Há coisas que às vezes nem percebemos que possam acontecer.

Há umas semanas atrás estava em Maputo e a Mariana, a voluntária que agora trabalha comigo no Orfanato, convidou-me para uma saída à tarde. A vida cultural em Maputo não é muito extensa, pelo que temos que aproveitar todas as ocasiões para uma saída!

“Marquei às 15h na casa Museu do Malangatana” – confirmou-me a Mariana.

Visitar a Casa Museu do Malangatana é uma actividade que vem nos guias turísticos, pelo que não estávamos à espera da surpresa… A casa fica situada no Bairro do Aeroporto e, apesar de estar meio escondida numa ruazinha toda enlameada e com muitas poças de água, sem saída e sem qualquer tipo de indicações ao turista, toda a gente sabe onde mora o Malangatana.

Chegámos. Tocámos à campainha e apareceu um menino magrinho que nos deu as boas vindas. Não conseguimos deixar de comentar todo o toque artístico daquela casa. Tudo foi pensado pelo Malangatana, desde o azulejo das paredes até ao gradeamento dos portões!

Entrámos no ateliê… muitos quadros pendurados, outros par acabar… muitas latas de tinta no chão, livros, esculturas, jornais… uma confusão organizada! E na secretária um senhor. Grande, gigante, sentado esperava por nós.

Só nos apercebemos que estávamos a falar com o próprio Malangatana passados alguns minutos de amena conversa! Era ele! Era inacreditável o que estava a acontecer! O próprio Malangatana a falar em primeira pessoa para mim e para a Mariana. Um exclusivo!

Falámos, falámos, falámos… tivemos cerca de três horas com aquele senhor! Vagueámos pelas galerias, vimos as pinturas, as esculturas, os livros… voltámos para o ateliê, bebemos café.

Em quase três horas falámos de tudo, tudo, tudo menos de pintura! Falámos de tudo menos do que ele fazia.

No final, com um coração tão grande como ele próprio, agradeceu. Pensámos que tivesse sido apenas um simples agradecimento, mas não. No dia seguinte a mariana tinha uma SMS no telemóvel dela onde o Malangatana voltava a agradecer, dizendo que aquela tarde tinha sido maravilhosa.

Ele ficou tocado com o nosso trabalho… afinal, ele já tinha sido uma criança como aquelas que ajudamos a crescer no Orfanato. 

“Muito obrigado meus amigos!” - Malangatana.

E para todos vós que perguntam quem é o Malangatana, digo-vos que é apenas o MAIOR artista de Moçambique! 

Malangatana nasceu em 1936 em Matalana, sul de Moçambique. Os seus primeiros anos de vida foram passados em Escolas de Missões e ajudando a sua mãe nos trabalhos no campo.

Com doze anos, Malangatana muda-se para Maputo (então Lourenço Marques) para procurar trabalho e em 1953 começa a trabalhar no Clube de Ténis como ‘apanha-bolas’. Este trabalho permitiu-lhe continuar a estudar, frequentando as aulas à noite. Foi nesta altura que o seu talento começou a ser notado. Augusto Cabral, membro do Clube de Ténis, forneceu-lhe os materiais e a ajudou-o a vender o seu trabalho. Em 1958 Malangatana frequenta o Núcleo de Arte, com o apoio do pintor Zé Júlio. No ano seguinte, Malangatana tem o seu trabalho exposto publicamente pela primeira vez numa exposição colectiva e, dois anos mais tarde, realiza a sua primeira individual com 25 anos.

Tornou-se artista profissional em 1960, graças ao apoio do arquitecto português Miranda Guedes (Pancho) que lhe cedeu a garagem para atelier. Em 1963 a sua poesia é publicada na revista ‘Black Orpheus‘ e na antologia ‘Modern Poetry from Africa“. No ano seguinte, Valente Malangatana é preso pela Polícia Secreta do Estado Português (PIDE) e passa 18 meses na cadeia, sendo acusado de ligações à FRELIMO (uma das facções que combatiam o regime colonial Português em Moçambique). Em 1971 recebe uma bolsa da Fundação Gulbenkian e estuda gravura e cerâmica. Desde 1981 trabalha exclusivamente como artista.

Malangatana foi agraciado com a medalha Nachingwea pela sua contribuição para a cultura Moçambicana e nomeado Grande Oficial da Ordem do Infante D. Henrique. Expôs em Angola, Portugal, Índia, Nigéria, Chile e Zimbabué entre outros, e o seu trabalho está representado em colecções por todo o mundo. Trabalhou em várias encomendas de arte pública incluindo murais para a FRELIMO e para a UNESCO. Malangatana está também activo no estabelecimento de várias instituições incluindo o Museu Nacional de Arte e um centro para jovens artistas em Maputo. Foi também um dos fundadores do Movimento para a Paz.

O trabalho de Malangatana projecta uma visão ousada da vida onde há uma comunhão entre homens, animais e plantas. Baseia-se na sua ‘herança’ mas simultaneamente abraçando símbolos de modernidade e progresso, síntese entre arte e política. O reconhecimento do seu estatuto está presente na declaração proferida pelo Director-Geral da UNESCO, Federico Mayor ao entregar-lhe a distinção. Mayor nota que Malangatana é ‘muito mais do que um artista, é alguém que demonstra que existe uma linguagem universal, a linguagem da Arte, que permite comunicar uma mensagem de Paz.‘

FONTE: Contemporary Africa Database

Representantes dos Países Africanos de Língua Oficial Portuguesa (PALOP) encontram-se, desde 17 de Novembro, reunidos no Kaya Kwanga, em Maputo, para discutir e beneficiarem de capacitação em matérias de saúde e desenvolvimento dos adolescentes e jovens.

O seminário, que termina nesta sexta-feira, 20 de Novembro, foi motivado pelo facto deste grupo – que representam um terço da população africana – ser o que mais contribue para o índice elevado da mortalidade materna, em 30 por cento.

Ademais, 65 por cento dos novos casos de infecção pelo HIV ocorrem também entre os adolescentes e jovens em África, segundo a Organização Mundial da Saúde (OMS).

A ideia é que os representantes destes países discutam e entrem em consenso para um plano de acção conjunto no assunto.

Para tal, estão em análise questões como a recolha de informações estratégicas acerca da saúde do jovem, a melhoria das políticas regentes para este grupo, e o fortalecimento da coordenação e colaboração com outros serviços que atendem os jovens.

Nas apresentações de Moçambique, destaca-se a experiência obtida nos Serviços Amigos dos adolescentes e Jovens (SAAJ), informou a representante do Ministério da Saúde e uma das organizadoras do evento, Natércia Matule.

Além do Ministério da Saúde, o seminário recebe apoio para a sua realização da OMS, do Fundo das Nações Unidas para a População (FNUAP), do Fundo das Nações Unidas para a Infância (UNICEF) e da Pathfinder Internacional.

André Manhice/Agência de Notícias de Resposta ao Sida – 18.11.2009

É sempre bom ver algo Português quando se está longe de “casa”!

Este gigante dos céus, um AirBus A340 da TAP, é visita regular no Aeroporto Internacional de Mavalane em Maputo.

Passer d’un gouvernement de facto à un gouvernement démocratique ; passer d’une mise à l’écart du concert des Nations à une place comme membre à part entière de la communauté internationale ; passer d’un Président de la transition (PT) subi à un Président de la République élu. Voilà quelques objectifs qui montrent le chemin qui reste à parcourir, manière de dire qu’on n’y est pas encore. Car la porte entre la situation actuellement endurée au nom du retour à la paix civile, et celle qui est envisagée vers la fin de l’année 2010 s’appelle « élections ». Prévues dans toutes les Constitutions qui se sont succédé dans la Grande Ile, universellement reconnues comme un piler fondamental de la démocratie, elles semblent continuer à avoir du mal à gagner leurs lettres de noblesse à Madagascar.

