About This Country

 

Sometimes I think this country only exists on the press map when floods, hunger or any other similar disaster strike. Even favorable articles appearing now and then are seemingly paid or suggested by local companies, mainly the ones investing in tourism.

 

I know it’s not fair for poor peripheral countries only to interest the press when something bad happens. Let’s face it: the existing North centrism is almost impossible to fight, but I regard as healthy to point the finger at it from time to time.

 

A way of showing a different approach might be by collecting press texts or parts of them, when they seem fair and relevant. I guess it’s not going to be long because of the reasons already told. If by chance you step into something really interesting I would gladly appreciate your collaboration.

How It Was

 

Our recent stay in Ponta do Ouro was very comfortable thanks to a friend who owns the best house I know down there. I was also glad to see it was well organized, a consequence of past bad experiences in the few restaurants available.

 

Better let you cast an eye over my notes to give you an idea of how it was:

 

February, 14

– In the future we have to check the ferryboat first. A couple of days after returning we read about the “eminence of a disaster”. No wonder we were only two cars crossing to Catembe that morning.
- Terrible roads and nice people describe well this country.
- Arrival. Little rest. Green bikini and beach for a short swim. Due to a very high tide, the sand extension was reduced to ten per cent. Someone referred to the global warming.
- Classical dinner of oregano chicken breasts and linguini.
- Internet available thanks to mobile system.
- French tunes.

 

February, 15

-We toasted the first morning in Ponta do Ouro. We would toast a lot more.
- Blue bikini and beach. The tide wasn’t so brave, but the crowd was. We did enjoy meeting a couple of friends though.
- Paul and I had our first and only disagreement due to his supermarket addiction.
- Return to base for fish and salad lunch.
- Blue and red bikini for a stop on the beach café and a long sunset walk.
- Nice dinner of bacalhau (code fish), internet and Brazilian music.

 

February, 16

– I love unexpected gifts in unexpected places! Don’t you?
- A few moments on the beach with brown bikini and one of the handy sarongs I had brought with me. Beach dogs are extremely loyal. When I arrived they had already adopted another couple. As soon as the couple left I had around me not only the adopted ones but also a few I suspected to belong to other visitors.
- After negotiating an extra day in Ponta do Ouro for a supermarket stroll in Manguzi (20km after Farazela border), we both didn’t get a lot from the deal: Paul hated the supermarket (What a surprise!) and the perfect day never happened.
- Mid afternoon snack of smoked mussels bought in Manguzi gave me an allergic reaction. Paul insisted my carrot muffins weren’t enough as dessert and added a colorful small cake to our shopping list. It happened to be so disgusting it now features as number one in the list of the worst things ever tasted.
- Finally, I did enjoy my first moment on the water during the afternoon thanks to a quiet beach, a mild afternoon and a lilac bikini.
- Sushi dinner requested and prepared by Seabell, though she started to feel guilty when she remembered this guy.
- Internet and soft music.

 

February, 17

– Colorless beach morning with yellow bikini.
- Colorful lunch of steak fillet, spinach puree and chips.
- Cozy silent afternoon writing these notes while Paul slept.
- Second best moment snorkeling alone. Well, with a white bikini to be precise.
- Concerns around fishing nets and the behavior of people on the beach grew all the time. In the same place were once we could easily watch medium size fish and stingrays, only scattered plants, small and minuscule fish have survived.
- Risotto dinner, tango music and playing with pictures taken so far.

 

February, 18

– Return via Boane to avoid the ferry trauma. Once again we were saved by a Ponta do Ouro group and so we could avoid the worst muddy bit of Zitundo. Still, roads are so bad I strongly recommend not only 4×4 cars but also 4×4 bras – if you intend to arrive in just one piece.

 

Final note: I do intend to return to Ponta do Ouro but let’s say that after this time I won’t miss it the way I used to. Maybe I just picked the wrong tide to be there.

