Surviving a Storm


After the storms that from time to time wreck our lives, we always learn a precious truth: life goes on. Semper.


Friday, 11pm – It has been a hard, tiring day. We usually ignore how our own dramas affect other people around us. I just hope a quieter tomorrow.


Saturday, 11am – Lunch is almost ready. Cook Tieta is off due to her annual malaria spell. It came a little late this year. There’s a thing we women instinctively know: food can comfort us throughout crises. I went for a divers’ favorite: Brazilian feijoada with sun dried meat. Andy and two friends are already waiting…


Saturday, 4pm – I convinced Paul to came with me to a craft exhibition. I think the idea of showing the work of a few special local artists is great, but is should be taken more seriously and maybe include Mozambican (or even African) gastronomy. There I met a friend I didn’t see for a long time. “I checked on you and someone told me you have been dancing flamenco,” she said. (Kind of funny this connection with something I am not doing so regularly these days.)


Saturday, 11pm – I am t-o-t-a-l-l-y in the mood for movies and biting my nails (unmistakable sign of fighting the exhaustion I feel, I need to sleep and at the same time I want to stay awaken), but the movies available are serious crap. I decide to watch 10 minutes of the beginning and 10 of the end of each, so that I don’t have to lose time with things that add nothing to the quality of my life. This if I didn’t fall asleep during the first five minutes!


Sunday, 1pm – Costa do Sol restaurant with its coriander clams is still here, as a living proof that it’s possible to survive numerous storms. A sunny day put us chatting about Xai-Xai and Inhambane beaches. When I am starting to believe I am almost there, Paul remembers: “What about Keket?” Icy shower over my enthusiasm. For now puppy Keket is too small to be left alone. “Maybe Marracuene…” I conveyed. Sometimes dreams have to give space to reality.