Que les choses soient claires : les Accords d’Addis-Abeba ne sont pas un substitut à l’expression du vote des électeurs. Malgré son titre de PT qui sonne et sent bien doux aux oreilles de l’intéressé, Monsieur Andry Rajoelina  reste pour le moment et pour l’Histoire un putschiste, et n’est pas devenu par un coup de baguette magique un modèle d’élection démocratique. En validant le processus de coup d’Etat,  les Accords d’Addis-Abeba (à la suite de ceux de Maputo), créent juste un cadre de tolérance national et international pour cette transition nouvelle version qui résulte indirectement du hold-up sur le pouvoir. Et ce, en attendant les élections censées draper du sceau de la vraie légitimité les élus et institutions qui sortiront des urnes. Pour le moment, avalons donc la couleuvre, et subissons cet Etat mené par quelqu’un dont l’accès au pouvoir n’est que le fruit des amours coupables et illégitimes de la foule du 13 mai avec cette catin qu’est la Françafrique, et ce à l’ombre du grand châtaignier et de la passe à Addis. Est-ce au nom du Fihavanana, devenue à l’occasion une grande maison de tolérance, et dans laquelle le seul cocu s’appelle le peuple Malgache ?

Soulignons cependant que le plus important maintenant est de se tourner vers l’avenir, et non plus vers le passé du mode d’accès au pouvoir de Monsieur Rajoelina. Car malgré le caractère amer de la situation actuelle, il faut rester réaliste : revenir en arrière est impossible. Le cadre de tolérance inauguré à Addis-Abeba doit donc inviter à la mise en place d’un consensus national et international pour la réussite de la Transition, à travers trois objectifs. Primo, faire qu’elle soit la plus courte possible ; secundo, qu’elle se passe avec le moins de heurts possibles ; tertio, que les élections qu’elle est censée organiser puissent véritablement déboucher sur une nouvelle société. Car avoir laissé les bolcheviks modernes plonger le pays dans la crise actuelle serait une perte totale, si l’objectif était juste d’incrémenter d’une unité le numéro de la République.

Tentons donc de capitaliser sur ce malheur qu’a été le coup d’Etat de 2009, et utilisons son potentiel pour construire les bases d’un nouveau Madagascar. Soulignons cependant que la Transition dont on parle, et dont on souhaite la réussite, est celle postérieure aux Accords d’Addis Abeba, et non la Transition autiste et arrogante de la non-respectable et non respectée Haute autorité de transition (HAT), dont nous sommes fiers d’avoir contribué, même de manière minime, à l’enterrement. Cette institution improvisée sur le macadam de l’avenue de l’Indépendance, et par la suite habillée de pseudo-textes juridiques nés dans la cervelle fatiguée de pseudo-juristes, n’aura finalement pas fait long feu. Le temps toutefois de mettre en ruines l’économie du pays, sauf pour le très dynamique secteur du bois de rose, qui a connu sous le mandat de la HAT un essor fulgurant.

Contexte de suspicion légitime

La route vers l’Enfer, dit-on, est pavée de bonnes intentions, et celle de la Transition vers la IVème République est parsemée d’obstacles : la course sera longue, pénible et périlleuse. Et sincèrement, mettre une confiance aveugle dans des gens qui ont foulé aux pieds la Constitution au nom de leurs ambitions personnelles relèverait de la stupidité. Cependant, des personnes comme Emmanuel Rakotovahiny et Fetison Rakoto-Andrianirina (co-présidents), Eugène Mangalaza (Premier ministre), Mamy Rakotoarivelo (Président du Congrès) ou Albert Zafy (Conseil de réconciliation) méritent un a priori favorable. Qu’ils soient donc jugés à leurs actes, et non sur des procès d’intention, tout comme le bilan socio-économique de Andry Rajoelina aux commandes de sa HAT illustre ses capacités et compétences. Mais outre le catsing des institutions de cette Transition, il y a encore d’autres soucis.

Tout d’abord, le contexte de la naissance de cette Transition favorise la suspicion, la méfiance, la frustration et la rancœur.  Cela aura un impact sur la franchise de la collaboration entre les quatre mouvances, et mettra à l’épreuve la capacité des politiciens à démontrer ce fameux Intérêt supérieur de la Nation (ISN) dont tous se prévalent, sans même savoir ce dont ils parlent. Du moins pour la plupart. L’aspect tricéphale de la Transition n’est pas en lui-même un problème, à condition que les yeux de chaque tête et les pieds de chaque corps aillent dans la même direction. Or rien n’est moins sûr : la Transition peut donc être minée par un certain immobilisme, si les diverses parties en présence n’arrivent pas à mettre en place l’espace collaboratif qui sache aller au-delà de leurs divergences et de leurs calculs. Car quel serait le réflexe naturel des politiciens, si ce n’est de mettre des bâtons dans les roues des autres pour les empêcher de devenir trop puissants, trop performants, ou trop populaires avant les prochaines élections. Cela va aller du gâteau des nominations aux hauts emplois de l’Etat, au budget et activités de chaque ministère, en passant par la gestion des dossiers litigieux envoyés devant la Justice.

Ensuite, un point qui a un lien avec le précédent : on peut se poser des questions sur l’état d’esprit qui va prédisposer à l’organisation des élections et à leur tenue. A Madagascar, des élections présidentielles relativement libres, fiables, équitables  et transparentes ont toujours été une exception durant les 50 années d’Indépendance. On peut citer celles d’Albert Zafy (1993) et de Didier Ratsiraka (1997), d’ailleurs organisées par des régimes transitoires. Mais toutes les autres ont été marquées par des tricheries qui en ont dénaturé le sens et la portée : ceux qui les organisaient avaient juste pour objectif de se maintenir envers et contre tout au pouvoir. On connait le résultat. Une élection libre commencera par voir Marc Ravalomanana candidat, s’il le souhaite. Et non pas l’utilisation d’arguments fallacieux comme d’habitude pour empêcher d’avance les candidats menaçants de se présenter. Et aux Averell qui seraient tentés de dire qu’il faut que Marc Ravalomanana subisse ce qu’il a fait à Pierrot Rajaonarivelo, nous opposerons le principe de réconciliation sincère, et le refus de la mesquinerie de la vengance, qui cachera en fait une crainte de voir le laitier ressortir des urnes, comme l’Amiral il y a 12 ans.

On prévoit beaucoup de folklore pour assurer la réussite des prochaines élections. On parle, entre autres, de Commission électorale indépendante, de Haute cour de la Transition, de cartes d’identité biométriques. Pour les deux premiers sujets, on notera que les commissions électorales et les juges électoraux ont toujours existé, et ont presque toujours été des croupions pour le régime en place. Rappelons-nous cependant que le problème n’est pas les institutions d’organisation et de contrôle, mais les hommes souvent bien trop humains qui les composent. Certains pourront également arguer que le caractère inclusif de la Transition est la garantie de son impartialité. Peut-être, sauf si cette exclusivité devient au contraire source d’instabilité et d’immobilisme. Concernant la carte d’identité, dans un monde ou même les cartes bancaires se piratent, on se demande les moyens que l’Etat Malgache aura d’assurer la sûreté, ou même la confection et la distribution de ces documents. Que va faire le paysan du fin fond de la brousse, là ou il n’y a ni électricité ni ordinateur, pour obtenir sa carte : va-t-on faire monter à Antananarivo ou dans les anciens chefs-lieux de province les 19 millions de Malgaches ? Cette opération « carte d’identité biométrique » me rappelle étrangement l’opération « lunettes anti-éclipse solaire » de l’Amiral, déjà quant à sa pertinence par rapport au contexte.