The End of a Love Affair

 

I think my love affair with Ponta do Ouro is coming to a close. It was kept alive for too many years. It survived distance, negligence, wartime and touristic invasions since 2000. How can one explain the end of a love affair?

 

First of all I can sense it’s not only me. Tourists are seeking other available options for reasons too obvious to say, but I intend to say – anyway – a few of them just as a note of disappointment.

 

For a paradise resort, Ponta do Ouro is too close to Maputo. If the idea was keeping the nightmarish dirty road as it is and the access via South Africa so easy to ride to stop the city crowds flux, they still come to know the place, visit friends and family. They simply don’t stay because there are no jobs and costs are prohibitively high. They just count in number, side by side with tourists, to the floating population visiting that small beach village.

 

Private sector has been shyly investing in Ponta do Ouro. I know for sure that tourists leave a great deal of cash, as tourists usually do, still it’s not possible to see social or structural improvements. Basically, what you see in Ponta do Ouro is natural or colonial. Can you believe there’s only one school for starters? Can you believe there’s no clinic or hospital? Can you believe that you cannot find most of the things needed to keep a house running and the few you manage to get are pretty expensive? What to say about the inexistence of a bank?

 

Despite all this and a lot more left to say, my love affair is ending because of a certain decrease of environmental quality. Tourists come from Maputo and react what they do in Costa do Sol. For the first time I saw so many bottles being consumed on the beach I could get drunk only with the sight and smell of it. What about people walking their dogs and leaving the dirtiness behind? I’ve never seen beach dogs dirtying the sand where people and dogs walk, seat and lie. There’s only exceptional territory questions to solve now and then, mainly at the end of the afternoon when the beach is left alone and watchful dogs are not sure who is going to show up.

 

Add to the above the fishing nets being used in the ‘pool’ where small fish breed and I can say my killing instincts rose as high as the tide.

High Tide and Stones

 

High tide changes the beach landscape. If it’s a sandy coast, like Ponta do Ouro is, the transformation can be drastic. On the 14th and 15th, precisely a week ago, Ponta’s impressive stretch of sand was reduced to almost nothing.

 

On the other hand, marine life vestiges were scattered all long several tidal lines. I spent a few daily minutes collecting little things for little reasons. Shells attracted my attention because of their colorfulness against the pale tone of the sand. Coral flowers (coral algae, as my expert friend MJ says) and sponges seem always more alive than the rest of the pack. Stones are wonderful objects to study. At first I thought the high tide had brought with it small round river stones. But then, during the collecting process, I concluded that those stones are petrified sand. Here you can observe three phases of stone formation from beach sand: the left ones are easily breakable, but at the same time perfectly individualized as stones; the middle one is very similar to the previous ones but cannot be broken, at least with naked hands; the last group is composed of rough, smaller stones, completely formed, whose origin is clearly sand. A long, patient process I was glad to witness. My interest in sand has greatly increased since I learned that my name means a color that is nothing else but the color of sand.

 

I also collected coral stones. I photographed the process from coral (left) to what looks to me coral smooth stone (right), though my coral researcher friend pointed out to me that coral usually degrades into sand. Even recognizing these presumably coral stones are more sophisticated in terms of final result (color, shine and softness), I’ll only treasure the heart shaped one (sand stone with a touch of coral) and this this sand stone to wear as a pendent. They’ll remind me that sand can become hard stone, that time and nature remarkably and inexorably change things. They are as precious to me as the costly, blindingly shining stones.

Mother Nature Is Pro

 

Maybe because I was anti-Valentine’s I could have the necessary detachment to stare at the moon on the 14th, photograph it and amazingly surprised concluded it was heart shaped. How more romantic than this can nature be?

 

Then I started to collect yellowish stones on the beach. Every single day I returned home with a handful of them. On the afternoon of the 14th, during my first beach stroll, I recognized two heart shaped stones. I was kind of amused. The second day I had a small heart shaped stone among the lot. I kept quiet. The third day I got another heart like stone. I just smiled. I was spending less then five minutes minding about stones per beach visit and chances of finding heart shaped stones were small. Then, on the 17th, I found such a perfect heart shaped stone I couldn’t avoid acknowledging the coincidence and showing it.

