M to the A to the P to the P to the U to the T to the O - what's that misspell? MAPUTO!

A city!! A real live city! With things to do, and culture to see, and running water (sometimes)!!! I’d forgotten how much I’d missed this. I mean, Maputo ain’t no New York, it’s not even Cardiff (props to the ‘diff) but yes, it is a city.

That means many things. There are things to see and do on the weekends and in the evenings. There’s an abundance of places to eat as well as a number of museums (of varying degrees of interest), some lovely plazas and a nice waterfront area.

But probably the best thing about it is that there are people. The first night I was in the city, I met up with someone from CouchSurfing, who took me to some of her friends, who took us all to this party. In three hours my ‘friend’ group when from zero to ten. Over the next couple of weeks I’d meet up with a bunch of other people via CouchSurfing who would in turn introduce me to other people! Therefore, in a two week span, I’d consider myself to have a couple of close friends already, as well as a respectable list of number in my phone which I can call any night to see if they want to get a beer. After spending my evenings in Malawi trying to not think about my next meal (lunch tomorrow) or my last meal (lunch today) and hovering in the bar area hoping a backpacker or SOMEONE would show up that I could talk to, this is quite a treat.

It seems that there are two periods each year where there is a mass exodus from the country, either because a NGO worker’s contract is up, or because the school year is done and so teaching is finished. This is one of those periods. Due to this, there have been A LOT of house parties here. I’ve heard tell of how great the nightlife is in Maputo, and I’d have to agree – though not for any of the reasons cited in the Lonely Planet. Luckily, at a leaving party, not everyone is leaving, so I can meet some people. It is a slightly strange introduction to the host though ‘Hi, I’m Damien’ ‘Hi I’m Joe’ ‘Okay, well… see you somewhere in the world I guess’ ‘Ditto’. Other than people’s parties, my favorite spot at the moment is an artist’s cooperative called ‘Nucleo d’Arte’ which turns into a bar with music at night. It’s the best (and only) place on a Sunday night. This past Sunday, they cordoned off a whole block for the bands to play. It was very cool. They also have art, which I visited one weekend. My favorite exhibition (well, it’s just art strewn about the place) is the ‘Guns into Art’ series, which, as you can guess from the name, turns guns… into… art.  Muite bon (boom, that’s some Portuguese for you right there WASSUP).

One of the first things I visited was the National Art Gallery, which was surprisingly great.  The sculpture work was especially impressive – the most famous Mozambican sculpture is Chimiosso and his pieces utilize both graceful carving and the natural rugged form of the wood to create pieces that you at once think are unfinished, think were perhaps chance pieces of wood that were found nearby (like when you spot a dog in the clouds) and also deeply emotional. The most famous Mozambican artist, who died recently, actually, is Malangtanga.  There were a few of his pieces, one of which looked like an African version of a Bosch – Guayasamin painting, that is to say, it was terrifying, a little surreal, full of pain and full of color. All in all, pretty cool.

Couple of other cool things – the train station’s quite nice. It was designed by a Frenchman. The cathedral’s really crazy looking. It’s totally white and almost looks like modern art. It’s especially weird in contrast to the filthy building around.

The restaurants here are pretty decent, with seafood being the specialty. Not all restaurants were created equal, however, and my hat gets tipped to Costa do Sol, which is a Maputo institution. It was here back during the war making it a landmark of sorts. I went there twice this past weekend. The first time was with a colleague who’s a regular. We walk in and he orders a main course that’s not listed on the menu ‘Camarao Nacional’ (national prawns). I ordered the same and proceeded to understand why someone would become a pescatarian and not make the leap to a full-fledged vegetarian.  It’s possible that I didn’t even taste the prawns – the sauce was this garlic butter delight that I wish ran from my tap.

Mozambique is quite famous for its dancing. I’ve had two interesting experiences:

1)      The first night I was in Maputo, I met up with a CouchSurfer, as I had mentioned, and she (via some other friends) took me to a party that was being hosted by a dance school. Now, when I think of dancing my mind goes to three places – a dark club where you can’t see or hear anything; a ballroom at some daughter’s wedding where the dance floor exists solely to let your niece dance on your feet; and a music festival where ‘dancing’ constitutes moving energetically in a mixture of euphoria and rage. THIS, however, was weird. It was a party in an office building with all the fluorescent lights on. It was definitely a party though – big sound system, lots of drinks, some food. But it seemed that the point of the party was to dance well.  Huh.  I’d never, really, considered that to be possible. But oh my heavens, were they good. I saw a man move that made me realize that Shakira’s hips did, in fact, lie. I saw women with could move their feet so quickly it’d put a highschool football team’s practice to shame. And they all loved dancing. Well, except for the dozen white people who littered the edge of the room and danced the nervous two step (one step forward, one step back).