L’importance des observateurs nationauxSans aucun doute, la vraie solution pour des élections acceptables serait de passer par le renforcement de la capacité des organisations nationales d’observation des élections, afin qu’elles puissent couvrir la totalité des bureaux de vote. Car ce ne sont pas les quelques observateurs internationaux, qui vont venir faire le beau au nom de la Communauté internationale en couvrant une dizaine de points, qui pourraient apprécier la qualité d’ensemble des élections à venir. Si certains observateurs comme le CNOE ou l’ONG catholique Justice et Paix (JeP) ont un sérieux et une expérience qui sont indiscutables dans le domaine, il est cependant à craindre que Monseigneur Omar (Odon Marie Arsène Razanakolona) n’aille user de son influence au sein de JeP, comme en Janvier 2002 le Cardinal Razafindratandra l’a fait au bénéfice de Marc Ravalomanana.

Enfin, n’oublions pas qu’il y a également d’autres élections au menu de cette Transition. Il faudra donc prendre le temps de soigner le processus de confection de la Loi et des listes électorales, ainsi que le processus de rédaction de la Constitution : celle-ci doit devenir un instrument au service du pays, et non au service de ceux qui commanditent ses rédacteurs. Il faut mettre les choses à plat, et refaire un processus consultatif plus sérieux que ces forums régionaux (destinés à créer un prétexte pour légitimer le putsch), ou cette consultation engagée par Monja Roindefo auprès de trois juristes pour se donner de l’importance et tenter de contrer son limogeage. Démocratie, bonne gouvernance, Fihavanana, réconciliation : comme nous l’avons souvent écrit dans ces colonnes, il est temps de redonner un véritable sens à des mots sacrés, qui ont trop souvent été galvaudés, et qui sont devenus avec le temps comme le Yéti de l’Himalaya. Tout le monde en parle, mais personne ne l’a vu.

PARABÉNS!

Hoje a cidade de Maputo faz 122 anos! Apesar de ter sido fundada pelos Portugueses em 1782, apenas em 10 de Novembro de 1887 a então feitoria comercial foi elevada à categoria de vila. Desde então, 1887 passou a ser a data oficial do aniversário da cidade.

Grandes desafios desafiam a grande urbe moçambicana.

“Com cerca de 1,9 milhões de habitantes, Maputo assume-se como um cenário típico que se debate entre crescimento e desenvolvimento, onde ressalva uma convivência entre o velho e o novo que legitima o crescimento horizontal e vertical da urbe. Mais do que nunca, a natureza dos problemas que se colocam à cidade das acácias configura desafios que exigem cada vez maior engenho nas soluções da modernidade, ainda com aspectos latentes de ruralidade, no pensamento estratégico e dinamismo na execução dos projectos” – publica o Notícias na sua edição de hoje.

A capital do país, há muito detentora do cognome de Pérola do Índico, é um paraíso na costa Oriental de África! Com apenas 122 anos de existência, Maputo atingiu o seu expoente máximo entre os anos 60 e 70 do século passado. A urbe desempenhou um forte papel económico em toda a região, tendo sido um dos ângulos do importante triângulo industrial Durban – Transvaal – Lourenço Marques. Foi devido ao desenvolvimento do Transvaal (antiga região mineira do interior da África do Sul) e devido à posição estratégica que a cidade ocupava, que permitiu o rápido desenvolvimento de Lourenço Marques. Além deste triângulo económico, Lourenço Marques era um importante local de ligação da ex-Rodésia (actual Zimbabué) às rotas marítimas internacionais.

A Administração Portuguesa da ex-Província Ultramarina Moçambique arquitectou uma cidade futurista, com largas avenidas, vários complexos de edifícios altos, parques industriais e zonas de lazer. Uma cidade moderna e desenvolvida que hoje carrega sobre si os problemas da sobrelotação, má gestão, abandono, poluição extrema e anos de desleixo que impedem a cidade de funcionar correctamente.

Apesar das actuais circunstâncias, Maputo continua a ser uma cidade com potencial! A todos os Laurentinos, parabéns!

Actually, this post has nothing much to do with the above rugby match, but didn’t it get your attention?!

With no access to any sporting channel (we still have no cable TV, or any other kind of TV for that matter), and no husband desperately trying to find the match on the Internet or BBC World Service (he’s currently in Brazil) I’m afraid this momentous occasion simply passed me by! A pang of sympathy for poor old Wales at the result is the best I can muster from so far away.

A much more important event was happening today, while the All-Blacks prepared to thrash the Welsh at the Millenium Stadium – my birthday (just my little joke)! I actually received 20 messages via email, Facebook and telephone today wishing me Many Happy Returns. I wasn’t expecting this at all – and with Lee away I certainly wasn’t expecting to be brought a cup of tea in bed and later to be taken out for lunch. My very grateful thanks to everyone who remembered, and to those who didn’t – no worries at all! I hardly remembered myself until today…

It was Will who woke me this morning with a hug, a birthday candle and a cup of green tea, the little darling. How he’s growing up!

Enjoying chocolate mousse at Club Naval

Later, some new friends  took Will and myself to the Clube Naval, a relic of colonial days, with its swimming pool, harbour (with just a few small yachts in it) and its delightful seafood restaurant. The sound of the waves crashing against the harbour wall was the musical accompaniment to the meal, and we ate the catch of the day (delicious rock cod for me) followed by heavenly desserts (mine was the best mousse I’ve ever tasted).

Henrik

The company and conversation were also delightful: our hosts were Joanna Karlsen (an English lady), her husband Anders (a Dane who lived as a child in Tanzania with his missionary parents), and their two lovely children, Matilda and Henrik (one of Will’s school-friends). They arrived in Mozambique at the same time as us, but seemed to settle far quicker, probably because they are being looked after by the Danish Embassy, who are long established here in Maputo.

The Naval Club itself is in need of an overhaul, especially with regards to facilities and decoration, but it has a wonderful position and was certainly full of tourists, even though it was an overcast day with the sea churning dimly on one side. We thoroughly enjoyed our meal and the cheerful service throughout. Thank you so much to the Karlsen family for this unexpected treat!

Clube Naval

Will leaps to celebrate my birthday!

