Still Walking

 

Whatever happens around me, it seems that one thing remains immutable: mid afternoon I walk my dogs. Whether I arrive famished or completely knocked down, I have to forget aches and sorrows to answer to their needs. As soon as I step out of the car the first thing I see is their anxious expressions. Only dog walkers can realize how it is.

 

Walking a dog creates one of the best bonds ever existed. During my walks I’ve been learning more about dogs than an entire life of coexistence. I learned, for instance, that dogs are not very fond of changes in terms of walking, the same way they don’t show signs of boredom of eating the same menu day after day.

 

At first I tried different streets with the idea that change would please them, but for some reason we ended up always walking the same paths. In reality, I picked a barking dogs free walk.

 

I was worried with such lack of imagination, until I recently discovered that I was wrong. For some reason I decided to walk the same places but in reverse: start where we usually end and end where we usually start. Disaster. Both dogs, Thoth and Keket, didn’t like it a bit. They behaved like they were walking a place never walked, just because it was happening in a different direction. Above all, they lost half of their usual effusiveness, concentrated in identifying and signaling their path as if it were a completely new one.

 

Last Thursday, Paul and I decided to change the direction of our active routines by returning to the gym. I was greeted by the same tae bo instructor and immediately informed him that I wasn’t exercising for quite sometime. Maybe you think that he should ask a few questions. Maybe you think that he should recommend the gym medical personnel for a routine check. If you do, you are completely wrong. I saw him approaching and suddenly it just happened. He pinched my waist with his fingers. I was so surprised that I even stopped breathing. Only a few minutes later I realized what had happened. He was doing his own medical exam, trying to detect possible fat around the waist area! I sighed with relieve. I had passed!

Disciplined Rain

 

Last Sunday it was stormy. Though, the result wasn’t a proper storm but a quiet rain intermittently falling down since Monday. That day I walked the dogs right after the rain to discover that rain makes people more equal. And smiling. And playful. Dogs and school children seem to love it. Keket was particularly excited with the newly washed streets. I love it too, even if slippery with all the lilac jacarandas covering parts of the walk.

 

It hasn’t been a good walking week, but Wednesday was general election and nobody worked. Mid afternoon we found small groups still arriving at the neighbourhood election post. Not far from it I saw a homeless man profoundly sleeping on the street. We can sporadically find beggar and homeless near a place where the rubbish is deposited, but it’s the first we see sleeping like that. Keket was clearly intrigued. A human figure in such strange and vulnerable position!? I almost cut my wrist in two to prevent my little dog from awakening him.

 

I was intrigued too. It could be simply a drunken, a man who celebrated democracy in a particularly effusive way. If he had voted too, how could a visibly homeless man register near the place where he lives if he doesn’t have a known address? Was he sleeping tired of the early morning queues or of his fruitless attempts to vote? Above all, I wondered about the party a homeless man would vote for.

Wheel of Time

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Na roda do tempo eu estou
Na roda do tempo eu sigo
E o tempo é meu aliado
E o tempo é meu inimigo

 

Há dias em que nem sei quem sou
Há dias em que é bom estar vivo

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…

They Do It For You

 

Long ago the public sector recognized its incapacity of maintaining transport services suitable to the needs of a fast growing population. The private sector took charge and, as it always happens, it was chaos. In recent years, an effort was made to organize those services, but some aspects remain untouchable.

 

The 12 to 16 seats mini-busses used until now (they are supposed to be substituted by 25 seats busses, over the next months) have been doing an undeniable public service. Considering costs of maintenance and spare parts, I don’t believe any bus owner got rich or even closer. So I ask myself: 1) Why taxing a service supposed to ease the lives of poor working people? 2) Why keeping on the streets corrupt police officers who are not there to guarantee safety or legality but their own interests? 3) Why not restrict licences to current needs and ask for a very reasonable amount, almost symbolic, once we are talking of a public service?