2)      I saw that a dance show was being performed by a dance school at the Franco-Mozambican cultural institute. Thinking that a choreographed version of that party’s dancing might be performed, I rocked up pretty excited. The show was introduced with much enthusiasm – the teachers had many credentials; the class had been influenced by many styles of dance; this show was four months in the making. They came on stage… They were eight years old. Not only that – they were awful. The first dance was to Ma Baker by Boney M. They weren’t in time, they weren’t altogether, their moves were elementary at best. And, oh yeah, THEY WERE EIGHT YEARS OLD. I left three quarters of the way through the first song. Medical Insurance could learn from this false advertising.

Now, I’m settled into my little life here in Maputo. I’ve put my Couch up for Surf and am hosting my first guest this week, with many on the way over the next 6 days. I’m still trying to decide whether or not to learn Portuguese (I can kind of get by with my Spanish, and I don’t want Portuguese to completely mess up my Spanish. I’m standing on a house of cards here). The weather is a perfect 78F (low 20sC) all day, and jumper weather at night.

Oh yeah… and I guess I have a job for 8 hours a day. Next post?

Thanks for reading!

Patient readers!

Thank you for waiting!

I will update the blog EXTENSIVELY with (gasp) PICTURES this week.  Coming soon to twelve inches from your face:

- MAPUTO! Why it's the bomb!

- THE BOMB! Why it's in Maputo!

- CHINA! How they, with Coca Cola, own 86% of Africa!

- BUSINESS! Why your blood pressure will be higher than a Wall St broker on a SuperSize Me diet!

and...

- ME! A video entry so you can see that I'm not malnourished (much)!

Thanks for reading!

Save the Children Zambezia Province

I just spent a week with the Save the Children team in the middle of Mozambique looking at a large project they've implemented here. I won't go into too many details about it, but it basically aims to educate children and communities about health care and sanitation, while also providing transport for mobile clinics that give out vaccinations to under-5s.

It's a great project with a lot of potential, but what I found most fascinating and devastating is what the starting point is.

The communities that we visited had to be taught to build a latrine and use a toilet. They had never used a toilet before, not even a hole-in-the-ground toilet. They'd previously just done their business anywhere in the bush. This is obviously hugely unhygenic for both the area in which they live, as well as their water supply. They also had to be taught to wash their hands after going to the toilet, and before eating.
The ways in which STC tries to improve their sanitation is by training members of the community (volunteers) who then go from house to house educating the families. The project also exists in schools where teachers are trained and then teach the children. The methods the teachers use are fantastic and tend to be centered around theatre and song. A typical song would have lyrics like: 'If you need to go to the bathroom// You have to use the toilet// And don't forget to wash your hands afterwards// Or you'll get diarrhea'. I saw two plays that the children put devised and put on, basically showing a family who didn't wash their hands or use the latrine becoming ill, going to the witch doctor, not being cured and eventually dying (which happens with alarming frequency). Then they show what the family should have done - used the latrine, washed their hands, gone to the hospital if they became ill.

It was inspiring and very moving, but also devastating that this is the level of hygene that needs to be taught.

I learned an extrodinary amount about health, sanitation and development in those fields, most of which I'm still processing. It's amazing to consider the real scale of poverty - there is no quick fix. This is, to most, quite obvious. But there isn't even one way, two ways, five ways in which to tackle the problem. For instance, they won't be able to bring themselves out of poverty unless there is industry and/or business; they can't have business unless they have an education; they can't have education unless the opportunity cost of going to school is less than the opportunity cost of staying at home (opp costs e.g.s - being too far from the school, having to help on the farm at home, having to sell things for money, having to take care of sick relatives); they can't have an education unless they're healthy; they can't be healthy unless they have sanitation, vaccines, mosquito nets, soap etc; they can't buy those things because they don't have the money or knowledge. And very little of this can happen unless the infrastructure (especially the roads) are reasonably accessible.