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Na hora que a coisa apertava, que a vida ficava difícil em Moçambique, quando até uma promessa de qualquer coisa faltava ali naquele verdadeiro primeiro mundo humano, sempre aparecia um inglês pra falar T.I.A., This Is Africa. Mas a África era muito mais do que essas três letrinhas e aquele desdém de um inglês avermelhado. A África também era a casa do Dario, bem pintada, com ar-condicionado, numa rua pavimentada, de uma grande metrópole. Mas não qualquer metrópole, era Maputo e aquele meu sotaque carioca me deixava envergonhado, era abrir a boca pra virem as risadas. Peraí vocês! esse sotaque arrevesado de português é que faz parte da piada. Mas ali não, ali eu era a piada. Na sala da casa, tomando um vinho, minha mãe falava com o pai do Dario sobre um tal Levi Strauss que tinha dito que os trópicos eram tristes! Pra mim era o melhor lugar do mundo. O Dario concordava e ainda achava engraçado. Pediu umas 15 vezes pra eu repetir a escalação do Flamengo campeão brasileiro de 1992. Na ponta da língua, com orgulho, quantas vezes quiser! Gilmar, Charles Guerreiro, Gotardo, Júnior Baiano e Piá; Fabinho, Uidemar, Júnior e Zinho; Julio César e Gaucho! Mas na verdade acho que todos só ouviam até o Piá e começavam a rir pedindo pra que eu falasse de novo. E Piá é nome de gente ou de bicho? Piá é o dono da camisa quatro do Flamengo, campeão brasileiro, essa que eu to usando. E o Dario dava de ombros e chutava a bola com força. Agarra essa, Piá! Não fazia muito sentido ser Flamengo e campeão Brasileiro em Moçambique, mas era divertido jogar bola num final de tarde despretensioso numa rua qualquer do mundo e descobrir que Piá era motivo de tanta risada. Quando a chuva veio forte todo mundo correu pra dentro da casa. O cachorro molhado se chacoalhou no meio da sala inundando o tapete, isso é motivo de risada em qualquer lugar do mundo. O Dario também tinha um Nintendo, e o dele era um daqueles originais, não os Phantom Systems que se multiplicavam no Brasil. Ele tinha um Nintendo com Mário Bros. 1, o que nós transformou em irmãos de alma! Carrega no botão Piá. Carregar pra onde?! E mais risadas explodiam pelo quarto. Como é que tu vais ligar o vídeo-jogo sem carregar no botão, Piá!?  Eu e o Dario sabíamos onde estava o cogumelo escondido da primeira fase, em qual cano entrar pra levar o Mário pro mundo subterrâneo, em que quadrado de tijolo estava escondida a estrelinha de super poderes e sabíamos juntos a frase do final de cada fase: Thank you Mario, but your princess is in another castell. Na casa do Dario, jogando Mario bros. 1, era como estar em todo lugar do mundo ao mesmo tempo. A noite foi caindo e minha mãe e a mãe do Dario chegaram na porta do quarto naquele gesto de acabou a festa. O Domingos me daria a camisa do Piá se eu pedisse? Você vai torcer pelo Flamengo? Flamengo até morrer! Trocamos as camisas como no final de uma copa do mundo. O Dario vestiu a camisa quatro do Flamengo e como um bom filho de antropólogo disse: kanimambo! quer dizer obrigado em Changane, é uma língua de antes dos portugueses chegarem. Eu ri bastante.Vocês ainda falam língua de índio aqui? E minha mãe interrompeu, você também fala, Piá! Isso quer dizer menino em Guarani, sabia meu piazinho?! Rimos todos juntos e eu abracei o Dario, vestindo aquela camisa do Flamengo campeão brasileiro, ali em Moçambique. T.I.A. This is Africa.

Le premier ministre de la république du  Zimbabwe, Morgan Tsvangirai à déclaré  à Maputo que son parti, le mouvement pour le changement démocratique ont retiré leur boycott du gouvernement d’union.

Le premier ministre Morgan Tsvangirai

Morgan  Tsvangirai a fait cette déclaration  suite à une réunion à Maputo de  la troïka de la communauté de développement de l’Afrique australe -SADC- et les parties zambiennes. D’après le premier ministre Tsvangira,  son parti donnerait un mois au président Robert Mugabe afin qu’il puisse mettre  en oeuvre l’accord de partage de pouvoir signé entre les principaux partis politiques zimbabwéens en septembre 2008.

Les mois passent, les rounds de négociation se succèdent, et on en est toujours là, dans l’attente. En final, chacun commence à perdre le fil et on est à un point tel qu’on se demande légitimement : qu’est-ce qu’on attend véritablement? La République du “Mahandrasa” (traduction personnelle de l’attente ou de l’attentisme) brille de ses mille feux.

Je ne suis pas friand de la redondance dans mes idées, mais encore une fois, si Madagascar est à ce stade, c’est que ce n’est point la Transition qui est consensuelle et inclusive, mais c’est la folie, la cupidité, l’arrogance et l’irresponsabilité. Et malheureusement, chacun de nous, moi compris, développe un véritable malin plaisir à regarder ce tableau au jour le jour, à le commenter, à en rire ou à en pleurer. La seule chose que nous ne faisons pas c’est AGIR, c’est REFUSER l’inacceptable, en d’autres termes SE REVOLTER de cette situation. Car nous sommes en train de regarder avec un regard impassible nos propres (ou sales?) bourreaux.

Chacun ira de ses commentaires et de ses avis personnels, mais le blocage actuel de la résolution de la crise conduit à deux constats :

- Le Pays n’est pas au bout de ses malheurs, et si Addis-Abeba peut éventuellement accoucher d’une sortie de tunnel, c’est juste pour entrer dans un autre, au vu des lapins qui ne cessent de sortir du chapeau de ces Magiciens que sont les quatre Chefs de file!

- Des enjeux géopolitiques et des intérêts “supérieurs” de certains “grands pays” de ce monde sont concernés par les négociations actuelles. Au vu de la panoplie de diplomates et de pays représentés au Carlton le 06 Octobre dernier, si le blocage persiste, c’est que des intérêts internationaux divergents s’opposent!

Après les rounds d’Ambohimanambola, du Carlton, de l’Ambassade du Sénégal, de Maputo1, de Maputo2, du Carlton 2 (?), d’Addis-Abeba, à la lueur où vont les choses, je commence à avoir la certitude que cette année verra les premiers malgaches aller sur la Lune! Il faudrait changer de planète pour changer les mentalités! Yes, we can!

Et ce qui me déroute le plus, c’est cette assurance donnée par chacune des mouvances qu’elle oeuvrerait pour les intérêts supérieurs de cette Nation. Il est vrai que suivant le principe de la dynamique, tout dépend du repère que l’on prend, mais il fallait user d’une échelle inversée pour valider ce qualificatif de “supérieur”  qu’on nous rabâche chaque matin.

A ce rythme, il vaudrait mieux que ces rounds de négociations soient consignés dans des DVD Collector, dont les bénéfices iront aux nécessiteux de ce Pays. D’autant plus que des bonus peuvent être proposés comme l’anniversaire hier d’un des Chefs de file.

Je n’irai pas jusqu’à faire comme l’Arema qui fêtait à distance l’anniversaire de l’Amiral, qui chantait le Joyeux Anniversaire sans pouvoir dire si c’est Joyeux Anniversaire Président, ou Joyeux Anniversaire Didier ou Joyeux Anniversaire Amiral (un grognement indescriptible a suivi le Joyeux Anniversaire : blblblblbl !).

Mais comme “nos enfoirés” font leur cinéma, cette fois-ci à Addis-Abeba, et non pour nos Restos du Coeur, et en attendant le Lion qui va venir, je ne peux que leur souhaiter comme cadeau le plus bas débit possible pour leurs diatribes et leurs créativités malsaines. Car ceux-là montrent une véritable envie insatiable de nous déconnecter durablement.

Le Câble Lémurien, vous connaissez? C’est le jour J de son arrivée chez nous ! Un câble utopique (et non optique), à bas débit, nécessitant peu d’infrastructures, installé sans la licence d’exploitation qu’est celle délivrée par le Peuple à travers des élections libres et transparentes.

Et surtout, il n’y aura pas besoin de Stade d’Alarobia, ni de flamme pour marquer l’événement. De peur que ce Pays tout entier ne soit incendié !

