Best of May 2008

 

I thought my best of May was a personal matter. I was wrong and I knew it even before I was sure of that, because when something is very wrong I start to need sugar in a strange way. It is three years now without having to deal with a real sugar crisis.

 

Though, my best is already picked: it was this May that I returned to Macaneta for our winter picnic. For the first time, it crossed my mind finding somewhere else to welcome winter, but I don’t know any other place around where a battle was fought and spirits can understand this need to celebrate life. Only the thought of a change felt strange to me!

 

It is time to welcome winter, hopefully a mild one, and let other people enjoy the amenities of summer. So we went and got a surprise… Things seem to be moving up there! For the first time we witnessed a coordinate action pro-tourism. It is a very timid action, nonetheless one to be acknowledged and supported.

 

Instead of long descriptions, this time I show you part of my photo album picturing one of the last summer days of this season: amazing river, palm horizon, crossing roads, local boats, beach symmetry, waiting for fish, blue sea, expected arrival, catch of the day, beach business, playful companion, wild vegetation, dirty road, unusual traffic, packed return, close contact…

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Pensei que a minha escolha para melhor de Maio era um assunto pessoal. Esava errada e no fundo sabia disso mesmo antesde ter a certeza desse erro, porque quando qualquer coisa está muito errada eu começo a ter necessidade de açúcar de forma estranha. Há três anos que eu não tinha de enfrentar uma verdadeira crise de açúcar.

 

Ainda assim, o meu melhor já foi escolhido: foi neste Maio que voltei à Macaneta para o nosso piquenique de Inverno. Pela primeira vez, passou-me pela cabeça encontrar outro lugar para dar as boas vindas ao Inverno, mas não conheço nenhum outro lugar por estes lados onde se tenha travado uma batalha e os espíritos possam entender esta necessidade de celebrar a vida. Só o facto de pensar numa mudança já me pareceu estranho!

 

Era tempo de dar as boas vindas ao Inverno, esperar que seja suave e deixar que outras pessoas gozem as amenidades do Verão. Por isso fomos e ficámos surpreendidos… As coisas parecem estar a mudar por lá! Pela primeira vez, testemunhámos um esforço coordenado a favor do turismo. É uma acção muito tímida, de qualquer maneira uma para ser reconhecida e apoiada.

 

Em vez de longas descrições, desta vez eu mostro-vos parte do meu álbum com fotografias de um dos últimos dias estivais desta estação: um rio espantoso, horizonte de palmeiras, algumas encruzilhadas, barcos locais, simetria de praia, esperando pelo peixe, mar azul, a chegada aguardada, pescaria do dia, negócio de praia, um companheiro brincalhão, vegetação natural, estrada batida, tráfico singular, regresso agitado, contacto próximo…

A Tragic Sign

 

I like to have objectives. They keep me busy and attentive to the “outside”. This is very important for people with the tendency of introspection. I started recently one of my projects. Due to limitations in terms of photography, I picked one of the so many possible subjects available in the only safe place where I can walk with a camera: Miradouro.

 

Not so long ago I observed that musicians select Miradouro to meet and play. I started photographing with all my patience: either it can go a month without seeing a single one or I meet players in consecutive days. Last Sunday I met a guitar player and four days later another one. This one was playing and singing… Wonderful character! I deeply felt not having a camera with me. I couldn’t forgive myself for leaving it behind.

 

But then we found a group of people curiously staring at the green bush extending from Miradouro to the Marginal walk surrounding the bay. We approached them, trying to understand what that fuss was all about. To my dismay, I discovered that a couple had been just mugged. Someone came from the street, grabbed the lady’s purse and run away through the green bush.

 

Paul told me that from now on he is going to drive me to the place where the guitar player is, and I shoot from there. It’s not fun depending on Paul’s mood. Besides, taking pictures from a car is not a summer picnic. So, at the same time I expressed my concern, I couldn’t avoid a deep sigh: “Yerrrssss! What about my project?”

Don’t Upset Me!

 

I like women, though I have to disappoint you by telling that this is not a bold statement. It’s just a simple confession of my deepest admiration for femininity.

 

To be precise, I have to tell that I like women, in general, as much as I like men – with no particular meaning. The question is that women usually don’t like women and the only way to explain that is through the words: competition and insecurity.

 

Competition is nothing else but a good challenge if, just like in football, you learn fair play and to accept defeat. About insecurity, here is my hindsight: if you truly like yourself, than you necessarily have to love women in general.

 

One of the aspects I like in women is how nature gave them certain “mind skills”, maybe as a compensation from being less muscular.

