A Matter of Size

 

At first I thought African women had big hips, but they don’t. Not being an expert or someone particularly interested on the subject, after years of casual witnessing I concluded that what torments African women in terms of flesh distribution is either their buttocks or thighs and sometimes both.

 

I met a few young girls starving to death, evidently in order to avoid being a mirror of what their mothers physically are. I don’t know how effective starving can be against genetics, but my observation is that size is not noticeable when young, but, as soon as a baby is born or the 30s approach, changes occur and the extra proportions become visible.

 

I do have to say that the majority of women with big derrières seem to be very comfortable with that fact, maybe as a consequence of men loving, or at least accepting, it.

 

I once went to Durban with a lady friend, owner of a respectable derrière. Just half an hour on the seafront promenade and a man said to her: “If I knew where your family is, I would offer 100 cows for you.” I remember how we laughed, but in my mind I knew what the compliment meant. Butt appreciation!

 

Though I was taught that for each people there is a different colour, I still wonder why some men show a clear preference for gigantic proportions. When the question is size, the explanation might be only size too – of heart, I mean.

The Making of…

 

One of TD’s friends wrote a movie script based on a well-known book. TD’s part is directing this short movie. A crew of 17 was reunited after days of casting. Most of the preparation took place at the border town of Namaacha, were the shooting happened.

 

The group met one week before to identify good shooting spots and other technical aspects. They picked one of the very few restaurants in Namaacha to eat. Over lunch they discussed the movie and the absence of the main star. After being selected though an arduous interviewing process, he just didn’t show up. They were already prepared to surpass the movie budget by contracting some other film star, regardless of asked price, when the waiter serving their table interrupted:

 

“Are you guys looking for someone capable to act in a movie? I am the one you look for.”

 

“Do you have any previous experience?” someone in the group asked.

 

He had zero experience, but insisted so much and so many times that they decided to give him a chance. He was good. He was so good that they closed the deal right away.

 

“A Namaacha waiter knowing how to act?” I thought. “I wish I could make a movie about that movie!”

 

(In reality, filming was postponed to December, due to the heavy rain uninterruptedly falling and to the director’s absence in Europe.)

Touching the Stars

 

My actual job forces me to have some contact with celebrities. It is curious how someone like me, who doesn’t give a fig about fame (but fortune), ended up working among stars.

 

If I had to describe a Mozambican star I would use the word normal, since I look at any person as normal and never as untouchable stars. But I have to say that local celebrities have a thing going on with bling. I thought bling was out, but now I see I was wrong. One of the most successful stars is not only a living example of bling, but she also picked bling as artistic name. She is known as The Lady of the Bling and she is quite popular.

 

The other day I couldn’t avoid glancing at one of the most promising Mozambican stars so glittering she was. Her sunglasses (worn inside the building) shone more than the sun itself. I looked out of genuine surprise. Admiration or applause was very far from where I was standing. Nonetheless, I could feel that she was pleased. I made her day. After crossing with her countless times without paying much attention, I had to recognize her existence. It took her to disguise herself as a glittering star, literally. She doesn’t care if you like it or not. You look, the bling works…

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.