Au Nord- Ouest, rien de nouveau. Après deux jours de réunion, il n’y a rien à signaler du côté d’Addis-Abeba. Sceptique devant les pseudo-avancées de Maputo 1 et Maputo 2, nous écrivions le 27 Août 2009 le paragraphe suivant. « Apparemment ça coince déjà à Maputo, dès les débats pour l’attribution du premier poste sur les 457 à se répartir entre les mouvances, celui de Président de la Transition. D’un côté, le Président Ravalomanana revendique « N’importe qui, sauf Andry Rajoelina ». De l’autre côté, Monsieur Rajoelina clame « Personne, à part moi ». Et au milieu, Didier Ratsiraka qui tire des ficelles pour reconquérir une importance dans le jeu politique malgache. Quant à Albert Zafy, il se conduit en homme sage. Et au milieu de tout ce beau monde, mais à 1700 kilomètres de distance, le peuple malgache, qui travaille et paye ses impôts, mais qui subit les fadaises de sa classe politique depuis 1960 ».Vous remplacez Maputo par Addis-Abeba (et remaniez le chiffre de la distance), et vous obtenez un texte dont la pertinence semble être encore et toujours d’actualité, plus de deux mois après. Car sur le principe de la continuation des discussions entre les quatre leaders politiques, Maputo 3 a bel et bien eu lieu, mais a juste été déplacé géographiquement à Addis-Abeba.

Même si cela irrite certains lecteurs qui font remarquer (hélas, à juste titre) « que nous devons bien faire avec nos politiciens, vu que nous n’en avons pas d’autres », nous avons souvent manifesté notre défiance devant la classe politique malgache et les intérêts réels qui sous-tendent leurs actes, maladroitement camouflés derrière le fameux intérêt supérieur de la nation. Car les faits sont têtus depuis trois mois, malgré ce que Patrick hier mentionnait comme petits pas obtenus : une charte par ci, un consensus par là sur le nom de Mangalaza, une clé de répartition sur les strapontins. Mais dès que l’on s’approche du sommet de la pyramide, les discussions calent irrémédiablement. Les politiciens malgaches peinent à s’entendre sur une sortie de crise, et ce n’est pas en changeant la ville d’accueil ou le numéro de la réunion, que le résultat sera garanti. Depuis Maputo 1, on reste encore sur la même question : qui va diriger la Transition ?

Quelques heures après la signature des Accords de Maputo, nous en dénoncions déjà les ambiguités en anticipant certains problèmes. Puis face aux poussées enthousiastes après les accords d’Antananarivo en Octobre dernier, nous nous empressions de mettre un bémol le 7 octobre  : « un accord sur ces quatre noms (Rajoelina, Mangalaza, Rakotovahiny et Zafy) est une bonne chose, mais il ne faut pas se fourrer le doigt dans l’œil : on dit que le diable se cache dans les détails. Les négociations sur les ministères dits « de souveraineté » (justice, intérieur, forces armées, finances et affaires étrangères) sont encore une autre paire de manches ». N’est-ce pas sur ce thème que Andry Rajoelina a affirmé avoir des droits avant son départ pour Addis-Abeba ? Cela annonçait déjà une bonne séance de boogie-woogie à Addis-Abeba.

Malgré ceux qui souhaitent, par optimisme, par conviction ou par naïveté, placer leurs espoirs dans la classe politique malgaches,Addis-Abeba 2 risque de faire chou blanc (1). Dans ce cas, le Groupe international de contact (GIC) va certainement sortir un communiqué pour noyer le poisson, et mettre le focus sur une répartition de strapontins et de poufs sur laquelle il y aura eu consensus, pour éviter de laisser croire que l’argent a été jeté par les fenêtres. En attendant Maputo 4 (qui pourrait se dérouler à Dakar, Port-Louis, Pretoria, au Caire ou ailleurs…).  

Bien entendu, personne ne souhaite cette issue, mais il faut être réaliste : les politiciens malgaches ne sentent pas encore que le pays est au fond du gouffre, et pensent qu’il y a encore de la marge pour le marchandage.  Or tant qu’ils auront ce sentiment, ils vont continuer le processus d’escalade, et ce jusqu’à ce qu’il y ait un vainqueur qui s’impose, par conviction ou par K.O. des adversaires. On ne sait trop quel sera l’indicateur qu’ils attendent pour se décider à ENFIN discuter sérieusement : les sanctions internationales, la guerre civile, ou les 100.000 employés du textile qui risquent de se retrouver dans la rue si l’AGOA n’est pas reconduit ?

C’est pour cela que nous écrivions déjà le 5 août 2009 : « sans vouloir jouer l’oiseau de mauvais augure, je ne crois pas trop en Maputo » Cela avait soulevé le courroux de certains. Trois mois après, il serait intéressant de voir la tête de ceux qui prédisaient déjà à l’époque le Paradis, avec Rajoelina dans le rôle de Saint-Pierre (si ce n’est de son patron). Car le principal obstacle à la sortie de crise, c’est l’état d’esprit des personnes qui négocient. Et cet état d’esprit n’est pas près de s’améliorer. Le Président Ravalomanana et Monsieur Andry Rajoelina ont encore trop de ressentiments récents qui vont les empêcher pour un certain temps de faire l’un envers l’autre les concessions fondamentales, qui sont pourtant les plus dures.

Ainsi, l’un et l’autre deviennent un facteur de blocage vers la sortie de crise pour le pays. Si Marc Ravalomanana s’en est rendu compte et a décidé de son propre chef et dignement de ne pas participer à la gestion de la Transition, Andry Rajoelina pour sa part ne l’entend pas de cette oreille. On ne peut pas lui en vouloir : pour avoir un sens minimum de ce fameux intérêt supérieur de la Nation, il faut une envergure minimum d’homme d’Etat, ce qui s’acquiert par l’expérience, le talent et les bonnes fréquentations. Or autour de lui, il n’y a que des griots qui l’encensent et l’hypnotisent au son de gargarismes du style : « c’est celui qui a tué le crocodile qui doit se parer de sa dentition ». Toutefois, il ne faut pas qu’il l’oublie : même si une certaine réalité du terrain lui est relativement favorable, le fait d’être arrivé au pouvoir par un coup d’Etat ne le rendra jamais légitime avant une élection, quoiqu’en disent ses thuriféraires. Et d’ailleurs, si Monsieur Rajoelina était aussi légitime que ça, il ne serait pas obligé de passer sous les fourches caudines de la communauté internationale. Celle-ci doit cependant commencer à s’impatienter.

Une solution qui serait possible pour aboutir à une sortie de crise rapide serait que Andry Rajoelina quitte la tête de la Transition, en rendant par exemple le pouvoir au triumvirat militaire à qui Marc Ravalomanana avait remis les pleins pouvoirs. Ces généraux mettraient en place un gouvernement civil qui organiserait les élections, tout en s’interdisant de se présenter. Par contre, tous les politiciens pourraient se présenter, y compris le Président Ravalomanana et Andry Rajoelina. Ainsi les urnes trancheraient une bonne fois pour toutes, et on quitterait ce schéma calamiteux de prise de pouvoir par la rue que seuls les adeptes de la loi de la Jungle peuvent approuver. Mais ne nous faisons pas d’illusions : ce schéma est impossible. On attendra donc encore la prochaine réunion convoquée par le GIC.

Ceci étant dit, même si nous constatons avec amusement avec le temps que plusieurs prévisions se sont avérées justes depuis Janvier, nous espérons nous tromper et entendre aujourd’hui qu’un accord a été trouvé, et qu’une vraie transition sereine pourra commencer. Mais à la différence de notre contradicteur préféré sur le forum de Tribune.com, nous ne fonctionnons ni au THB ni à aucune autre substance euphorisante. Aucune raison donc que nous nous mettions à croire à l’existence des éléphants roses. Le 8 Mai 2009, alors que les rumeurs d’accord politique circulaient, nous mettions en garde : « attendons donc de voir la Convention signée avant de sabrer le champagne, du moins pour ceux qui en ont encore avec cette crise. Les autres se contenteront de ranovola ». Depuis, on se rend compte que les accords signés dans la capitale mozambicaine ou le communiqué de presse du 6 octobre à Antananarivo ne semblent être que des péripéties sans importance. Même pas la cerise sur le gâteau, car il n’y a ni gâteau, et encore moins de cerise.
__________

 (1) Le sage et bien documenté Patrick nous rappelait il y a quelques jours qu’une réunion sur la crise malgache avait déjà eu lieu à Addis-Abeba en Avril.