 

Well, instead of philosophy on the subject, I am going to give you a personal (shameful) example of how our mind works. Since February I’ve been suffering from giddiness. I stopped looking for answers because: 1) My trusted good doctor said it was a European virus, supposed to disappear gradually. 2) I still feel it, but much milder and with less frequency.

 

From the beginning, Paul and I have tried to discover a pattern. Soon I concluded that there was no pattern. The spells happened any place, any time… I don’t understand how Paul was able to establish a pattern, but for him the dizzy spells happen if something bothers me.

 

At first I discussed this idea, but soon my feminine side surfaced. I am ashamed to tell that I started to use the dizziness to get things that I want! When I show the first sign of displeasure, Paul sheepishly agrees and asks: “Don’t or you will get dizzy!”

 

“Don’t upset her” has become a truly motto inside this house. I wasn’t completely aware of my “cleverness” until a few days ago. We went to a restaurant where I ordered prawns and Paul was undecided between octopus rice or grilled fish. I was happy with the octopus, because I also wanted to taste it. But then Paul started to have second thoughts and, suddenly, I just said it: “Stick with the rice, please. I am already feeling dizzy!”

 

When the rice came I was already very sorry, because I could see that he would feel happier with the grilled fish. I really deserved some kind of “punishment”. So, the day it was announced that Mugabe was (almost) history, instead of celebrating with a glass of wine I went to an extra class in the gym. I picked Katabox, an entire hour of boxing and kicking to the sound of tunes like Eye of the Tiger or Another One Bites the Dust. If you want to know how it was, I have to say that when it was over I was like Mugabe: almost done!

Sad, Wrong and Someone Loves Me

 

After so many months of Miradouro, I’ve learned to recognize people and dogs also walking there. I don’t pay much attention to the fluffy little ones (I am talking dogs, of course), but I know most of the large ones, particularly Labradors, a breed that I like. Max is the star among them, a promising black Labrador with 8 months.

 

As I don’t know most of them by names, I usually give them names matching their personalities. Sad, for instance, is an average golden Labrador lifelessly walking all his sadness from one extreme of Miradouro to the other. I know the lady owner of this dog, but lately someone else has been holding the leash.

 

Wrong is a spotty Labrador, always displaying a miserable posture. This dog attracted my attention because he walks towards one direction, while the person holding the leash walks towards a different one. It looks like she is pulling the world instead of a dog.

 

On a given April day, I abruptly interrupted my walk to witness something unbelievable: Sad and Wrong playing together on the grass, leash free. The sigh was truly amazing because both dogs seemed completely different: happy, energetic, playful… I just couldn’t stop staring. And what I was witnessing wasn’t a mirage: Sad looked happy and Wrong looked right!

 

From those few minutes I concluded a few things, and mainly one: leashes don’t suit some dogs. Their personality changes with or without them. My dog Thoth, for instance, doesn’t change because of a leash. In fact, dogs’ reactions and personalities are completely different.

 

That same day I had another surprise. After months of curious and cautious friendship, rebellious toddler Katherine also changed. During months our relationship was all about questions and answers. Then, the same day Sad and Wrong showed their best mood, Katherine asked me: “Upa!” Upa is a colloquial Portuguese word, surely imported from the English. As it is evident, she wanted to be lifted.

 

Once in my arms, the “little lioness” was another surprise: hugs, kisses… A truly sweet little girl! And when after all that bout of tenderness I tried to discover what on earth had happened, she explained to me: “You let me play with your iPod and my brother doesn’t.”

 

That’s how a few daily minutes of borrowing my iPod conquered Katherine’s heart. At least Katherine was clear when she explained her sudden love and effusiveness: I deserve more than her own brother!

 

The image shows Sad and a Redgeback dog, also playing.

With People in My Mind

 

I don’t like conflicts, ergo, I don’t like conflictive people. They are at the bottom, people who can’t control themselves. I had rare rage bouts throughout my life and I am glad they were exceptional and I was able to take control of my volcanic feelings very soon.

 

Don’t take this for kindness and think that because of it I am a trusting person easy to fool. On the contrary, I am not particularly kind and trustful. So, I had to develop a system to interact with people, based in establishing boundaries and learning to be attentive to other people needs.

 

My secrets to avoid conflicts, in a country where they happen with frequency due to the extreme precarious social conditions, are: care, humanity, straightness and fairness.

 

Contrary to Paul’s situation, prone to easily fall into labor conflicts, I don’t have any I can recall. In two or three cases I had to be a little hard, those people was so guilty that they just vanished for good.

