Portrait of a “Powerful Lady”

I am forced to acknowledge the existence of a “powerful lady” every time I visit a local office. I arrive and instantly face this harsh reality: twenty people have to be attended before it’s my turn. Do you think I wait? Never. Public services should not be like this. People are left with three options only: 1) Submission. 2) Resourcefulness. 3) Total rebellion. The art is knowing which is the right one for each case and stage.

I am glad I know someone there making it easy for me. I go straight to her and ask: “I have to be somewhere else in minutes. Can’t you help me in this?” She is really nice. In a few minutes she solves my problem. Sometimes it’s over, but most of the times she sends me to another desk where I have to pay for the document in question. I sit and wait. And wait. And wait.

I check how long people have to wait in the section I have just left. It takes between 15 to 30 minutes for each people, so the average time for someone to make it through the first stage is 22.5 minutes. Multiply time by the 20 people in line and you realize that I have just earned 450 minutes, more than 7 hours. A really feat!

That’s when I start to ask myself: “If I have just escaped the worst, why on earth am I the only one waiting in front of a desk where I am just supposed to pay for a service rented to me?”

I get up and ask to the lady sitting behind that desk: “Does it take long?” I know her. It’s always the same lady. I think she glued to that chair years ago and nobody could remove her from there ever since. She asks me to sit and wait, expecting an obedient reaction. My role is turning around and returning to the chair right in front of her, where I cannot stop wondering how a simple electronic receipt takes ages to be issued.

If you dare to address her again with any other question, she is going to explode and you are in trouble. How do I know it? I once politely informed her I was in a bit of a hurry. Her reaction was like an African storm. I cannot repeat you all she angrily said, but you might guess. She easily frees all the anger she keeps inside. It’s not pretty, I can tell you.

I sat in front of her days ago. It all happened the way I described. Without even sitting, I went to her desk and asked if my document was ready to be paid and collected. “Wait”, she indifferently replied. I sat and started to wonder what on earth was I waiting for, being the only one sitting there.

When I was about to approach her, interested in knowing the motives of such wait, I remembered. I realized she was only expecting my protest to explode. Instead, I turned around and left. At the door I asked the officer standing there: “I left a document to be paid and collected. Can I send someone for it later?” Of course, I could. I sighed and ran away from there. Just for a few moments, while I sat in front of that desk, my heart beat stronger in rebellion. The difference is that this time I won. She couldn’t explode. She couldn’t make me patiently wait either. And I understood she is powerless against me.

(I bet you know a couple of “powerful” ladies too…)

AIR

 

If by chance I had spent
The whole night though
Without waiting for you

 

Just think about

 

How different it would be
The air, the moon, the sea

He Found Us

 

Months ago I wrote about a chimpanzee, but then I lost the text and felt too lazy to put it together again. The chimp I am talking about used to live in the local zoo, where he reigned as its main attraction ever. Actually, he ended up as a victim of that attraction. Another case of fatal attraction. Being extremely clever, he mimicked and learned everything people taught him, including heavy smoking.

 

One day we returned home and found Andy sitting in front of the television. He looked worried and said: “It’s done, they are taking Joao to South Africa from where he is not returning for sure…” We looked at him totally puzzled. It happens we know closely a person called Joao and our first reaction was thinking about that person. Why on earth would someone take Joao to South Africa forever?

 

After the evident laugh caused by the confusion, Andy explained that Joao-chimp was so sick due to his cigarettes addiction that he had to be rescued from the adoring crowd that kept feeding his deadly habit. He had a nasty temper and showed other manifestations of dependency.

 

Andy, who always had a special interest for any kind of monkey or ape, kept coming with the subject. “What could have happened to Joao?” he usually wondered, and we always thought first of Joao-person before we could realize it was about Joao-chimp. Last time he came up with the subject, we decided to satisfy Andy’s curiosity and start looking for Joao-chimp. And I wrote about this intention, so that we didn’t forget it. The text was lost and the intention could follow the same destiny, but then it happened that thing between Andy and monkeys. If there’s a monkey, he cannot be too far from where Andy is. We went to Nelspruit and accidently discovered where to Joao was taken. The old chimp is still very much alive and an attraction at Chimp Eden. We immediately set a date to visit Joao. And I am sure I shall have another good reason to write about in here.

Little Mary

 

MARIAZINHA
Escondida na rua
Brincando sozinha
Onde estás, Mariazinha?

 

O sol já se pôs
E ela na vizinha
Onde estás, Mariazinha?

 

Perdida no mundo
Como uma avezinha
Onde estás, Mariazinha?
Onde estás, Mariazinha?

Obviously…

 

You may or may not wonder about Seabell, The Dancer. The answer is simple: she has not been dancing for a long time. The reason? Her gentle teacher is expecting a baby.

