni to Fomboni, the procedure with papers and stamps takes place once more and if the infrastructure was poor on the main island, it is completely lacking here.  

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On Moheli there are not many accommodations to choose from, my choice fell on Laka lodge, with full board, actually much more expensive than my tight budget allowed. The choice turned out to be worth every penny as the proximity to food and coffee shops was equal to zero.  

A minibus from the lodge was waiting for me, two hours journey on winding roads, up, down and many hello-come-to-me curves. The scenery is amazing... 50 shades of green and nature's artists have splashed colour in the form of tropical flowers. 

Where the road ends is Laka lodge, bungalows with terraces facing the sea, in the centre a reception and restaurant. It turns out that I am the ONLY guest, all week. It is low season and pre-booking times. My very own bungalow is secluded at the far end of the beach, a fan and mosquito nets will be of great help during the week. 

The first night I wake up with something biting me angrily on my back, scorpion was my first thought. Dazed and a little nervous, I make my way through the pitch darkness, wake up the night watchman and use my excellent school French, he sighs and goes back to sleep. I get another staff member to follow me to my bungalow, we shake the bedding and crawl on the floor and find a fucking scolopender. I kill it with the flashlight. My saviour in need scratches off a handful of leaves from a plant and rubs my back, scolopenders are not dangerous but have some toxicity and can undeniably bite. 

Laka lodge offers a party three times a day and the internet works well in the dining room. 

Breakfast is a mix of dishes from different continents, while lunch is usually noodles or rice with fish. The occasional aubergine and breadfruit is thrown into the stews.  

The dessert tastes of sun and heat and comes straight from the garden: papaya, mango, jackfruit. 

Every day I take one of those baby bananas with me and stand and chat by a huge bamboo tree. In the bamboo lives a lemur, he seems to have gone on holiday, I never see him. On Moheli there are two species of lemurs. I looked in the cannonball tree too, no Mr Lemur. 

The Indian Ocean is almost mirror-like the morning I have booked a snorkelling trip. Laka lodge offers both snorkelling and diving tours.   

At certain times of the year, humpback whales can be seen as they take their migration route out here. Dolphins, whale sharks and giant manta rays can also be seen seasonally. Unfortunately, the dugongs have moved on. 

The whole area is protected, a marine national park, no dynamite fishing here. Life underwater offers an aquarium experience de luxe, fish in all shades of colour, lobsters, healthy corals and a visibility of many, many metres. A hawksbill turtle accompanies me for a bit, peers with its wise eyes and swims on. 

Lepry island, a now uninhabited tiny volcanic island with a sad history. I see the remains of a tiny mosque, perhaps this is where people went to seek solace in their misery, because this is the island where everyone made their last journey in life.  

The sea, the wind and time have transformed the burial site into a human wall where bones are wedged between soil and roots. 

The daily life around the lodge involves renovation work for the coming season, new palm tree roofs to be braided, the beach to be raked and the coconut trees to be pruned and the only company I have is the night watchman who every evening with flashlight and umbrella makes sure I get home safely. We have a smoke on my veranda, then he takes his torch and patrols the deserted beach. Also not to be forgotten are my gecko friends who have a big meeting every evening on the bungalow wall. And this is when the rainy season starts, no doubt...

I wake up and fall asleep to pouring rain and thunderstorms, all my planned excursions float away, the lodge otherwise organises various tours; egg laying with the green sea turtles, spotting the endemic Livingstone's fruit bats and visits to the waterfalls. 

The roads are washed out and look more like tractor roads. 

On the other hand, nature offers beautiful spectacles from my veranda, I bathe in the drizzle, read and sip delicious juices.  

That's called chilling, isn't it? 

A stone's throw away from my orderly and carefree life is a village. The streets are a muddy mess, the houses and sheds cling to each other and the fully loaded minibuses come and go. 

The thought often strikes me: -What are they waiting for? A day's work that can bring in a penny, a customer? 

The Comoros is one of the poorest countries in Africa, as well as one of the most densely populated. Years of political schisms and coups, corruption and an inefficient economy have led to this misery. There are no natural resources to speak of, and income-generating activities such as tourism fall by the wayside due to poor communications and non-existent infrastructure.  

There are a few decent houses along the main street in the village, but the inside is something else entirely. Relatives working abroad contribute to building a house, but inside there is hardly any food on the table or water and electricity. The need for all kinds of aid is palpable. 

In the Comoros, people earn their daily bread through petty trade, agriculture and fishing. They grow cassava and spices and ylang ylang for perfume. Business in the village seems to be going smoothly, with hardly any goods and no customers. 

This day is an ordinary day and should be the day when children go to school but instead I see them loitering around the village, hanging out at the bus stop or helping their parents. Officially, schooling is compulsory for 10 years, but many drop out early for economic and social reasons. Literacy rates are frighteningly low. 

The village's natural meeting place is the beach, where fish prices are discussed, men draw a spade and children play marbles. Unfortunately, the beach is also used as a public toilet and rubbish dump. The reality is quite different behind the lodge. 

 All medals have their reverse side.  

The day of return to the big island came, arrived in good time at one of the smallest airports I have been to, the flight cancelled and I was prepared for that, as it happens quite often. What I wasn't prepared for was the fight to get on the next flight. After hours of queuing, shouting and elbowing, I was pulled into the waiting hall, the size of a Swedish living room. More hours of waiting, no food or even drink to buy and 35 degrees centigrade heat.  

When I arrived at Grand Comoros, I treated myself to a better accommodation with a swimming pool without water but a working network which then told me that my flight home had left 8 hours earlier. Sunday, everything closed, panic taxi to the airport, book a new flight and the money flew away faster than the flight. 

So for those who have a great deal of travel skills and patience and want to experience authentic African island life, GO!  

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Anna Nilsson Spets

60+ year old lady with a lifelong love for Africa. Emigrated to Flanders in Belgium and works with plants on a daily basis. Writes, takes photos and tries to inspire others to budget travel on their own. Blogs on "Anna's mix" about travelling, work, plants, writing and much more.

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