September 1 - 3, 2010. Maputo, Mozambique

I took a series of pictures recently of where I live (click here or select the Photo link at top of the page above the title of this blog) with the intention of writing about my flat a bit - I know my kids are curious about my living space. Interestingly, I have had an excessive amount of time to think about what to say about my flat lately due to some tragic and unusual occurrences here, in and around Maputo and nearby Matolo. But I decided to write about something more immediate and pressing.

To summarize quite briefly, a “strike” – a riot – began in the early hours of Wednesday morning as people protested food and energy price increases. ( You can find more info about the strike if you search online – Sept 1, Maputo.) As I have watched the news and looked online, I have seen images of burning tires and cars, and roads blocked; and I have heard reports of businesses being broken into, and stones being thrown at police by large mobs of people. Police opened fire into the crowd using rubber and live ammo killing “at least six people” according to various news sources, a 12 year old boy among them. Throughout the day and beyond, injured people were transported to the hospital located a few blocks from our flat so we heard the sirens continuing into the night. Our immediate neighborhood was calm and deserted for most of Wednesday. We heard the sound of gunfire but it was difficult to tell where it was coming from. Surging sounds of crowds yelling and shouting came and went.

The word to strike was apparently spread by text messaging. I saw a message on someone’s phone urging people to continue striking through the week. Fortunately, things were quieter on Thursday, though no less tense, as police and private guards were out in force and armed. The violence continued – possibly continues? - on the outskirts of the city and north of the city, and in Matolo.

The VSO office had prior notice and contacted us Tuesday night to tell us to buy food as there was to be a strike the following day, Wednesday. We were not to leave our flat for any reason except emergency. A call on Thursday was the same and again today we were told to remain indoors although later in the day we were urged to get more food if we needed to do so and then return to and stay in our flats for the rest of the day and through the weekend. It is Friday night as I write this.

When we (Rica and I) went out today for a food run there were long, long lines at the bread stores and the bank, and at any store that had food stores. By the early afternoon when I was out, the food markets were shutting doors as they ran out of food, though I noticed that with enough cash people could get through the door despite the “fechado” (closed) sign posted and the guy waving people away. There were some cafes open, only occupied, it seemed, by a few ex-pats – non-Mozambicans. I couldn’t find any other businesses open. 

It is uncertain if people were frantically buying because things are still unstable or because of a rumor that there might be another strike, but either way, there was a strange sense of the surreal as, at first glance, it seemed people were going about their business, shopping as though it were a normal Friday; but then a realization that there was a palpable tension and nervousness permeating the air. The faces of the people walking hurriedly by were strained, and even the demeanor of café-dwellers attempting to look calm and unconcerned sipping their expresso under covered patios was unconvincing.

I am not sure how to explain how I feel. First of all, how I feel is actually amazingly trivial in the scheme of things. But it is all I can 100% share with you with any accuracy. It is clear that there is no immediate danger should I walk out in front of my building where kids had resumed running about today and adults gathered to talk, undoubtedly, about the strike. On the other hand, the very nature of the events taking place is that when there are people desperate enough to riot, violence flares up anywhere with very little notice. The reality is that people who do not look Mozambican may be targeted randomly by incited rioters. The danger is real. And the placidity I observe in my neighbors to gauge my own safety – well – I believe it is a façade. I suppose it is a critically needed one to try to restore order in one’s world. In fact it is a façade I employed as I walked up to the shops in search of food; we were short on most everything but the monotonous rice. 

Honestly, by the time I had done the very little shopping I could and I was heading back towards home, the façade was gone - I was eager to get back to my little flat. I was uncomfortable with the rifles in the hands of men who looked no different than the guys hanging out in Plaza Maguiguana in front of my house except they had a sort of false bravado, an air of invincibility about them that I think wass bolstered by their rifles and that was scary. I was wary of the truckloads of armed police and wondered if they imagined themselves protecting citizens or protecting themselves with those guns.