 

You may or may not wonder about Seabell, The Fighter. The answer is not so simple, because she cannot be sure (just suspect) that her enthusiastic tae bo teacher might be expecting too.

 

Meanwhile, Seabell got herself a new tae teacher with a mind set on two things: “Higher! Stronger!” No need to say what his philosophy has done to Seabell throughout winter 2009! It was a bit too much and, except for exhaustion, she is not sure of short or medium term benefits.

 

You may or may not wonder about Seabell, The Quester. She still has her dreams. They never end. But dreams exist inside a larger spectrum called day-to-day reality. That’s why, instead of pursuing adventures, Seabell has sometimes to settle for kitchen and house quests. When she has to deal with other people’s problems, what else can she do other than that?

 

Tieta, Seabell’s chef, is a mother of three and a grandmother of one. She is single but not entirely alone. She is involved in one of those relationships just underlining the playful side of nature. She recently revealed: “I may or may not be pregnant…”

 

The rate world population grows is a serious concern. Not for Seabell’s acquaintances and friends, though. They don’t give a fig about it. Obviously…

Colour Me…

 

The importance of colours in the process of acquiring is usually imperceptible. Though, I had fully conscience of it while I was organizing the armoire where I keep around twenty straw summer baskets and the drawer where boys’ ties sleep for most of the year. Owing to climate and lifestyle, it can be months without one seeing day or night-light. I have to say that ties beat baskets in number and colourfulness. Largely.

 

During this colour awareness period I discovered a sort of quiz in an old magazine under the title: What is your true colour? I never had wondered about my true colour, but I automatically guessed it could be green. In reality, I love blue and black (Don’t we all?), but my safe, comfort colours include green or red (meaning happy mood) and brown or black (usually suiting a more serious me).

 

I followed the steps to find my true colour and got a surprise. It’s really easy: write down your date of birth and add numbers together treating each as a single digit until you arrive at a number between 1 and 9, the same process to discover your “lucky number”.

 

Basically, if you are:

 

9

You are gold, approachable, talented, perfectionist and an expert in hiding your true emotions…

 

7

Your colour is violet and you are creative, drawn to feel that you don’t fit – especially when your creativity is suppressed. (Diver Andy)

 

6

Indigo is deep, mysterious, optimistic and equipped with a finely tuned sixth sense.

 

5

Blue means maternal, caring, imaginative, stubborn and communicative.

 

4

If you are green, you like company but need to escape when feeling trapped. You believe in order and like to plan ahead. You cling to emotions and possessions. (Diver Ti)

 

3

Yellow is fun, acidly witty and meticulous. A reader and potential writer or journalist.

 

2

Orange people are sociable and relaxed, although you know when to take things seriously and people can find you difficult to deal with. When you feel down, food becomes your emotional crutch. (Diver Paul and Chanda)

 

1

Like your colour red, you are passionate and want to experience everything new, but have a relatively short attention span. You are direct and honest. Bottling up your emotions leaves you prone to illness. (Diver JP)

 

8

Finally, my number and colour: rose. Besides the surprise of being sort of pink, I wasn’t surprised at all with my main trace being “the perfect hostess”. But what really impressed me was the following passage: “Rose people often move away from where they were born and, although they may go back to visit, never live there again. In fact, you believe everyone is connected on same level. You prefer to let others take the limelight, even when it really belongs to you…”

 

That’s it about my true colour. I also liked (suspecting that it’s not far from the truth) the duality of changing from patient and understanding to “erupt like a volcano”. But really impressive is the distance thing. If I tell that I was born in a place where I stayed for about one month and left to never return, even if I was pretty close for a couple of occasions, you might understand why I picked this subject. So, if you have to, colour me… rose.

Dogs and Teeth

 

During one of my last Miradouro walks, right before I committed myself to my dogs’ health and entertainment, I overheard a conversation between two little girls:

 

“Do you love dogs?” one of them asked.

 

“I love dogs very much,” the other answered in a serious, thoughtful manner, “but I don’t love their teeth.”

 

At the time those words made me smile and I knew I would write something about them. This week my Staffie Keket celebrated six months, five of them spent with us. I remembered that conversation and found it a good subject for my weekly post.

 

In reality, I was left wondering if it’s possible to love something or someone if we have doubts. I repeatedly asked myself that same question and always got the same answer.

 

I admit that, for some, love can exist and subsist despite buts. Fortunately or unfortunately, we don’t all accept them. I am sure the love that girl could ever experience for dogs is undermined by fear. That love doesn’t have a practical existence, because teeth overshadow any possible action or feeling towards the loved one.

 

I think the same happens to me and to many others. Suppose you have to sit and study this possibility: “Sometimes I have teeth and sometimes I don’t”. And suppose words hurt a lot more than teeth. Do you accept the fact and peacefully live with it? My answer is no and nothing is going to change it. Wanted or not, love has commercial nuances. You have this to offer. Do I accept it? I don’t. Life goes on.