 

People are not happy with some measures being taken. For the first time I’ve been overhearing very critical comments on the streets. Shops, whose owners don’t have schemes other than shops, have to close doors when the fiscal appears just because they don’t make enough money to pay the tax or the bribe. Years ago they had money to pay the bribe, at least. In such a poor country, with such a volatile small market, isn’t someone asking too much from who has so little?

Rewind and Play

 

This country has “niceties” that I wouldn’t find anywhere else in the world. For instance, it’s curious the way superstition matters are seriously taken after so many years of materialistic socialism. Newspapers are full of stories corroborating the return to old traditions and witchcraft, some of them happening on our doorsteps.

 

An unfortunate whale picked the sands of Inhaca Island to end its days. When the word spread, the hungry population feasted on the huge mammal meat, forgetting Grandpa Nhaca, the traditional chief or king of the island. Old Nhaca didn’t enjoy being marginalized and cursed the abusive people who forgot that royalty has a stomach too. Since then, the islanders have been living in fear for their future. Any accident or misfortune is going to be explained by Nhaca’s unquestionable powers.

 

If that feels strange to you, wrap up another one. Recently, the national airfreight company brought a new Embrair 190. As soon as the plane arrived from Brazil, a goat was sacrificed to bring luck. Hearing that, I corrected: “Do you mean they killed and ate a goat to celebrate…” No way. I was wrong. The goat was slaughtered just to spill blood and please ancestors and traditional divinities. Isn’t this an amazing combination of tech and eek?

I Wasn’t That Optimistic…

 

What was I doing when most Mozambicans were celebrating the brand new bridge over the mighty Zambeze, whose running waters separate this country in half? In fact, I was visiting a factory and, because of that, I couldn’t share the general optimism.

 

The factory is a wreck. A ghost of industrialization. A collection of dilapidated buildings looming out of nowhere. No word could paint the reality of the private sector better than the images still haunting my mind: unlimited sky, useless structures, living shadows, humble presences, another time, no break for poverty and no more doors to open.

 

From that day and that place I still gather the impression of how nice and deserving of a better life those factory workers are. Owners live in despair. Workers live in extreme poverty. Owners have no clue of what to do next. Workers are sadly marginalized from most of the things making life worth living. Inexplicably, they both seem united inside the same capsule of oblivion and hopelessness. The only reason they might have to celebrate about their lives is the air they breathe. (It is becoming clearer and clearer that Maputo is a very polluted city these days.)

 

Because of all that, I wasn’t that optimistic about the bridge. It has been presented as a key factor for development, especially of the Northern region. As far as I know, no mighty river separates that factory from the rest of the country. Still, it’s a ruin.

 

Maybe I’ve been very pessimistic lately. I cannot shake from my head the empty, dilapidated factories across this land. The jobless crowds. The tasteless shops that keep doors open in expensive commercial areas, though we cannot see a single client inside for months or even years…

 

Anyway, I don’t intend to analyze. I don’t pretend to criticize either. I rather say that I don’t get how the economy of this country works. It just puzzles me.

House Shadows

 

Having an idea that a problem exists is totally different from facing it. I heard countless times people complaining about how difficult is to find a decent place in Maputo, but that was just an information until it became a close reality when my divers decided to find cribs of their own.

 

The first diver to show signs of independence was NB. Mostly, he has been sharing houses and moving from one roof to the other. Now he settled down in Catembe, on the other side of the bay, a spot so remote and depending on moody ferryboats that I cannot think of a worse place to live.

 

During the last seven months, Andy and JP divided their time between home and a place they used to call “House 2”, a sort of garage without the minimum requirements, but where they had the privacy they need.

 

They moved recently to a new place they call “The Beach House”, due to the fact of being situated at Bairro do Triunfo, a sea front neighbourhood. In reality they moved from hell to half-hell. Besides the four main roads composing that residential area, the rest is genuine chaos.

 

If we compare what they pay with what they get, there we have a notion of the big issue housing is. That house is a typical Mozambican construction, all about paying and no niceties. Before Andy and JP, it was rented by an Italian lady who recently left the country.

 

We worried because they live a very different reality, but at the same time we try to understand their need of space and the consequent process of slowly improving their living conditions.

