About This Country

Sometimes I think this country only exists on the press map when floods, hunger or any other similar disaster strikes. Even favorable articles appearing now and then are seemingly paid or suggested by local companies, mainly the ones investing in tourism.

I know it’s not fair for poor peripheral countries only to interest the press when something bad happens. Let’s face it: the existing North centrism is almost impossible to fight, but I regard as healthy to point the finger at it from time to time.

A way of showing a different approach might be by collecting press texts or parts of them, when they seem fair and relevant. I guess it’s not going to be long because of the reasons already told. If by chance you step into something really interesting I would gladly appreciate your collaboration.

These Roads Are Like Life

These roads are not to be lightly taken. Just like life. We plan, we organize, we worry and we have to know how to get from here to there. Just like life.

We pre-concluded that last week rain should be dry by the time we started our journey to Ponta do Ouro and ended up facing 120km of continuous muddy pools. We had to live a nightmare before reaching paradisiacal Ponta do Ouro.

But then, like sometimes happens in life, we were lucky. The last minute two guys appeared from nowhere and suggested that we reversed and attacked a large pool from the middle to avoid a killing hole. “Huuuuuge!” they said. When we looked back and saw the crater we couldn’t believe how close we had been to end up Valentine’s weekend right there.

The road continued fastidiously the same: water, holes and constant trepidation. Suddenly I saw a van turning to the right and told: “That is unexpected. Better check why they turned there.” Paul stopped and I asked. The road ahead wasn’t passable. So we followed the van.

You cannot imagine what it’s like driving miles and miles through one way dirt roads with no other orientation but a public transportation van appearing and disappearing behind the green coastal hills.

Paul speeded up so we could catch the driver and at least confirm if we were following the right direction. We were. He was too. From that moment on and as any good Mozambican would do, he adopted us.

After one hour of blind obedience, full of adventures difficult to describe without turning a mere comparison into a road odyssey, he stopped and left his passengers waiting while he informed us: “We separate now because I am supposed to go to the border first. You shouldn’t have problems if you follow this road. I am Zimba.” And with a smile and a friendly gesture he returned to the packed van. A driver with a lion’s name!

These roads are meeting points. They teach solidarity and humbleness. Drivers loudly buzz at us. At first I though we were doing something wrong, but someone explained to me they are energetically saluting a “brother” sharing the same fate. Mostly we meet nice people. From time to time we meet rude people. Just like in real life.

The drive from Ponta do Ouro started the wrong way, but then another angel called Thomas saved us. Thomas is a new sort of person justifying why Mozambique is part of the Commonwealth: he speaks a new language half Portuguese, half English. I think this is common around the borders with English speaking countries. After rescuing us, he and his group guided us through the worst part of the road. Bad roads and good people again. No doubt, this is Mozambique!

Children from Macaneta

Children are wonderful and should deserve the best the world has to offer. We all agree with that, we all defend this unquestionable principle, knowing how, in reality, it is so very far from the truth. And the truth is that sick, dirty, hungry, alone, non-schooled, working and beaten children do exist… Nevertheless, we all can sleep at night. Why? Because we have a good pillow under our heads: the certitude that we cannot change the world by ourselves. Maybe we even believe that the world cannot be changed at all.

If you could meet children from Marracuene and Macaneta, you would face that world we want to forget when we go to sleep. Dirty face Carlos, the boldest of them all, talks and accepts to be photographed without begging. Because he must have a certain degree of ascendant over the pack, the others surrender too: curious Albino, skilled Paulo, starving José, taciturn Mateus, meek Aurélio, hard working Pedro, grazing brothers Luís and Armando, and fishing brothers Paco and Jorge. Their usual ways of interacting with tourists are: car surfing, selling you anything or dancing on the sides of the road. No more begging or pestering if they know you, and maybe you’ll start to appreciate their simple, candid ways. At the end of a “talking session”, you can distribute small coins or handfuls of cashew nuts. Then, when you think it’s all over, you will feel someone shaking your blouse. You turn to say an annoyed “What now?” and you see a little guy, like Aurélio, six or seven, hand raised in offer of a flower or a miniature straw basket. You are left with the feeling that you have just received the best present ever given to you, even not knowing where that feeling comes from.

There are so many of them! One night a group of eight or ten came from the sea, visibly trembling with cold and insistently trying to sell minuscule fish. All these children face too soon the worst storms of life!