And then, the problem is further complicated - what's the point of an education up until Grade 7 (say, 13-year-old equivalent in the West) if they can't continue onto secondary school because it's 50km away with no sleeping facilities? What's the point of having the whole high school education if they can't find work (especially rurally)? What's the point of learning how to read, if there is nothing to read? How effective is the distribution of mosquito nets, vaccines and medicine, when the HIV rate is 20-30% in some areas? How effective is the treatment of pre-natal HIV drugs (which decrease the susceptability of the unborn to HIV from 30% to 10%) when pneumonia, malaria and diarrhea are actually the biggest killers? What's the point of it all, when the rains fall at the wrong time, wiping out hundreds of square miles of crop, leading to famine, or when the river floods (as it does every 3 years) destroying everything and leading to the outbreak of cholera?

And then there's a whole other host of problems that arise from increased development. For instance, the infant mortality rate (death of under-5s) in this area was 30% ten years ago. So families would have five, six, seven children so that some would survive and take care of the parents when they became older. But now that the infant mortality rate has decreased, in some areas, to 15%, families that in the past would have only had 4 children, now have 7. How do you feed all those children? How do you house your family? If a whole community experiences this wonderful decrease in infant death, how does a school built for 300 students with 3 teachers, now take on 500 students with exactly the same resources? Or if the community has been taught to go to the hospital if the child is sick, walking the 16km to the hospital, only to find that they've run out of medicine. On the economic side of things, what's the point of attracting an industry to locate in the area if there are no local people with the education and/or experience to work as anything but labor? In Mozambique, for instance, industries are reluctant to come here because the education level is so low (so they can rarely hire locals) and there is a law stipulating that for every 1 foreigner that works for a company, there have to be 12 mozabicans. This makes it very difficult for foreign businesses.

And then there's the question of what is 'development' anyway? These people are happier than ANY community I've seen in 'developed' countries. Compare the people at the local markets here, and at WalMart in the US and try to decide who's better off. The communities look genuinely happy - wealth is measured in relationships, not in material possessions. Who am I to say 'development is needed, here's what it is, here's how you do it'?

I say this only to highlight the enormity of the problem, not with the actual thought that 'there is no point'. While devastating, it's invigorating and hugely important. It stresses to me the multi-lateral, well planned (and financed) collaborative initiatives that are needed, with very special attention to the needs, wants and expectations of each respective community. I remember reading in a psychology book that happiness and satisfaction is often the result of expectations being met; that sadness and depression is the result of reality falling short of expectations.

There are certain things that I am confident can fit into the definition of 'development' no matter who or where you are. Health is the main one. Just because death and illness are all the more present in 3rd world countries than elsewhere, doesn't make them any less hurtful or tragic. I think the health initiatives of treating people who can't treat themselves, and educating people about what they can do themselves (especially in terms of prevention) are among the most important.
Next on my list would be education. Though I raised the 'what's the point' questions above, I believe that if a whole societ raises their level of education, their lives will improve, not the least of which because an educated population is in a better position to help themselves, rather than receive aid. This is a difficult objective to tackle, and through my months working (and the months to come) I am developing my own thoughts and theories on what the best ways are to approach this.
The last aspect I'll mention on 'development' is the economic element, which I would describe as the existence of choice in what you do with your life. The absence of economic independence, either from aid or from subsistence farming, means that choices are extremely limited, or non existent. This again (even more so) is a difficult objective to tackle and has umpteen different potential 'solutions', from local micro-finance initiatives, to community empowerment through collective farming, to the location of industry and/or foreign investment.

Wow. I just kind of went off on one, huh?

I'll end on a funny little story.

I like to make jokes. Most of you hate know this. In Ecuador, when I was learning spanish, I'd make jokes in class, in spanish. After I'd make a joke, which often wouldn't land (BECAUSE OF THE LANGUAGE BARRIER, NOT BECAUSE OF ANY LACK OF FUNNINESS) I'd have to say 'I am joking', which I thought was 'Estoy chistoso'. So, very very often, I'd say 'Estoy chistoso, estoy chistoso', thinking it clarified the issue.

I learned towards the end of my month of learning that 'estoy chistoso' means 'I am funny'.

I'd been saying bad jokes in spanish, followed by 'I'm sorry, I am funny, I am very funny'. I'm such a prick.

(I've since learnt, and used frequently, the correct phrase 'estoy bromiendo').

(Also, I'm now getting the vague feeling that I've told this story before on the blog...)

Estoy chisotoso!

Thanks for reading!

Trip from Mozambique Island to Quelimane

Quickly, before you read on - there are THREE new posts here! But this is the most recent one, chronologically, but maybe consider reading from the bottom post up.