As I reflect back, I realize I have never before seen people rushing about on the streets – this is a city of people moving at a moderate and steady pace, if not downright slow. When I was out and about, I was in a neighborhood I didn’t recognize, one that I had taken great care to observe and absorb the last two weeks since I had arrived. I have been used to a population in motion, with many people on the streets making do, a large number of people with sense of finality about them, their lives made difficult with the struggle of making it through each day. So many of the people I typically pass on the street – the many, many who aren’t in buildings working, or driving recklessly through the streets in 4x4s - are visibly impoverished, chatty, friendly, loud, busy doing not very much with no urgency to their days. For the most part, that population was nowhere to be seen. I think that probably a good number live out in the slums on the outskirts of the city where the rioting was the worst. And they don’t have money to stock up on food.

I have had a lot of time to think about things and wonder about my feelings. The strangest feeling I have is a sort of confusion, a unsettled nervousness. I think it is attributable to my ambiguity about what I hope for when I am “allowed” to go out. I would have thought I would like the city to resume its nature. But there is a part of me that thinks all of this upheaval shouldn’t have happened for nothing; that there should be a change. I want the complacency of inevitable poverty to be replaced by a sense of urgency. I want the haves and the many, many to collectively acknowledge that there is something wrong and while rioting is not the way to make change happen, the possibility exists that perhaps a united people with purpose and leadership can make change happen. I am not sure how that can happen or what that looks like here – or what that feels like, but I would like to know. I suppose the reality is that I am here because I want to see that happen – I want to feel that happen. I want that change. 

Portuguese Lessons

As I mentioned I have a friend asking me pertinent questions, and this leads me to write so much that I can't imagine rewriting or writing anything in addition for this blog. His next question “set” had to do with my Portuguese lessons. They are extremely intense. I finished day two today and feel like it has been many more days than that. Classes are like going through 10th grade Spanish on 8xfast forward on a DVD player.


The teacher's name is Ernesto. He is a very large presence. He is a very good humored man who seems like any moment he will burst into song and dance. His cadence when he reads out loud to help our pronunciation, or when he even reads off lists of numbers to us is something you could add drums to. Today when we were talking about phone numbers - this makes me chuckle when I write it - he had the notion to ask us our phone numbers. After figuring out how to find my phone number (I had to call Mohammed, my sole classmate, and get the number off his phone), and getting Mohammed's number on the board he started working on our horrible pronunciation of numerals. Ernesto rapidly started figuring out this song kind of chant for Mohammed's number and he was so delighted with himself he kept saying it over and over again to get us to see how clever it was and how easy it made memorizing the number to be, all the while shifting to and fro on the balls of his feet straining not to start dancing there and then. And honestly he was right - it was very clever and made it very easy to say the number and I was jealous because my number is very choppy and boring and not easy. He and Mohammed figured out a charity version of a chant to make me feel better but honestly I still cant remember my number.


So I mentioned Mohammed - he is the only other student. He is from Kenya. (Ele é Kenya) and he is 28 years old (e ele tem 28 anos… I am learning something!). His VSO placement is going to be working with farmers somewhere in the north part of Maputo province (look it up on a map) to assist with modifications to farming techniques for greater yields, etc. He has already driven up to where he will be living. He says the house is too big and he is concerned that it will be too lonely with all of that space and no one to talk to. He will have a motorcycle but says the roads are so sandy that he doubts he can actually ride on them. He is eager to go but wants to be more prepared with his Portuguese. Since Ernesto said that he will get 50 hours of language lessons before he leaves we are both a little nervous that we are going to be cramming in a lot of hours here shortly. Mohammed said he may ask to stay another week. Mohammed is currently living in the VSO Guest House and this is where we are meeting for class. Even though he is a “guest” there he is determined to be a good and gracious host. As he is Muslim and since it is Ramadan he fasts all day long, but insists that Ernesto and I take "tea" (which is really coffee). He brought out cups on saucers and hot water and Nestea coffee and so on. Very nice.