Kupfula is a photography group based in Maputo, Mozambique. It is open to all and takes all views, images, points and focuses into consideration. It is an informal club with a small number of active members from all parts of the globe who currently all live in Mozambique. The members range from keen amateurs to professionals but all share a passion for what is seen through the lens and capturing the environment around them.

We hold regular exhibitions, arrange events around photography and meet to take photos. You can view members’ photos, these are always changing, so keep on coming back for more and keep on checking our events section.

We hope you like the photos on the website, you can leave comments on most pages and it would be great to hear what you think. Get in touch!

I should have saved the volcanic eruption for this week. E’s company came up with a package for our move to Mozambique, but being so wholly incompetent and with zero international experience they apparently have no idea of what they are talking about. We calculate that, once the high cost of housing is taken into account in Maputo, E’s salary will be $181 per month. The offer is so incredible it would be laughable if it weren’t so bad. E says he’s so sad he can’t even cry.

Jacaranda

“How fair is a garden amid the trials and passions of existence.” – Benjamin Disraeli

Spring is sprung! Here in Mozambique the flowers have been out everywhere – the jacaranda blossom has been out all over Maputo, and has been particularly visible on Julius Nyerere Avenue, where Lee’s office and the President’s offices are situated. There is now a carpet of lavendar-coloured petals under every tree, as if thrown like confetti to celebrate the successful election last week (though no results have yet been announced, it looks as if Guebuza will continue in power for another five years).

Hibiscus in the garden

In our own garden, the bouganvillea has passed its peak, but will no doubt be back. In its place, the hibiscus has been flowering extravagantly, and there are other flowers which we don’t know the names of (see below – please help, Grandpa!).

There is one that looks like it might be a fly-eating plant (see below left) and possibly a type of orchid (below right). Whatever they are, they’re beautiful! We’ve had to be careful not to have a coconut drop on our heads as well from our palm trees.

Unknown fly-eating plant

In addition to the banana plants and what we think is an orange tree (but it could be a lemon tree!), we have now planted a number of different vegetables, and I will leave Iona to decide what they all are from the pictures! Of course it has been our wonderful housekeeper, Lovemore, who has been responsible for the planting and care of these vegetables, and they are coming on well. Most of the vegetables are for Lydia and Lovemore to eat themselves, but we hope to sample a few of them too!

Orchid?

It is lovely to have a flourishing garden like this – the lawn has grown thickly now, and it is all green and vibrant. More pictures will follow soon…

To finish, another famous garden quotation:

“Those who labour in the earth are the chosen people of God.”  Thomas Jefferson.

Auntie Fiona with what vegetables?

What are these plants?

One of our banana trees

Today, I ventured outside of my hotel and took a little walk around my immediate area.  Although I generally feel safe walking around, my project manager told me to walk around only with things that I wouldn’t be sorry to lose.  I kept most of my valuables in my pockets and took pictures only when I was comfortable.

I started down the Av Patrice Lumumba and hit the Av Samora Machel, where I stopped to view the town hall and the Catholic Cathedral, which were located around a turnabout.  There was a stage and equipment being set up in front of the town hall but the streets were still pretty empty.  I was tempted to stay and wait but decided that my day would be better spent walking around a bit more.

The Catholic Church

I ventured down Av Samora Machel and then turned onto Av Zedequias Maganhela when I heard some hip hop music.  The avenue turns out to be a major shopping artery for locals.  There are many storefronts, people selling things on the sidewalks in front of the storefronts, and people walking around selling stuff.  The items for sale looked like everyday items – shoes, dvds, toilet paper, and pants.  I was amazed that people sold pants hanging from their arms and wondered what sizes they carried.  The music was played by a dj set up in front of an electronics shop and a small crowd had gathered around some girls wearing yellow tshirts and dancing.  The event was really similar to a lot of the promotions in the U.S.

The crowd was really crazy and I started to feeling a bit uncomfortable.  Many people are friendly and generally ignore me.  There are times when I do get stared at though and an occasional person will say “China…something” to me in an attempt to sell me something.  To get out of the crowd, I turned down the Av Da Guerra Popular and walked to the railway station and then along the R de Bagamoio.  Somewhere along the way, I found the craft market that my project manager told me would be fun to check out.  It was amazing to see the difference between the craft market and the shopping street that I was just on.  There were only foreigners shopping at this market and the items for sale ranged from bracelets to wood statues of busts.  I was tempted to buy a few items, despite knowing that they were touristy, but remembered that I still had months to go in my travels and that my luggage was already laden with Kilimanjaro stuff.

I continued down the R De Bagamoio to the R De Timor and stopped on the dock for the Vodacom ferry to Catembe.  It was so idyllic and peaceful.  I loved the view of the beach and the tree-lined waterfront.

View of the beach from the dock

Waterfront

By the time I got to the dock, I was pretty hungry and tired.  I decided to come back to the hotel and take a nap. Tomorrow, I hope to check out the Feira Popular and the Polana district a bit more.

I have been in Maputo now for about a week.  I wish I could say that it has been exciting but, because of jetlag and an aggressive project schedule, I haven’t seen much other than the hotels and the office.

Last week, I stayed at the Hotel Terminus (see pic below), which is located in the Polana District, an upmarket district with a lot of foreigners.  The hotel is rated three stars and has a restaurant, outdoor courtyard, and small pool.  I had internet connection in my room, access to wifi in the common areas, and cable television consisting of 2 movie channels, CNN, BBC, and two local stations.  The restaurant was a bit expensive but the hotel is within walking distance of a couple of good and moderately priced restaurants.  I tried the thai restaurant down the street, the Grillhouse (just ok), and a decent pastelaria, or cafe, across from the Grillhouse.

Because the Hotel Terminus was full, I moved to the Hotel Monte Carlo, a ’sister’ hotel, yesterday.  This hotel is located in the Baixa District, or the downtown, and is on the same street as another hotel and hostel.  It’s a bit far from restaurants and isn’t as comfortable as the Hotel Terminus – the lamps don’t turn on, the room lacks a safe, and I was awaken by lots of hotel noise this morning.   I miss the Hotel Terminus!  I’m hoping that I can get into an apartment while I am here.

The TNS office is located in Baixa, about a 5 to 10 minute drive from the hotels.  It’s on the 5th floor of a complex with multinational companies (e.g. Deloitte) and agencies (e.g. USAID).  Office hours are generally 8 am to 5:30 pm Monday through Thursdays and 8 am to noon on Fridays, though I stayed later last Friday and plan to stay later due to the tight project timeline.  My favorite thing about the office so far is the cafe.  It is well-priced and has really great cappuccinos!

To be fair, I never wanted to go to Africa.  World traveling had been a dream of mine since I found out people could do that sort of thing but the African continent was not a fantasized destination.  However, since I had no plans and since my little sister Meghan was posted in Mozambique as a Peace Corps. volunteer, I decided I would end my world travels there.

Things started poorly.  My flight was from Jakarta, Indonesia to Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, to Johannesburg, South Africa and then finally to Maputo, Mozambique.  In total, I would spend over two days in transit.  Yikes.  To get things off to a right improper start, the immigration officer in Jakarta harassed and swindled the unsuspecting American.  First he explained how I was missing some stated “important” document and how I would be in heaps of trouble – unless, of course, I paid him under the table.  With essentially zero options and the real possibility this particular corrupt official could make my life a living hell,  I paid the bribe and prepared for the next leg of my adventure.  Two days later, I was in Maputo.