On Saturday the 4^th of June, it was time for me to head to Quelimane. I had to meet a Save the Children team there on the 6^th and wanted to make sure I wasn’t a day late, so I left two days early. The journey was pretty memorable, so I felt I should share.

First, here’s a list, in order, of the transport I used:

Minibus

Chapas (pick up truck)

Local bus

Mini Coach

Minibus

Motorcycle

Small pick-up truck

Hiking

Smaller pick-up truck

Bicycle

This was to go about 500km and I did it in about 17 hours. Here’s how it went down.

I got into a minibus on the island around 3.30am. We faffed around, picking other people up for about half an hour before we set off. My backpack was strapped to the roof. In the minibus was the typical assortment of people, children, chickens and bags of flour. Along came a man with a couple of goats, which didn’t surprise me, until he put them on the roof! He put a rope around each goat’s neck and tied the other end to a small bike rack on the roof, and left them there! Goats… on the roof… What?? These goats have amazing stability and have seen and done things that most goats could never dream about. About two and a half hours later, we broke down. So we all got out (or off the roof) and waited by the side of the road for another form of transport. An already full chapas hurtled round the bend and stopped for us. When we all got in, there were 35 of us in the back of the pick-up. This was not an 18-wheeler neither, still only 4 wheels. 35 people! There is no personal space. We got to the first checkpoint, Nampula, where I asked around for a bus to Quelimane. I was told that there were no direct buses there until the following morning at 4am. Reluctant to spend time in that awful town, and keen to keep moving, I kept investigating. I found a guy who was nice enough to take me by public city bus to another bus station where we asked around. We found a mini-coach that was going towards Quelimane, and we could catch a ride the rest of the way with another bus. There was a guy there who was also trying to get to Quelimane, so I stuck to him like butter on a tuxedo sleeve.

Four hours later, we arrived at the town, Alto Molocue. Here, we got into another minibus (no goats). We rode this for about 90 minutes on a road, and then 90 minutes on a dirt road. This bus had less suspension than a 1980s stroller. We arrived at a town called Mocuba (a town I’d mentioned in an earlier blog post as being awful). Here, the minibus saw that there were only three passengers left wanting to go to Quelimane, so decided it wasn’t worth it to go. Great. Stuck in Mocuba. We found a couple other people who were also trying to get to Quelimane and waited around for a Chapas. None turned up. Suddenly, 5 motorbikes roar up and tell us they know a guy who’s going to Quelimane and offered to take us to him. Awesome! I hope on the motorbike, giant backpack and all, and roar off into the dead of night. My driver decided to race another driver and I don’t think my knuckles have ever been so pale. The following thought was on repeat in my mind ‘if we slip, it’s all over’. We get to the edge of town, and there’s no transport. Turns out, the guys were just saying that this is an area where you can hitch a lift. Nothing guaranteed. Awesome. A few cars go by. Nada. An 18-wheeler stops and picks up two guys (that’s all he has space for). Nada. Eventually, a small pick-up… picks us up and drives us about an hour towards our destination. Then, up ahead, he sees a police checkpoint. He was quite nervous about this and told us he had to leave us there, but we could get another lift further on. We were still a 45 minute uphill hike from the police! Big backpack and all! But trudge on we did. The military at the police checkpoint (military police, woop) tried to give me jipp about my my notarized photocopy of my passport, which is a totally legit form of ID, but I think they pretty quickly could tell they weren’t getting ‘soda’ and I was not having any of it. We walked on another 15 minutes before getting to a junction where we waited for another ride. We got another, smaller pick-up, who was kind enough to drive us the rest of the way. In the back of the pick-up, with the stars overhead, I thought to myself ‘wow, what an adventure’. And it was. But that good feeling wears off after two windy, cold rides in the back of a cramped flatbed. We got to the bus depot at Quelimane, from where I got a bicycle taxi (backpack and all) to an overpriced, mosquito net –less hotel.

Oh man, what a trip.

Thanks for reading!!

Illha de Mocambique (Mozambique Island)

This island is so steeped in history that it’s falling off the walls. Literally. And that’s the wonderful thing about this place – the walls, the streets, the buildings are so old that you can feel the history around you.

It was an important island for traders and the Portuguese back in the day, but has since fallen on hard economic times as it’s become mostly irrelevant in trading. I think it will be easier to describe the island by posting pictures, so I’ll have an entry dedicated to pictures in about a week (when I have good internet).

