How Mozambique horse riding holidays allowed an exiled family to start again

We slide down a steep path engulfed in clouds of kicked-up ochre dust. Pushing through the last of the palm fronds, we emerge onto a slice of white sand. The tide has come in, swallowing the beach – and our route home.

“Might get a bit damp,” says Pat, urging his horse out into the clear water.

We follow him. My little horse, smaller than the others, bounces happily forward, submerged up to his stomach. We wade through the glittering waves, roughly tracing a shoreline hemmed by tangled mangroves. Our boots fill with warm saltwater. A traditional dhow fishing boat glides past a few hundred metres away, its occupants waving. I find myself laughing in pure, childlike delight.

Patrick (Pat) and Mandy Retzlaff, owners of Mozambique Horse Safari, offer horse riding on an idyllic stretch of wild, dune-backed Mozambican coastline around 400 miles north of Maputo, the capital. The huge beaches gleam white in the hot sun. The water is rich in marine life, with manta rays, whale sharks and schools of dolphin.

Paradise it may be, but Mandy and Pat are not here by choice. The Retzlaffs owned a farm in the Chinhoyi district of Zimbabwe. In 2002, like some 4,000 other white farmers whose land was forcibly taken as part of President Robert Mugabe’s land redistribution programme, they were handed an eviction notice and given four hours to pack what they could and leave. They bolted, taking with them their horses and a few of their possessions, crammed into cardboard boxes.

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As the land grabs intensified, the Retzlaffs found themselves collecting dozens of horses from their evicted neighbours. They became known as “the horse people”, taking calls from frightened farmers at all hours of the day and night.

After three years and six evictions, the Retzlaffs decided enough was enough. In 2003, they arrived in the border town of Chimoio in Mozambique with 104 horses.

Things didn’t get any easier. An attempt at investing in the paprika trade saw them swindled of their savings. They lost horses to hungry locals, in road accidents and, later, 26 of their herd died after grazing on a poisonous plant.

Somehow in the midst of it all, the Retzlaffs settled outside of the sleepy coastal town of Vilanculos and began, initially in desperation, to offer horse riding on the beach.

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The customers loved it. Eight years on, Pat and Mandy have 37 horses and offer day rides on Vilanculos’s spectacular beaches or a longer five to eight day “safari” package.

Guests are housed in local lodges. We stay at the lovely, self-catering Vila de Sonhos, where I have the run of a beautiful thatched chalet with a wooden-floored balcony looking straight out over the Indian Ocean. In the morning I drink tea and watch the sun emerge, buttery-pale, from the waves.

The day begins in the Retzlaffs’ neat, sandy stable yard. Pat pairs me up with my mount – a pretty white Arabian horse called Viper.

“He’s an Arabian, they do what they want,” Pat tells me cheerily as he adjusts my stirrups. I’m not sure what to make of this advice, so join the others in some trepidation.

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Twenty minutes later, all fears are forgotten. Viper – although energetic and with a serious turn of speed – is beautifully behaved. We ride fanned out in an arc across the baking-soda white beach before scrambling up a cliff path and into the bush. We weave between acacia trees and wild oranges. We pass through tiny villages where the children rush after us, the horses still enough of a novelty to induce squeals of excitement, and return elated, hours later. The evaporated salt water has sketched white arcs onto my jodhpurs.

Mandy hires a chef for the week, so myself and the other guests pile into the larger of the two lodges for supper most evenings. We feast on enormous, buttery crayfish; tilapia laced in salt and breadcrumbs and large bowls of fresh salad.

Although the safari package offers the same selection of rides – exploring the local fishing villages; negotiating the sliding slopes of a phalanx of marmalade coloured sand dunes; a visit to the glittering honeymoon isle of Benguerra where the Retzlaffs keep seven horses – the entire week is flexible and arranged to suit guests.

Taking a break from riding, we explore the derelict husk of a hotel on nearby Paradise Island. In its Fifties and Sixties heyday, the hotel was the haunt of glamorous Rhodesians who came to sunbathe slathered in olive oil and dance on the terrazzo-floored terrace. Local legend states that Bob Dylan composed his hit “Mozambique” there.

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On our last morning we rise with the milky dawn and ride, bare-backed, into the sea. My horse, with snorts of glee, plunges in up to her neck and heads for the horizon.

Later, Mandy takes me to see the foundations of a building – it’s to be a café behind the stables. The empty frame of a large window looks out over swirls of vivid blue sea.

This is the Retzlaffs’ first foray into material assets. With no chance of a pension, and no home to return to, they need to think about the future, explains Mandy. Until this point they have just had their horses.

“The horses have enabled us to survive,” Mandy tells me as we weave towards Vilanculos’s tiny airport. “We owe them everything – because of them we have been able to set up a life here.”

South African Airways (flysaa.com) flies from London Heathrow to Vilanculos via Johannesburg from £942 return.

A four-day, five-night safari costs $2,800 (£2,123) including all rides, accommodation, meals and park fees; mozambiquehorsesafari.com.