 

And maybe when we don’t accept teeth we start to unveil so many other unwanted aspects about dogs. Ambiguity, for instance. Crafted messages that fit more than one context and keep us unaware of teeth. Pleasing Greeks and Trojans never worked. At some point, one or both walk away. Because some day we are going to stop saying that we love dogs except for their teeth and conclude that our love is no love after all. Admiration dies. Feelings crumble. Love vanishes.

 

(I have to say that I personally love dogs, teeth included.)

Writing Pause

 

I’ve been writing a book. I am sure that I’ll finish it and maybe write some more, but I felt like stopping for a while. The reason making me stop is puzzlement. I don’t know if writer puzzlement exists, but I am sure simple human puzzlement is common.

 

I was writing under the impression that a polluted and smelly river was a bad thing from any possible point of view. I needed information, so I started to read a local blog and discovered a few disturbing aspects: 1) Local people don’t seem to bother that much. 2) They get offended if a stranger points at the river condition and the fetid stench, being stranger any person who doesn’t live there. It’s like they are saying: “If you don’t smell it, you are not allowed to touch the subject.”

 

As a person and as someone trying to write, I’ve just discovered that my truth never is absolute. I am sure this puzzlement is a learning process that will change the way I write and maybe the way I live. For now, I absolutely need this assessment pause.

Photographer Eyes

 

Shortly after we started a newsletter with a small space to photographers and their stories, I noticed that an important newspaper had the same idea. Well, it’s not a new thing and, besides, we all imitate someone else’s these days.

 

A couple of weeks ago they published an amazing picture. The moment I saw it I understood what a photographer really is: a person who wants other people to see things the way he sees them. I knew it because I recognized the need to make people look through my own eyes. It’s a familiar feeling.

 

That doesn’t mean I am a photographer. To be a photographer requires a few skills I don’t have, at least for now. Anyway, that extraordinary picture wasn’t very different from the best picture I would have taken if the person driving the car where I was had just stopped when I asked.

 

This would be my best picture ever: I was in a car leaving the Kruger Park, so I had a camera with me. The weather was very dry and hot. I saw the man from a reasonable distance, distance enough to stop and shoot if I was heard. That man was sitting on a tiny metal bar part of the sugar cane irrigation system, high above the ground, rubbing soap on his half naked body as if he was comfortably showering at home.

 

A good picture results from the combination of opportunity, eyes, camera and skills. That particular day I learned that sometimes a photographer also needs the support and good will of other people.

 

                                                                                                     In memoriam Ricardo Rangel.

Under a Tree

 

Since a week ago, I swapped my healthy eating habits for just eating. Why? Because the equation traveling with Paul and Andy equals eating non-stop is becoming sort of a pattern. In the end, Paul always complains: “We eat too much… We spend too much in food…” Needless to say he is the first to say “let’s” when the opportunity comes.

 

The owner of the place where we stayed suggested the first restaurant. We had stopped on the road for lunch and, as the meat portions in South Africa are gigantic, we weren’t really hungry. We craved fish to level the appetite.

 

The restaurant was a small, unpretentious place, yet the chef keeps the tables busy. We all ordered fish. I found the grilled sole I picked very okay, yet far from extraordinaire.

 

The next day we had beef fillet with spinach mash (Andy actual favorite food) and fries. We usually select the same mid-shopping place: nice, busy, but not extraordinaire.

 

Thursday night we went to an emblematic seafront restaurant where we regularly eat when in Duban. Finally, we had an almost extraordinaire moment. Extraordinaire was discovering that the main chef and manager is, in reality, a Mozambican character named Luís (Louis, as he is called). He cooks and performs. To be precise, he performs while cooking Japanese. Between other things, he can joggle pepper and salt mills, he can build an egg tower or make hearts out of fried rice.

 

The next day we had just a light meal before heading back to Maputo, a 560km ride. Saturday we returned to Tieta’s diet, whose highlight was a peanut curry.

 

Sunday I backed a honey cake, a recipe I really wanted to try and couldn’t just because there’s no honey available here. I brought it from South Africa, evidently. The cake is good, but not extraordinaire. Cakes involving liquid ingredients are a bit tricky to bake. I suppose it’s due to the existing high level of humidity.

 

We have an agreement in terms of Sunday lunch. The weeks we manage to visit a beach, we stay home. The remaining weeks we lunch out. No beach this week, so we went out for lunch.

 

The hotel where Jo once worked as a chef has occupied one of the too many beautiful and neglected areas of this town. It’s now a café, a small garden, an event space and a very small open theater. The food is simple, nothing extraordinaire about it, but the weather has been fantastic and we had lunch under a very old acacia tree. And that is, admittedly, extraordinaire.