I was riding my bicycle through the African savannah as the sun hit the horizon when a thought hit me that made the road ahead feel a lot longer — my small headlamp wasn’t strong enough to spot elephants in time if they were standing on the road. Earlier that day I had already passed two elephant skulls and several piles of dung. Now the night was closing in fast.

Long-distance cycling in Africa always comes with a sense of adventure and the unexpected. While riding my bicycle from Mague to Estima in Mozambique, I experienced one of those nights that perfectly captures what bicycle touring across Africa can be like.

The road stretched out in front of me — a good tar road cutting through the wide African savannah. But I was starting to worry about where I would camp for the night.

This region had once been part of the Mozambican civil war, and I knew landmines had been planted in areas not far from the road. Camping randomly along the roadside didn’t feel like a good idea.

Cycling into the African Night

The sun slowly dipped below the horizon and soon disappeared completely. One by one the stars came out, leaving me riding through the savannah with only a small head headlamp lighting the way.

From past experience cycling in Africa, I knew that light wouldn’t give me enough time to identify elephants on the road ahead. At night, elephants often blend into the darkness. With a spotlight they simply look like part of the night itself.

That meant there was a real possibility of riding straight into a herd before realizing what was happening — something no cyclist wants to experience.

Finding a Village in Mozambique

Around 8 p.m., I finally came across a small tribal village and decided to stop and ask if I could camp there for the night.

As I stopped, I promptly fell off my bicycle when my cleat refused to disengage — not the most impressive entrance into the village.

An older man saw the whole thing. We tried to communicate, but neither of us understood the other. He called over a younger man who, fortunately for me, had spent time working in Zimbabwe and spoke some English.

I explained that I was cycling across Mozambique and asked if I could camp in the village.

The answer was respectful but not simple.

They told me they didn’t have permission to allow it. I would need to speak to the night watch — the man responsible for keeping elephants out of the farmland at night.

Asking the Village Elder

We found the night watch, and after listening to my story he explained that he also didn’t have the authority to allow it. Only the village elder could make that decision.

So we walked to the elder’s house.

He wasn’t there at the time and was visiting somewhere else in the village, so we waited outside. About fifteen minutes later he returned.

When he arrived, my translator bowed down, making sure his head stayed lower than the elder’s chin — a sign of respect still practiced in the village. Seeing that in today’s modern world was fascinating, and I wasn’t quite sure if I should be doing the same.

The elder listened carefully to my story about cycling across Africa and looking for a safe place to camp.

Then he smiled and immediately offered a place right beside his house.

Camping in an African Village

I thanked him and set up my tent near his home. The elder then asked through the translator if I needed food. I told him I had brought some with me, so I cooked a simple meal of instant noodles.

Later that evening I sat under the trees near his house where several elders of the village were gathered talking quietly in the dark. I didn’t understand their language, but it was still a special moment to sit there and share the night air with them.

Eventually I excused myself and crawled into my tent. Not knowing how safe my bicycle would be, I pulled it inside the tent with me — which made for a tight fit in a two-man tent.

Sunrise in the Village

Just before sunrise the roosters began crowing and the village slowly came alive with the sounds of morning.

I packed my gear back onto the bicycle and waited for my translator, who had said he would come by in the morning.

Soon the elder stepped out of his house. I asked the translator to thank him again for his hospitality. Once again, the young man bowed respectfully as he spoke.

Then I climbed onto my bicycle and rode out of the village as the sun rose like a glowing ball on the horizon.

In the daylight I could finally see the village clearly — round mud houses with thatched roofs, dusty ground with chickens wandering everywhere, and the African savannah stretching beyond it.

And just like that, my Mozambique cycling adventure continued down the road toward Estima.