After class, to help pass the time during the two hour lunch break everyone seems to take at the office Mohammed and I went on a walk to a book store he discovered on a prior expedition so I could find a dictionary - "Not far! Not far at all" - it was rather far. Easily close to a mile. But a good bit of exercise. There wasn't anything for Ingles/Portugues so that was a bust. When we talked to the clerk to ask if he knew where another book store was he called another branch of their store and "reserved a copy." He explained everything to us - that means to Mohammed - he wouldn't speak directly to me even though I was asking all the questions. He kept giving directional landmarks to Mohammed who had no idea where anything is as he is not from here and has only been in Maputo for 2 weeks, but this clerk kept on saying "Yes, you know! You know!" When we left I asked Mohammed if he noticed and he said "Yes, and he thinks I am from Mozambique just because I am black." We got a laugh out of that.


After two days of Portuguese I think we are both learning something. I have the television on right now in the background on a news/telenova station Rica, my roommate, likes so that by air-mosis (my version of air-wave osmosis) I will become a fluent Portuguese speaker by morning.


The guest house that we go to for lessons is not too far from the VSO office. To get there I walk along Av 24 de Julho for a couple of blocks and then turn down a smaller street for just two blocks. All the same it is one of the most dangerous walks I take with cars careening all over the place, many many students milling about before and after school, a major shapa-stop (bus), and an insane narrow 2 way road that curves precariously. Today there was an accident just off the corner from the flat and I imagine there are many at that very spot.


When I get to the apartment building, I go on a walkway that leads under the building, and it is so pretty, it is a pleasure to walk on - large pink stone diamond patterned granite tiles. Then up a staircase and there is the flat. It is long and narrow. You enter the door into the living room/dining room, maybe 20 x 15 ft, and then you look down a somewhat narrow hallway and see doors spaced all the way down. These lead to 2 bedrooms, a large bath, and a half bath, and a medium sized kitchen at the back. There is a third bedroom off the living room. It is really very spacious. As with all the flats I have been in, it is rather old. I imagine at least 30 years or more.

Have I mentioned that the floors of every flat and every office I have been in are wood parquet, each in its own interesting patterns. Always pieces no larger than 1.5" x 5" or so and often smaller - as is the case in my flat. In the guest house the pattern is a pleasing fish-bone. Another interesting consistent feature in every flat I have seen so far is chandeliers in at least the living room and dining room, often in the kitchen, and sometimes bedrooms as well. There is one in the bathroom in my flat, though not, sadly, my room where there is an exposed energy efficient bulb that likes to buzz. Some of the chandeliers are rather odd, but still they are pretty fancy and delightful to have to look at. In one of the VSO volunteers’ flats, there are ten foot ceilings with really magnificent chandeliers all about, and in one of the bedrooms, immense mauve colored drapes over the windows, rather theatrical in appearance. It is really bizarre. Like something out of "Gone With The Wind" without the cool staircase and banister.


For the last week or so a group of four youth volunteers have been staying at the guest house with Mohammed and you can certainly tell that they are teenagers. They are not the most tidy of people. At the beginning of the week Mohammed had told the person who cleans the place that she didn't need to bother but I suggested that he rethink that decision.


Sorry I am a bit long winded. I will finish with another anecdote. So it is a jolly ending. It is a pleasingly nice story. Or as I hear the Brits and Rica say - "It’s rather lovely, isn't it?"


I was proud of myself as I ventured out on my own for lunch today after the failed search for a dictionary. I knew of an internet café which was appealing as the internet at the office wasn't working and I had some work to check on (25 Mt = ~ $.70 USD for 30 min) and while I was there I also had ordered a grilled cheese and ham and some mango drink. I ordered a small drink - they come in those boxes with the little straws - but they were out so the waitress asked if I wanted a large. Thinking it would be just a little larger I said ok and she brought this huge - 1 liter - box of juice. So I carried around an open liter of juice for the rest of the day feeling quite self-conscious. Very goofy. Now I have mango for the rest of the week and the weekend. That is my lovely story.