 

In normal circumstances I would be moved because of so many hearts. Maybe I would talk of signs. Maybe I would change my mind. But no. Mother Nature can be pro, but I am still anti. And I’ll be anti for as long as I have to.

These Roads Are Like Life

 

These roads are not to be lightly taken. Just like life. We plan, we organize, we worry and we have to know how to get from here to there. Just like life.

 

We pre-concluded that last week rain should be dry by the time we started our journey to Ponta do Ouro and ended up facing 120km of continuous muddy pools. We had to live a nightmare before reaching paradisiacal Ponta do Ouro.

 

But then, like sometimes happens in life, we were lucky. The last minute two guys appeared from nowhere and suggested that we reversed and attacked a large pool from the middle to avoid a killing hole. “Huuuuuge!” they said. When we looked back and saw the crater we couldn’t believe how close we had been to end up Valentine’s weekend right there.

 

The road continued fastidiously the same: water, holes and constant trepidation. Suddenly I saw a van turning to the right and told: “That is unexpected. Better check why they turned there.” Paul stopped and I asked. The road ahead wasn’t passable. So we followed the van.

 

You cannot imagine what it’s like driving miles and miles through one way dirty roads with no other orientation but a public transportation van appearing and disappearing behind the green coastal hills.

 

Paul speeded up so we could catch the driver and at least confirm if we were following the right direction. We were. He was too. From that moment on and as any good Mozambican would do, he adopted us.

 

After one hour of blind obedience, full of adventures difficult to narrate without turning a mere comparison into a road odyssey, he stopped and left his passengers waiting while he informed us: “We separate now because I am supposed to go to the border first. You shouldn’t have problems if you follow this road. I am Zimba.” And with a smile and a friendly gesture he returned to the packed van. A driver with a lion’s name!

 

These roads are meeting points. They teach solidarity and humbleness. Drivers loudly buzz at us. At first I though we were doing something wrong, but someone explained to me they are energetically saluting a “brother” sharing the same fate. Mostly we meet nice people. From time to time we meet rude people. Just like in real life.

 

The drive from Ponta do Ouro started the wrong way, but then another angel called Thomas saved us. Thomas is a new sort of person justifying why Mozambique is part of the Commonwealth: he speaks a new language half Portuguese, half English. I think this is common around the borders with English speaking countries. After rescuing us, he and his group guided us through the worst part of the road. Bad roads and good people again. No doubt, this is Mozambique!

Cat and Mouse

 

A couple of weeks ago I was startled by the declarations of two famous Brazilian political commentators a propos the Gaza strip unrest. Among other things they declared the groups involved as nothing else but favela gangs fighting a war promoted by some Western countries.

 

It’s a bold eye view but when it settled down I could take it much better. The Middle East war is going on for so long that sometimes I only see two possible attitudes: ignoring it or being bold about it.

 

Why do Tom & Jerry still fight after so many years? Because we enjoy watching them fight. If Tom and Jerry were regarded as mature beings, entirely capable of solving their own conflicts, maybe they would stop fighting – even if to get there they would have to learn it the hard way.

 

The question is that Middle East feeds the news and at the same time upsets the conscience of part of the world. As the situation seems far from being solved by a simple “How much?”, then there’s only a foreseeable way out: let them grow as human beings.

Death Sentences

 

One of these days I found myself hanging in our car with diver Andy and guard George. We were supposed to meet someone but time went by and nobody showed up. The orange shadows of a very hot day were already turning into night when Andy remarked:

 

“It’s getting late. Your wife is going to kill you, George.” In fact, it was George’s day off and we felt we could be imposing and preventing him from being with his family.

 

“Nope,” he said showing the white plenitude of his open smile. “Death sentences it’s not me, menino.” (Menino means young boy and it’s used here whatever your age is as long as you still live with your parents. The moment you own your place you are promoted (?) to patrão. It’s a hierarchy thing.)