 

Fairness is my number one quality in what concerns working relationships. To be able to be fair I have to be straight from the beginning by telling what I can give and what I expect.

 

The humanitarian and care approach comes from intuition and perception. The only thing you really need is to be aware of other people existence, no matter how small they are – just like in the Horton’s movie.

 

In general terms, Paul is kinder and giving than I, but he always ends up in trouble because he doesn’t set boundaries. He is mainly a provider for urgent needs, like sickness cases. I am more a provider for needs of the soul.

 

Giving an example, in April 7 there is a date celebrating the social role of Mozambican women. It’s so important that even I, a Portuguese expatriated, have been receiving flowers from local friends. The gesture of giving an extra something for cook Tieta and guards George and Albert was mine. It was just a little something, but you should see the sparkle in their eyes. With it, George and Albert will buy a nice present for their wives and Tieta, the one with more reasons to celebrate, told me at once:

 

“Vou comprar refrescos para celebrar!” meaning, “I shall buy cold drinks to celebrate!”

Pissing Trend

 

These stories have no charm and no humour, I think. The first hit the news during the last days of September 2007, just a second page incident in a small South African town. Some restaurant owner had been charged with assault for urinating in a client’s drink. (I can’t realize a better way to advertise a restaurant!?!?)

 

Remember September? Rugby was rolling and long afternoons of driking happened frequently. It was that the case until a customer was told that the restaurant owner had urinated inside his drink. I presume that the owner was as pissed as the clientele. Anyway, he confirmed he had urinated inside his glass of brandy. Lately, he explained that it was just a prank to scare that annoying customer. (I always have this impression that I must be extremely polite in restaurants!?!?)

 

Resuming, the owner admitted publicly that he had done it but later he stated that he actually never committed the deed. For him, the incident was a blown out of proportion joke.

 

Joke or no joke, the outraged customer didn’t laugh. And what started as a practical joke ended as a small town storm and a court case.

 

More recently, South African university students rioted in consequence of a video showing colleagues eating urinated food. The students protested with violence, in a clear demonstration that pissed food is no fun.

 

It seems incredible but a group of three students had decided to show creativity by filming scenes of colleagues eating food previously urinated. Once again, and after all the unrest caused, the joke excuse was alleged.

 

I’m not aware if pissing food is part of the Afrikaner culture or just a temporary trend. Though I suspect the above facts are related with immoderate drinking in a problematic changing society, the result is always paradoxically unpleasant to watch.

Two Writers

 

From time to time I read two authors that I regard as genial storytellers. I am not telling names, just because… Anyway, at least one of them is quite obvious.

 

The first is a Russian author. His stories are very simple, based in one or two characters with a rich, realistic and complex psychological existence. For me, the final result is a dense message not immediately evident.

 

The second is a contemporaneous author writing more elaborated stories, in fantastic sceneries, involving a great deal of psychological nuances (reactions under stress and fear being his best). At the end, it’s a single simple message that lingers.

 

I’ve been a faithful reader of both. I stopped reading the second because I felt the need of change. A few days ago, while watching The Shawshank Redemption, I admired, once again, his technique of passing a very simple message through a very intricate story. The Shawshank Redemption and The Mist (another recent movie from the same director, I think), are opposite stories on the same theme: hope. The first is about a man who, despite adversity, never lost hope; the second shows a man with the same strong character as the Shawshank hero, but he loses hope in the last minutes and because of that his battle is lost.

 

After The Mist, I felt like watching Shawshank again, and instantly understood why. Besides, hope is one of my favorite themes.

Learning Shangana

 

From time to time I am subjected to a Shangana lesson. This usually happens if I try to speak a little at home. Any mistake is celebrated by cook Tieta and guards George or Albert with laud manifestations of good cheer.

 

This week I called Albert using the word “famba”. It’s one of my favorite words. It means “go”. It is evident that it was a silly mistake, because I meant “come” and was telling “go”. Both Tieta and Albert had the usual reactions to my language inadequacy: 1) Condescending smiles. 2) Improvised class.

 

At the end of a basic explanation, I gathered the following list of words: famba – means go; fambani – means we go; buia – come; and buissa – give.

 

It looks simple, but Shangana is a complex language, involving declinations and a great deal of expressive sounds. Besides, it uses another languages to complete a rather basic vocabulary for the complexity of modern life. In terms of Shangana, I am happy to learn a small group of words from time to time. The above four will keep me busy for a few weeks.