The best evening I had was the first. I was sitting in the lovely hostel, reading a book (The Road by Cormac McCarthy… but in French. Hm.) when the power went out. All over town. I shouldn’t have been surprised. But I got up and went for a bit of a wander around the island’s narrow streets. It was pitch black, save for a few stars, and everyone, it seemed, was out and about. It was such an interesting feeling to be walking around in the dark like that – part of a community, but anonymous; hidden, but observing. At the first corner I turned, I bumped into two children, the youngest of whom gave me a big hug (around my knees) and smiled, before we both continued on our separate ways. People came out into the streets and were chatting with each other, calling for their friends, playing games by phone-light. I sat on a step and watched the world work in the dark – it was peaceful and beautiful. When the lights came back, I went and sat in one of the big plazas. Nearby, there were about a dozen children playing together (there are SO many children on this island, many of whom don’t go to school. I discovered that a favorite game of theirs was ‘push the old tire with the stick’… a classic). I watched them for a bit and after a couple minutes they all came over and were asking me questions. Then they started singing and dancing, the boy trying to impress me with their capoeira, break-dancing and feats of strength (I was actually pretty impressed). They LOVE Michael Jackson and were especially fond of doing the grab-the-crotch move over and over and over. Even the girls. For a moment, there were 10 children around me doing the grab-the-crotch move whilst yelling ‘Heehee!’, which made me feel a little self-conscious and I wondered if Save the Children would object to such an interaction. It was hilarious though. They were so happy and energetic, though none of them had shoes nor shirts without holes in them. It was quite an experience.

The rest of my time on the island was good. Relaxed. And, oh yeah, I SAW THE PRESIDENT OF MOZAMBIQUE! Boom. Ten bucks to whoever can name him right now. That’s what I thought. I got some pictures of him too. I was standing with this Dutch girl who was staying in my hostel and she remarked ‘wow, there’s very little security’, to which I said ‘oh yeah, I guess there isn’t much’. She paused, then said – ‘it’d be very easy to kill him if we wanted’.  I don’t quite know what to make of that.

Thanks for reading!

Diving in Pemba

In Malawi I had saved about $400 dollars on the budget I had made for myself (the benefits of not eating… jokes! But seriously) so I decided that, given Mozambique is one of the best places in the world to dive, as well as one of the cheapest, that I would spend my hunger-inducing savings (jokes jokes! Well…) on learning to dive!

So I did!  And, Oh Em Gee, diving is amazing and underwater Pemba is simply incredible. There isn’t an abundance of big fish, but the corral blew me away.  It kind of reminded me of a French patisserie in all the shapes, textures, colors… It looked kind of like Salvador Dalí had vomited underwater… sort of like LSD should be renamed Corral Reef… Tie dye is kind of like a plain black and white suit in comparison…The colors are so vivid that HD TV would cry.  The TV would literally cry.  And then, oh yeah, IT’S ALIVE. This… thing (I won’t use any more similes or metaphors) is a living organism. Heavens. There were purples and yellows and they waved back and forth with the water.  Some were spikey, others were brain-shaped.  It was simply amazing.

The best part was saved for last. On my last dive, as I had proved myself to be an adequate diver (i.e. I had not died or gotten the bends) we went to the dive wall. This is a wall that extends downwards from one plateau to another, about 150m. Obviously, we couldn’t dive all the way down (nor would we want to) but we could dive to 18m (legally by PADI standards. We may have drifted to 20m. Shhhh!) and face the wall. It was overwhelming and terrifying. Below me, I could not see the seabed. It’s a very intimidating feeling to not see what’s underneath you – in fact, not even be able to see it. I suddenly felt very small and vulnerable. But in front of me was one of the most magnificent displays of nature that exists. The corral on the wall is bigger and there are loads of fish that, like me, are petrified of not seeing the bottom and so cling to the wall.  These fish were beautiful as well.  None were Nino (tear) but they were still gorgeous, colorful and numerous. At one point, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something bigger drifting behind us and then dive deep… but I couldn’t be sure what it was (eek).

I could go on and on about the diving, but I don’t think I’d ever express myself as accurate or poetically as the corral deserves.  I’ll leave it at saying that you’ll just have to go there.

Thanks for reading!

New posts soon!

Hello!

I am sorry I haven't posted recently - I havn't had very much internet access at all. However, I will be posting two posts (wow, right?) in the next week describing the last two weeks where I learned how to dive and visited a time-warped island that houses the oldest European building in sub-saharan Africa.

Say what?

Thanks for reading!

Oh, yeah, and I saw the President of Mozambique.