Oh Africa, Oh Megs

I must say the best part of Africa was being with my sister Meghan.  After many months of traveling on my own, to finally be able to hug and be hugged by someone I truly, deeply love was an incomparable feeling.  She too had spent many months without seeing anyone from our family and so we spent the next couple of days in a bit of a quiet glow.  Meghan, however, would never be accused of being the sentimental sort and so her slightly rough around the edges attitude quickly nipped the mushiness in the bud.  It was time for a new world experience.

I distinctly remember my first feelings about Maputo.  The way the light hit the land was mesmerizing.  I kept commenting about just how bright and clear everything seemed.  Meghan didn’t seem to notice.  All around was dry dusty ground and dirt was an ever present entity.  There were people everywhere but they were unlike anything I had seen before.  Everywhere I looked, bright white teeth and eyes shone out from gorgeous black faces.  Compared to Asia, these people were twice as large and highly muscled.  Instead of understated, strong proud features expressed themselves on curious faces.  I was amongst a new people and I was excited to see what made their lives rich – what were their hopes, dreams and fears.  In the background, a chorus of a new language, Portuguese, the adopted language of Mozambique, filled my ears. My perspective was about to grow once again.

The first thing Meghan and I did was eat.  Fortunately, Megs is also a true foodie and I think she was excited to be able to share her love with someone again.  I also think she was excited to have me bankrolling her for a while.  As one would expect, our first meal was a delicious native dish of …Thai food.  Yeah, it seems this wonderful cuisine has even made it to Maputo (say ‘mah-poo-too’), Mozambique.

Meg's models Thai salad. Gorgeous.

Megs had been wanting to eat it since being in the city and I figured it would be a fitting transition for my first meal in Africa having come straight from Asia.  To be fair, the food was good, not great.  The seafood salad was tangy and bright, freshly seasoned with lime juice. The main courses were a bit bland – noodles in peppery, tomatoey sauces.  Actually, I love to see how each culture interprets another’s native dishes.  Chinese food in India is a world apart from Chinese food in America.  The same goes for Thai food in Africa.  It was interesting.  It was good.  Clearly, I was not in Asia any more.

Perhaps I should have stuck with my Asian diet in Africa.  Instead I back lashed against my former diet of rice and fish.  From the first day in Africa, I hit the ground running consuming all manner of cheesy meaty wonders.  For the first time in a long time I was able to get truly Western fare and I was delighted.  The national dish of Mozambique is Frango (say ‘frahn-goo’ (grilled quartered chicken) and Xima (say ’shee-mah’ – a quivering corn meal porridge dish.  It’s basically their staple carbohydrate.)  Sometimes these are accompanied by a sauce of tomato or a piri-piri (hot peppers and oil).  Sometimes a third national dish of matapa (peanuts ground up with yuca/cassava {they call it mandioca} and cooked in coconut milk) makes an appearance.  None of the above is all too flavorful but nonetheless, they are tasty and satisfying.  Looking back I can say this.  However, this meal really does seem to be the ONLY thing Mozambicans eat.  Everywhere we went – every town, every restaurant – from the north to the south of the country – this is what they served.  Period.  So it goes without saying I was quite tired of this meal by the end of my month’s stay.  To hear the phrase “chicken and shee-mah” made me roll my eyes and blurt a sarcastic “Hah!”  Megs and I would play something of a game – Guess What’s for Dinner Tonight!

Living in Moz

As I should have expected, the abrupt change in diet did not result in happy times for my guts.  Instead, they decided to refuse to digest my choice Western dietary selections and instead pass it through with much noise and agitation.  To complicate matters worse, the newly acquired African flora in my intestines began to concoct the most amazing case of diarrhea I had yet to see in my 25 years.  Within three days, I could not tell which end I needed to pee from and sitting became a toiletry necessity “just in case.”  To combat my frequent and unpredictable spasms, it became necessary to fast for whole days when traveling was necessary.  And we traveled a lot the first week.  In fact, in the course of seven days we traveled from Maputo to Namaacha to Quissico to Vilanculos and finally to Meghan’s hometown of Chimoio.  Each leg of the journey involved long, long car rides along shoddy roads  in packed minivans in the overstuffed company of many countrymen and women.  The days were hot, the bodies were ripe and all the while, my stomach gurgled and groaned.  I was loving the Immodium.

To be fair though, the gorgeous countryside really saved the trip for me.  Mozambique is probably the second most beautiful place I have ever seen – Indonesia being the first.   Moz just happens to be incredibly pristine and complete with all manner of scenery and habitat.  Now, one would have to like dry climates to really appreciate Mozambique but like I said earlier, the way the light hits the land is magnificent.  In some areas, it’s hard to figure out how the earth came to be shaped the way it is.  Imagine standing on a hill overlooking a vast expanse of plain that stretches as far as the eye can see.  The wind is whipping over the surface of the ruff sun scorched soil.  All around the earth is speckled with patches of green and gray where plants have broken through the dry soil.  Suddenly, a hill but something rather more like a mountain, has shot up from the otherwise totally flat landscape.  It is like the finger of god pushed a mountain up here and there at random just because she liked the way it looked.  Now add to all this the truly brilliant lighting display and it is simply outrageous.  Not a bad way to make those long car rides go by if you ask me.  “Excuse me, now please get your live chicken off of me senhora.”

When Megs and I finally did get to Chimoio (Say “shih-moy-you”), I was the least desirable guest one could want.  Still debilitated with diarrhea, I sat around Meghan’s apartment most all of the day reading books and taking it very easy.  Now, if you know my sister, she is one of the most diligent and productive people I have ever met.  Downtime for Megs is a complete waste and to her, I was throwing my days away.  On top of this, Meghan had yet to get sick at any point while living in Africa.  Truly, this is remarkable but of course, I had to get stuck with ol’ iron stomach – the one traveler in the world who could not sympathize with my current woes.  Most of the time she just looked at me like an alien being.  How could anyone be so weak and helpless?  How could I just sit there all day and do nothing?  I could tell I was testing her patience.   Fortunately, she is my sister and by default she must care for me out of love.  At least I got to play that card.

While my discomforts did last three weeks, I certainly was not about to let it stop me from experiencing a whole new continent.  I joined Meghan on several outings into the bush.  Really, I’m not just saying that.  Imagine taking a jeep for several hours along a dirt road bouncing and thumping all the way.  Then imagine huts made of grass and women carrying water for miles on their heads.  Yep, places like that.  Places you only thought really existed on television or in National Geographic.  I would accompany Meghan on her do-gooding work (reminder:  Megs is a Peace Corps volunteer) as she went about educating the locals about endemic diseases like TB, Cholera, HIV/AIDS, and even leprosy.  Megs changed the world and I spent the days bumming around dusty roads.  At night we dined on Mozambique’s finest – chicken and xima – and at night we curled up on a dirty mattress on a cold dirty floor.  The whole time I was forced to deal with my digestion woes over a public squat toilet (also called a hole-in-the-ground).  These facilities were free of toilet paper and only contained a small tea kettle to take its place.  As you might be able to understand, I am now thrilled by the sight of washrooms in the United States and I think I forever will be.  But I digress.

After three weeks of the runs I decided I had had enough.  I was pissed from pissing so much and I was entirely drained.  I had lost a substantial amount of weight and was beginning to fear eating or drinking anything.  So I opted to take some fantastic antibiotics.  Normally I am totally against antibiotics.  They reak havoc on one’s system and normally do an equal amount of harm and make us susceptible to all manner of new problems – especially in the future.  But something needed to be done so I looked to my old pal Cipro for help.   For travelers, this is like the designer drug bomb that destroys and reboots the system.  I had taken it when I traveled in India a few years earlier and while its some pretty heavy scary stuff, it’s also a little like magic.  So one night after waking up four times to use Meghan’s non-flushing toilet (buckets only please), I decided enough was enough, slammed one of those Cipro buggers down and went back to bed.  Sure enough, the next day…nothing.  My flow had stopped completely.  The day after that, my stool had firmed up.  One cannot begin to imagine the joy this brought to my life.  Slowly, slowly I began to eat some food again.  The happiness didn’t last long though.  Two days later, I was back to hearing that old familiar sound of tinkling coming from both ends.  Yes, Mr. Diarrhea was back.