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De vez em quando sou submetida a uma aula de changana. Isto acontece geralmente se tento falar um pouco dessa língua em casa. Qualquer erro é celebrado pela cozinheira Tieta e guardas George ou Albert com perceptíveis manifestações de alegria.

 

Esta semana chamei o Albert usando a palabra “famba”. É uma das minhas favorita e quer dizer “vai”. É evidente que cometi um erro sem razão de ser, porque eu queira dizer “vem” e disse “vai”. Tanto a Tieta como o Albert tiveram as reacções habituais à minha inaptidão linguística: 1) Sorrisos condescendentes. 2) Uma aula improvisada.

 

No fim de uma explicação básica, eu consegui organizar a seguinte lista de palavras: famba – significa vai; fambani – significa vamos; buia – vem; e buissa – dá.

 

Parece simples, mas changana é uma linguagem complexa, envolvendo declinações e uma boa dose de sons expressivos. Além do mais, recorre a outras línguas para completar um vocabulário que se tornou bastante básico para a complexidade da vida moderna. Em termos de changana, fico contente se conseguir aprender um pequeno grupo de palavras de tempos em tempos. As quatro em cima vão manter-me ocupada por algumas semanas.

Tribal Phase

 

I usually sleep until late. Sundays are so quiet here that it’s almost like if mornings didn’t exist. When we plan to go out for lunch, I pick something casual to wear, always in a rush. We waste three hours or a little more with a routine including: 1) Restaurant. 2) Coffee somewhere else. 3) Short walk.

 

When the decision is staying home, I have to come up with some menu pleasing Greeks and Trojans. Basically, Andy and Paul have the same taste in terms of food. Despite having breakfast around 9am, they both are more than ready for another round at noon.

 

Sundays at home for me represent getting up and going straight to the kitchen, where I prepare lunch for at least three and a “breaklunch” for me, a meal usually consisting of two items I usually would have for breakfast plus two items from lunch.

 

I like what I cook and I plan carefully what I want to have. Last Sunday we had three different lunches going on. Andy, who is becoming a good cook, prepared a roast yesterday. He learned the basics during cooking classes, but he has been improving since then. It was my job supervising the cooking process. At eleven, Andy and friends where already waiting for the roast.

 

This is what happened since eleven or, if you prefer, the highlights of this week: Sunday) The waiting group discovered a bowl with cooked prawns I was saving for my omelet. They ate them all. When Andy realized the mistake, he asked the guard to cook more and offered two bubbling bottles and a bottle container for my Macaneta expeditions. During the afternoon we learned that young South Africans started to kill Zimbabweans, Malawians and Mozambicans making a living in South Africa. Monday) Andy was supposed to travel to Johannesburg but found an extreme busy border, so he was not sure of trying again. Would that be the case that Mozambicans are flying from street violence in South Africa? Tuesday) We confirmed the exodus and Andy gave up traveling. By night, we discovered that the rage has more tribal than economic bases. South African news showed a woman who was savagely beaten, despite showing her South African ID, just because she was speaking Xangana, a language common to both Mozambique and South Africa. That gives a new dimension to the problem and someone has to write this down: in a country where World Cup 2010 is supposed to happen, there are still tribal conflicts going on resulting in more than thirty death cases. Wednesday) Paul and I had a political theme during our short walk: the recent violence in South Africa against foreigners. In his opinion, the main target of the Zulus could be the Xhosas. If he is right, what is happening now is only a sample of things to come. I advanced that it is urgent to invest in education and that the only money coming to Africa should be for educating people. Paul nodded, adding that it would be necessary to control how that money was used and to check carefully the results. Thursday) Paul applauded my first three sprints in a very long time. I applauded my creativity in other areas. Friday) TD arrived for a show where I intend to be present.

Which Fairy Tale?

 

Yesterday I realized that most of my friends are divorced, and some are even precocious widows. The divorced group seems to be living the good life! From time to time, when I meet one of them, we always wonder why on earth we have lost contact.

 

Sometime ago, one of the group commented, without a second of vacillation: “Long time no see you, Seabell! No wonder we call you Cinderella…”

 

You know Cinderella’s story. With this simple comment, she was referring to our different options: she is divorced, a partygoer, a night bird, always attending some happening of this city busy nightlife. Like Cinderella, I stay home enjoying a quiet life at Paul’s side. By the way, Paul is very critical towards these “liberated friends”…

 

At first I was sad and amused by her observation, but soon I started to wonder how interesting it would be if we all could fit into some fairy tale character. And if we could, which fairy tale would you be?