Mozambique – Mirco Grasso’s Journey Through Vertical Africa

I can’t remember exactly when I first heard about Mount Panda.
Probably in 2023, when Samuele showed me some photos he had taken in Mozambique. At the time, I didn’t give it much thought — just another beautiful wall in a faraway land. But after Manrico and Antonella’s scouting trip in 2024, something clicked. When they returned enthusiastic about the place and with a few more logistical details sorted out, I realized I couldn’t miss it. I said yes, and the adventure began.

Preparing for the expedition was no small feat — permits, paperwork, logistics, fundraising, gear. Every step came with its own challenges, but every piece slowly fell into place.
Once we arrived in Beira, the last major town before leaving civilization, the feeling of the unknown started to sink in. After stocking up on supplies, we loaded the jeeps and drove toward Dzembe — a small village surrounded by wild, untouched nature. That would be our home for the next three weeks.

There, we met the tribal chiefs and were welcomed with a traditional ceremony — a gesture of respect and connection, granting us permission to climb the mountain that stood so sacred to them.

We set up base camp about forty kilometers from Dzembe. And after just ten days, Samuele and I completed the first ascent of the mountain, opening O Caminho dos Cogumelos: almost 900 meters of granite, dotted with incredible formations.

Every day we climbed a little higher, then returned to base camp under a sky full of stars. Only on the last night before reaching the summit did we sleep on the rock face, in the portaledge, immersed in absolute silence, with the mountain seeming to breathe with us.

When we finally reached the top, the view stretched endlessly — a wild horizon of forests and stone. However, the real beauty of Mozambique was revealed in the days that followed.

We spent time with the children of Dzembe, setting up a small climbing wall for two local school classes. Watching them climb — eyes wide, smiles bright — was something unforgettable. In that moment and during a party in Dzembe , I felt a genuine bond between our group and the community. And I started to believe that maybe what we were doing wasn’t just for us, but for them too.

With a few days left before departure, we turned our eyes to another face of the massif — a wall the locals call Montagha filho. I had noticed a striking line there while teaching the kids to climb.

Unlike the first route, where we sought a logical line following the weaknesses of the rock, for this route we focused on the beauty of the rock and the climbing technique: we wanted something more vertical and technical, and the mountain gave it to us. The result is a shorter but steeper and more challenging line, a little gem that we have named Templo dos Macacos, because of all the macaques that accompanied us during the opening days and during the free climb.

It was the perfect way to end the expedition — a route born from instinct and joy, climbed without pressure, just pure flow.

Before leaving, we wanted to give something back. We donated part of our equipment to the people of Dzembe — solar panels, batteries, a generator, a lighting system, and more. Small things, perhaps, but offered with gratitude, hoping they might make a difference.

As we packed up camp for the last time, I couldn’t help but look back at Mount Phandambiri — wild, silent, immense. I’m convinced this mountain still has so much to offer.
It’s a place waiting to be discovered, ready to inspire new routes, new stories, and new dreams for the climbers who will follow.