Now I was truly concerned and began a regimen of what was left of my Cipro (three days worth) followed by another Peace Corp. volunteer’s antibiotics, followed by some shady stuff we got at the local pharmacy (turned out to not be antibiotics at all but rather just something to stop me up.  Oh, by the way, this was what i found after passing on several pills the “pharmacist” had tried to give me.  His recommendation was some horrible pill that promised no end of ghastly side effects.  The only way I knew not to take the medication was because the directions were in English, probably leftovers and freebies from the US drug companies.  There is no way the locals would have been able to figure out they were being given some potentially dangerous, potentially ineffective stuff.  Yikes!)  Fortunately, my new, albeit questionable cocktail held off my symptoms for the last week until I was able to make it back home.  Still, there was constant uncertainty.

Hanging out with the Kids

Overall, the people of Mozambique were a peculiar bunch.  As I’ve already said, they were beautiful.  I was thrilled to see such strong muscley men everywhere who were all smiles when they saw me and just wanted to talk and be friends.  In fact, I remember being caught off guard at just how open and inviting males were.  To be fair, this was a feeling I had experienced over and over throughout my non-Western travels.  Men were comfortable warm and welcoming with other men.  They wanted to talk, to stand close and to even hold your hand if they felt they really liked you.  To a gay man from a closed, cold homophobic culture, this was a truly jarring experience.  A beautiful expereince one nonetheless.  I miss it already.

Now Megs would not let me get away with this warm evaluation of the people of Mozambique.  In fact, I was rather disappointed with peoples’ behavior and wrote extensively about it in my journal.  One excerpt goes something like this: “The people here have a real attitude problem.  Seems unique to Mozambique too because Zimbabweans don’t seem to have it.  Everywhere we go in this country, people act and react like they have some enormous chip on their shoulder.  Every request gets a raised eyebrow and a big ‘how dare you disturb me sigh’.”  And really that is how I felt most of the time.  In addition to this, life seemed, on average, rather painful to most people.  I kept commenting to Megs about just how expensive everything was in Moz compared to Asia.  This fact was surprising to me because the standard of living is so low.  Yet, the cost of living was remarkably high.  For instance, an egg cost about 25 cents.  Not too bad by US standards but shocking when the average person makes a couple of dollars a day.  In Southeast Asia, 5 cents for an egg would be high.

Flying in Style in Mozambique

At the end of my month in Africa, I was sooooo ready to be home again.  Granted, I would spend the next two days hanging out in airports before arriving on American soil but even airports seemed like worlds of wonder to me.  (Can you believe the toilets flush! eeeee! And I can put toilet paper in them! eeeee!)  Never again would I fail to appreciate the little things that make life great.  Never again could I pretend life in Africa was somehow removed and imaginary.  My world had collided with all manner of people and places and there was no way I could go back to a place of naivety.  But there is always forward and I was so happy to be going back to one of the nicest places in the world.  Home.

Just a little summary so dear reader doesn’t have to jump half a year since last post:

June –  first weekend we went to Johannesburg. Business or pleasure? I guess business coz it was all about the wedding (of course! like everything in this last few months!!) And since it was winter there was no pleasure. You will laugh – african winter? what can it be?! ha ha! Well…Eat this!!

1 degree, South Africa, June

During the night it was coming down even lower to -2… I didn’t know such temperatures exist here. And of course no heating in the house!! Because why? For what? We are in Africa, right? Who needs central heating here, right? It gets to -2 but only two months per year, right? Man! Almost like Portuguese…

But we survived and back in Tete I was even kinda missing it – Tete’s winter means temp drops to 25…sometimes!

July – Lisbon!! Went to report my work. And maybe make some progress…Yeaaah, like this gonna ever happen. The only progress I made was maybe in drinking beers in All-Day-Happy-Hour Bar.

My sis came to visit me for a week and by the way make the visas for Moz for my folks (or it should have been the other way around??). Anyway, we had intense sightseeing, her even more than me as I was still trying to fight for my progress. We visited Tomar (cool castle, seriously), Mafra (Portuguese and their complexes hehe), Evora (hothothothot) and Elvas (oh look, there is Spain there). Was really nice, touristic week, almost felt like I was there for holidays.

August –  first half: Poland – shopping, arranging documents, shopping, wedding rings, shopping (grr… sh*%#!! I can’t find anything!!), last dress fittings, shopping… Oh! In the meantime there was a wedding of my friend. Lots of old friends, lots of vodka, lots of dancing, really great party. Congratulations once again Pawel, by the way

Second half – Maputo. Shopping, catering, decorations, photographer, priest, guests, hairdresser, bla bla bla kill me now!! The best though was a trip to Pretoria! It turned out my documents from Poland need more stamps (Civil Registry and Ministry of Foreign Affairs are apparently not enough…) so we had to go to Polish and Mozambican embassies. Closest one – Pretoria – give or take 600 km. 20 hours, 1200 km and 1 million stamps later we were back and ready to apply for marriage license.

September – My family finally in Mozambique!! Dad complains is hot, mom is happy. Mom complains is bit cold, dad is happy ) Generally we have great time, the wedding is great, the travelling after wedding is great, ocean is great, elephants and giraffes are great, my new husband is great, everything is great!

And then family leaves and we go back to Tete…And we rest and rest and rest and finally NOT take care of the wedding! Yupii

October – back to province life. The summer is starting so temp goes back to its usual 35. The sun is passing exactly somewhere above our heads – at midday you don’t have practically any shadow…nothing has shadow, no place to hide, no place to run. AC goes 24h/day, dust is everywhere as it didn’t rain since… … …don’t even remember. Gosh, this is really Africa! I almost forgot!

 

It’s 2:44 am and I am awake. I had actually fallen asleep around 8 pm but woke up a few minutes ago; I’m not sure if waking up was the result of the jetlag or the excitement and anxiety of being in a different place (or maybe all three) but here I am – awake in my hotel room, watching BBC World News, and blogging at my computer.

I arrived in Maputo after more than 22 hours of traveling. My first flight departed from JFK at around 11:45 am and took about 14.5 hours. I arrived around 8 am, went through transit, and then waited from about 9 am to 1:50 pm at the O.R. Tambo International Airport before boarding my flight from Johannesburg to Maputo. I arrived in Maputo at around 3 pm.

For both flights, I flew South African Airways.  The airplanes were modern and roomy and the food was quite good.  For the long haul flight entertainment, the airline offered recently released movies such as The Hangover and Star Trek to older movies like Garden State.  My only two complaints would be (1) the running out of the chicken dinner entrees and (2) that the first flight was SO cold – the gentleman who sat next to me had put on his long pants and fleece but still covered himself in his blanket from the neck down.

I wish that I could show pictures from my first day in Maputo as well as share more observations but I was so tired from traveling that I stayed in the hotel for the rest of the day.  My first impression, based on what I saw during my trip from the airport to the hotel, is that the city is still modernizing.  The roads are dusty and the buildings seem to be built with very few amenities.  The city center, which is where my hotel is situated, has a number of oldish looking buildings and not that many retail or business establishments. I will be going into the volunteer office later this morning and hope to see as well as share more then.