An update.. Walking to Work

Someone wrote and asked me some specific questions about what I saw and smelled and felt like on my way to work so, in the interest of not typing all night long, I am going to use my reply to keep my blog somewhat up to date. I am, for the next few weeks, going to be going to both the VSO office and their "guest house." I have In Country Training at the office and will start Portuguese training at the guest house tomorrow at 8 AM - 12 PM. It is about a 15 minute walk to the VSO office and I am not sure where the guest house is so I am not sure how long it will take to get there. It will be a lengthy walk to the CNJ office which is where I will eventually be going. I think about a good 25 to 30 minutes. I haven’t taken any other means of transport besides getting rides from someone from the VSO office. I walk by myself to work. Today I started out and got very sick so I turned around and came home and stayed home in bed all day. I am feeling better - ate some rice - kept that down - so will go in tomorrow if this holds up. The other day that I walked - I start out going down a stairwell of my apartment house. They just call it flats. It smells like people use it a lot. Not like a bad New York stairwell but maybe like a close alleyway.

Once I get out of doors there is a very large courtyard area surrounded by buildings like mine all connected. There are balconies filled with clothes drying and some plants and stuff. All very lived in. The paint is peeling and the buildings look well used. The courtyard surface is quite rough asphalt and dirt. There are many cars parked every which way. Mostly 4x4s of some sort. People prefer the larger vehicles because many roads are rough, even impassable, without them. They are not big trucks but small SUV type cars. There is dirt and gravely rocks and so if I have my sandals on I need to be sure to pick up my feet. I walk through this area and down a very very short road just like it out onto a street called Avenida de Maguiguana (don’t know what that looks like on Google Earth but you can try). If I look to the left there is a stand that sells telephone minutes. Across the street is a fruit vegetable stand and there is another just down the road but opposite the way I walk to work.

Ave de Maguiguana is a pretty well kept road with trees and nice buildings. There are cars parked on the sides of the road and on the sidewalks. That is the case in a lot of places. Cars park where ever they want. There are a lot of house guards by a lot of the houses. There is a mosque just off this street too and so you can hear the muezzin apparently but I have not yet heard his calling and they do it 5 times a day so maybe there is just too much other noise. A lot of the guards have uniforms but some of them are just regular looking people so you can't really tell the difference. There are police that stand around too, but you can tell who they are because they have guns.

So then I walk along a series of small roads and come to a major street, Eduardo Mondlan, which has a lot of shops and restaurants and cafes and also the Ministry of Health and the major hospital in the country. There is not so much traffic on the weekends but during the week it is crazy busy and I have to be careful because I tend to look the wrong direction for traffic as it is opposite from the US. I turn again - my road mark, as Rica, my flat-mate says, is a KFC, the only fastfood chain in the country, and I travel about two more blocks down a very nice street to another major road in the city, 24 de Julho, and the VSO office is right there. There are two or three guards there by a large gate. There are some pretty tiles on the front of the building too, blue and white, very middle eastern looking.

The air doesn't really smell like something specific. There has been a breeze every day. Maybe when it is more hot and humid, which is in October or November, it will feel more close and have more smells. I am not so comfortable walking yet. When I go out of my flat, I am not sure whether it is proper to look at people I don’t know and smile or engage in any way so I try not to so much right now. When I see the kids, and there are some that play out in that courtyard, I will say hello and they will say hello. On my longer walk I try to remember to be on the left side of the sidewalk and for some reason that takes concentration but makes passing by people LOTS easier. The sidewalks tend to be narrow, and not in good shape so I have to watch that also or I trip. I haven't been out much by myself. Also walking to work is early and there is not so much traffic and people yet. I do pass by groups of people hanging out and talking. Street vendors. Guys trying to sell everything from electrical plug adapters to necklaces to cloths.

So there you go. A lengthy walk in Maputo with me on my way to work.