 

“Death sentences it’s about KT!” he concluded and Andy nodded.

 

“Death sentences?” I asked completely out of context.

 

Both Andy and George embarked on an enthusiastic explanation. Examples and laughs were copious. It turned out that KT, who was previously into a relationship and fathered a son, got himself a temperamental new girlfriend. She picks into everything he does and it’s frequent to hear her saying: “KT, you arrived ten minutes later! You know what that means: d-e-a-t-h sentence!”

 

“That’s awful,” I felt compelled to say.

 

“But he loves it. He smiles when she says such things. He is proud of her behavior because that shows how much she loves him.”

 

Well, he likes it so much he married her on the 31st of January. The last day of January marked the end of the road for KT, our former driver and Andy’s former right hand. As a curiosity, on that same day I wrote down: some men love death sentences.

Reinventing Love

 

If love didn’t exist
I would have invented it
Not as prostrating illusion
But breath, nerve, life

It would have the shape
Of your dreamed face
The marks on your naked skin
The naughtiness in your eyes
The complex sense of your presence
The breadth of years spent near and far

Collecting salt and memories

Gathering cinders and delights

 

 

 

 

 

If love didn’t exist
I would have invented it
The way once existed for someone

                                                                                                                              that’s not you.

 

 

 

 

 

Being anti-Valentine’s
The year I wanted to play by Valentine’s rules I ended up anti. I felt a bit amused by discovering that I am not the only one never sending cards or adopting any other usual manifestations. It happens and that doesn’t necessarily mean we are alone or indifferent to expressing feelings. It might mean precisely the opposite.

 

Valentine’s Day in this town is almost like Christmas. There is not a single restaurant table or hotel room available and commerce is pretty busy. The only thing wise is running away and that’s what I’ve been doing over the last years.

 

This year I thought about creating my first Valentine’s card ever, but then I saw an anti-Valentine’s campaign somewhere and decided to adhere. Learning Valentine’s by the negative is as good as any other form of learning.

 

If I had to describe love, I would compare it with diving. We try to dive into someone’s heart and mind. Sometimes it’s easy. Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes we like and keep diving and diving, always discovering new motives of wonder. Love can be the greatest adventure of all if we really want to live it with someone.

 

But sometimes we hope, we persevere, we fight, we dive again and again and return with no answers. That’s because some people have the ability to disguise their hearts and hide their minds. Even so, some disguise them because they are naturally shy and private while others hide their true hearts and minds because they are not pretty to see. One thing I guarantee: it can take ages to discover a person’s true nature, but sooner or later, if you insist before taking extreme decisions, you will be able to know the waters you are diving into. This is my deep feeling about love: it doesn’t matter if you are alone, unhappy or lost of hope, sooner or later the right person is going to show up. That doesn’t mean you have to sit and wait. That only means you have to dive deep before deciding who deserves your Valentine’s cards.

 

I am anti Valentine’s as a recognition that sometimes one has to be anti before being pro – for the sake of the truth. Now and them we have to reinvent ourselves. Why not reinvent love when love so desperately needs to be reinvented?

 

I met someone who felt for the wrong guy but nothing could move her: nor his sick, unstable behavior, nor his doubtful words, nor even his questionable feelings and intentions. He defended his skin, his interests, and the status quo above all. She didn’t seem to care or notice it. What should be evident for the rest of the world was merely stressful and upsetting for her, but never a strong, definitive reason to change her mind. Nothing he could do or say was able to trouble her feelings for him.

 

And then, one given day, when I was already considering her a lost cause, she heard him say an expression and she finally got it. “What seemed intriguing and attractive about him felt rude and vulgar,” she commented. “It’s not a question of origin, maturity or education. It’s a question of tact and gentleness. He doesn’t have feelings for people in general. How could he refer to some jobs as diminishing? Imagine what a driver or a carpenter would feel hearing such expression? Their honest work, allowing them to feed their families, qualified as diminishing! Humble jobs only diminish people who feel or are already diminished. Diminishing is not working. It’s stealing, killing, raping, robbing or disrespecting people. A person capable of producing such words doesn’t deserve my admiration or any one else’s.”