 

They are lucky young ones because they can afford a house when the great majority cannot dream of a place at all. And some, like diver Jo, insisting in a proper house, work hard just to pay their rent.

Informally Speaking

 

Street commerce has always been important in Mozambique, a country with large Arab influence, but since the turn of this century towns became immense bazaars.

 

Some weeks ago, an international organization accused the informal sector of undermining the economy. That statement struck me as superficial because it doesn’t address issues like: 1) Unemployment in Mozambique grows and is believed to surpass 80%. 2) People sell and buy on the streets because their standard of living is not significantly improving. 3) Accusing the informal sector is ignoring that the majority of commerce is not informal and even so happens outside the control of any Western institution.

 

As it is now, informal commerce is the soul and character of this country and I would openly support it if it only were a little less chaotic. Wherever in the world would you find people selling whatever you can think and a lot more?

 

Unthinkable: I was told that during hard times, when even deodorants were a luxury, it was possible to deo spray just one armpit in the street. I even imagine the deal: “1 armpit: 20 Meticais – 2 armpits: 30 Meticais”.

 

Addiction: There was a time when cigarettes were expensive and difficult to find. It became frequent to see people selling cigarettes from an open pack, but soon the offer included the possibility of the same cigarette being shared by different passersby.

 

Vanity: Young boys not only sell nail lacquer on the streets, but also apply it on request. I suppose this is still happening today and prices are per nail. This is a commercial trick, because in that way they can advertize really low, attractive prices for a very poor clientele.

 

Fashion: Do you fancy big fashion names? Accessories? Sunglasses? Shoes? Bags? You say it and you have it on the streets of this town. Or even on the beaches. And you are welcomed to discuss prices down to much less than 50%.

 

Disgusting: Selling raw meat in a corner of one of the busiest streets, mid summer, flies furiously buzzing around a plastic container. Yuck!

 

Sad: There’s nothing sadder than finding someone on the road selling wildlife, usually monkeys and birds. If I could I would buy and release every single one I have ever seen, but a thought stops me again and again: if I give money, he will keep doing it even more fiercely. So my eyes just remain sad for as long as I remember the sad eyes of any trapped gazelle on the side of the road.

 

Piling: Street vendors solve the measurement question by piling goods or using open cans. If you buy tomatoes on the street, you buy 1 or 2 heaps of tomatoes. But the reality is that after a short discussion you can even pay just half tomato.

 

Mobility: These days street stalls are a bit more solid than they used to be. Before they were really light and precarious, allowing sudden retreats. I saw a couple of police raids against street sellers, because they didn’t want to pay taxes, be it lawful or unlawful ones. I guess those nuances of corruption ended or maybe they got used to pay a more reasonable amount.

 

Caricatural: In the middle of all this I discovered a guy who disguises himself as a walking stall. Merchandise cover his hat, his coat, his trousers, his arms, his hands… Little of him is visible under watches, necklaces and a lot more. I think he is a clever individual who understood that he could earn more from humour and tourists than from street commerce itself.

Goodbye

 

June said goodbye with a front cold. Cold is not the first word to mention when we think Mozambique, but Maputo doesn’t follow the rule. Enclosed between Swaziland and South African highs, this region is a corridor open to all weather extremes.

 

Before the cold we had weeks and weeks of spring like days, followed by chilled nights, corresponding to amplitudes of more than 20C.

 

In terms of climate, we can say that Maputo is unique. I guess we usually have less than two months of real cold. The trouble is that cold here is generally associated with dryness and humidity, in both cases very unpleasant combinations.

 

One of those cold, dry days had to happen during one of the last Tuesdays or Thursdays of June, since we had a tae bo class on that same day. Everybody was complaining of shivers, cold sweats, sore and dry throat.

 

On the other hand, I don’t even know how to describe the unpleasantness of cold associated with extreme humidity. The truth is that we never are tuned to cold and when it happens it’s just aha, bah and aaaaargh. As if birds, some of us migrate up North constantly seeking summer. Some stay to enlarge the choir of ahas and bahs.