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.)

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…

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

Like Africans in general, Mozambicans have the lazy label too. That is nothing but a generalization and, as it happens with any other generalization, sooner or later it proves to be wrong. George, our guard, is a living example that the label is wrong.

We had a holiday this week and as soon as I understood that George was on duty I sighed with relieve. I knew the holiday would be less hard, even with TD at home and Andy and girlfriend supposed to arrive.

As TD is involved in a short movie production, I suggested: “If you need a competent assistant, take George with you.”

Maybe he thought I was just joking, but if he weren’t so busy he would witness how useful George is. I spare you from a list of things he is capable of taking care, always with a generous smile. From mechanics to electricity, from cooking to gardening, George is not only ready but also very competent.

We pay him the same most people pay, what means he should receive a lot more. In this case we cannot pay more than we pay to the other personnel or it would mean trouble for him. We have to find other ways to show him our appreciation.

I don’t think he works for us just because we treat people with dignity. I don’t believe he works for us just because of a particular fondness, though sometimes I almost believe in it. I avoid thinking that way because I decided long ago not to be ingenuous in terms of people in general.

The majority of Mozambicans live in such fragile conditions that they glue to you like a shell to the rock. Their lives become part of your life. Their fates become a matter you have to deal with, sometimes on a daily basis. Because of the dependency created, they usually show a deep form of loyalty that reminds me of the feudal relation between master and servant. You can fight it, but sooner or later, now and then, here and there, the comparison pops into your mind.

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!

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.

After a long, very hot day
When quiet silences install and
The world seems to fade away
Pushed by shadows that fall
Softly delaying crafted gestures

Draw the curtains
Turn on the lights

In the dark everything makes sense
Love, waiting, past and

                                    present

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.

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?

How many drawers does an average house have? I suppose the number varies according to the number of people living in there and also with personal tastes and options. Some prefer shelf storage to drawers. Others opt for boxes.

I spend a great deal of time around drawers. I don’t mind because, since I was a child, I found fascinating any storage place. My mother playfully called me “mexeriqueira”, wrongly associating the word with mexer (touching things), when actually means gossiper. Storage places should be left alone. They should remain untouched, unless an imperious motive forced her to act. While most of my colleagues and friends sat in front of television sets, I was discovering the contents of any armoire or drawer. I suppose this is only a reflex of my treasure hunter vocation.

Excluding armoires, shelves, boxes and any other storage form, I recently counted more than 80 drawers. Ignoring if the number is normal or too big, I justify it because of family size and also because we have too many things that we don’t really need and end up in some drawer. I do expect that this explains it, because the stories I know involving drawers are not flattering for drawer-like people.

I know about a region where dinner tables have drawers so that the family members can quickly hide the food they are eating inside of them, and don’t have to share it with neighbours and friends. Totally wrong personality!

I just hope that having drawers is nothing but a storage option…

Note: If you are more into armoires, that could mean that you are not very mature. Compared to drawers, I have the insignificant number of six armoires. Pretty mature, don’t you think?