 

I just replied: “Why on earth took you so long to see it?”

 

“The evidence itself was too evident. I thought there were some substance beneath the upsetting signs, but no. Now I got who he really is. He is just someone deprived of feelings towards the rest of the world. He has an ugly heart and I would never be happy with someone like him. He is a fraud. He is just someone rude who would make me feel sickly unhappy. He made me fight for him as if my feelings were a diminishing thing too. He used to say that a person would have to climb a mountain to reach him and I would, because I thought he deserved everything. I know the wrong signs were there. Maybe I was too tired climbing that mountain to see them. From what I know today of him, I am pretty sure he is the one who would have to climb the highest mountain in the world just to look into my heart.”

 

We had a long conversation. I could see she is really changed and I was glad for her. The motive of my anti-Valentine’s statement is coherent with everybody’s dreams and aspirations. Anti-love is nothing else but a prelude to true love.

Il Faut des Rites

 

Il faut, indeed. Saint-Exupéry wrote it and I fully live it or at least I try. Though a bit late to be heard by Marracuene spirits, now all drunken and confused after the commemorations of their past braveries, we finally toasted to summer 2009.

 

These are my notes under the date 10-02-09: 1) I wonder if today I inaugurated a series of events I might one day call “Sunsets and Champagne in Macaneta”? 2) I wonder for how long an average tourist can take the coexistence with business as usual and heavy machinery? 3) I wonder what an average tourist has to say about these roads, but he surely pray for car or driver not to quit before arriving to the intended paradisiacal destination. 4) I wonder why only cows and not tourists seem to grow in number. 5) I wonder if Macaneta camping is now a war zone due to the muddy cars parked there. 6) I wonder how many people might use champagne as a sun lotion? 7) I wonder how many people need the sea to keep their hearts beating? I wonder how many people are able to catch butterflies with their naked hands – and release them unharmed, of course? 9) I wonder how many people keep photographing places where they would like to build a house?

 

This is the diary entry of a red skin Macaneta tourist under the same date:

 

02-10-09
Macaneta Lodge, Mozambique
It happened on the stretch of beach extending to the left of the lodge where our party stayed. I was unaware then of the effects of the sun on my skin, but that same night and the next morning it was like hell. I remember feeling tempted by the idea of a swim when I saw a couple coming from a nearby hill. He was wearing white board-shorts and she was in blue.

 

They seemed familiar with the place. She kept photographing around an area where two large casuarinas trees stood tall, while he reached a fishing canoe over which he placed a seemingly light straw basket. That basket and the camera were the only objects they carried.

 

Convinced of my first impression, I approached and asked something like: “Have you been here before? How safe is swimming around here?”

 

“Not very safe,” one of them told. “It’s very deep and currents are too strong. Unless you are a trained swimmer, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

 

So I sat not far from the couple and watched how they seemed to enjoy a sandy foam bath, the kind we usually see children taking before learning how to swim. Right after they returned to the canoe and I heard the unmistakable pop of a champagne bottle. I couldn’t avoid discreetly looking while he purred half of the content of the bottle over the sand and they slowly sipped the other half. I do believe she could have used part of the liquid inside her conventional flute as a lotion. I never heard of champagne used as sun lotion, but then why not? (I have to confirm whether champagne is good for red skin sufferers or not. It could be a relief for me when I forget my SPF at home.)

 

They quietly finished the bottle sitting on the fisherman boat and left as smoothly as they had emerged from the dune. It took them less than an hour for all that. The episode seemed to me quite unexpected in such a remote corner of the world.

 

Meanwhile I was burning my redness even redder and considering following their example in terms of swimming possibilities. Comparing with what that couple managed to do in less than an hour, I might be getting a little slow.