Category: Africa 2012
Better get this one right.
This is Mozambique, and basically, most things are “Yes, yes, five minutes!” and “Okay, no problem.” around here. And as much as you just can’t really take anything for granted, you kind of have to trust that it somehow will work itself out – because it usually does. However, there is one very random thing that seems to be extremely important, unquestionable and set in stone, and it’s the definition of the hour of the day.
So, the lovely deal around here is that you say “good day” to almost every person that you for a moment have eye contact with. People that pass you by on the street, the guards outside of your house, people who try to pretend that they know you, people who try to sell you things, and so on. The Mozambicans are probably the most generous people I have encountered so far in terms of greetings. But there is a risk, and this risk starts at 12.01pm – because at that precise moment, the bom dia suddenly transforms into a boa tarde (good afternoon) and if you would accidently get it wrong, you will instantly be corrected, by the children passing you by in the staircase, by the guards outside of your house, by everybody. Getting your greeting right is very, very important.
Sometimes, the people will actually look at their watch before greeting you, and if you get it wrong they will say “no, no.. it’s boa tarde now”, always with a smile, but very firmly letting you know that this is not something you mess with. Now, this further evolves with boa noite, which is good evening, or good night. Apparently, this starts just when the sun has set and it’s become dark, and the definition is a little bit more vague than for the other transition. However, one of my guards insisted that the noite starts at 6pm. So now I have to look at the watch twice a day before greeting him. He laughs when I do so, we both laugh when I get it wrong.
The last one is the most tricky one, and it’s the moment that the noite suddenly turns into dia again, and I haven’t managed to get my head around it yet. When I come back home at 1am, the guards will still smile through their sleep and accept a boa noite, but they usually don’t when it’s 3am and it’s totally unacceptable if it’s even later. This is a mystery that I shall solve. Maybe this weekend.
The photo above is an old photo of me in my old car, wearing a watch that I suddenly miss. And below is another one that has nothing to do with the text, I just miss wearing jeans really, really badly. Beside these extremely random things I very much miss my mother, my friends, and long Swedish summer days that last until 11pm. No boa noite over there before actually going to sleep, or I guess you don’t really greet people on the street either. I don’t miss that part.
World Cup Qualifiers
Cracked pavements and beaches.
Another nine hour crammed and freezing busride later, I am back to Maputo without really understanding why I’m here now. There is nothing of the things I need to do that couldn’t have been done while listening to the ocean.
My reasons for not spending another day on the lovely beaches in Tofo, instead of being in a city where I only can enjoy the sun through a window aren’t completely understandable, nor are they particularly pleasant.
I am currently in the state of creating feasible and exiting alternatives, and making choices. Comparing scenarios. Defining priorities.
This process takes time, patience, and hopefully a little bit of feedback from somebody who might understand and care enough to give relevant advice. And I’m not asking for romantic quotes from a Paulo Coelho book. Of course everything is going to be great, did I even question that? I mean, there are more beaches, right? And palm trees. And there’s always music. Please dance with me.
The importance of palm trees
Sun is setting over Tofo and time has stopped. Why would anyone ever ask for anything else than this? I mean, look at those palm trees! I’m sure you’ve already noticed I have a thing for palm trees, and even though I’ve seen tons by now – they still make me happy. Anyway – enjoy the little randoms, darlings.
Hotel Inharrime
Travel watch
Winneth’s World
One day last week, on my way home from work, I passed the elementary school 5 de Fevereiro just as the classes had ended, and the sidewalks were full of kids on their way home. I walked by a group of girls that were playing “school” and asked to take a photo which turned into a long game of posing and playing. One of the girls was looking at my camera the whole time until she finally dared to ask whether she was allowed to take some photos. Her name was Winneth.
I gave Winneth my big camera, which was a bit too heavy for her to hold, but she started shooting away like crazy, taking photos of the girls, of me, of other people, turning the camera into funny angles, she was having so much fun that I felt bad about telling her that I really had to go.
I asked the girls to write their names on a paper so that I would be able to find them and give them the photos once I had developed them.
Winneth followed me as I started walking home, she took my hand. “I want to be a photographer” she said. My heart broke a little, she couldn’t possibly afford a camera. We walked together as she was taking her bus close to where I live, and as we were approaching my home I told her to wait for a moment and ran up to my apartment to pick up a disposable camera that I had. I gave it to her along with my number and told her to call me when she had taken the 27 photos. She gave me a long hug and I followed her to her bus.
Winneth has been calling me every once in a while, and last week I met her mother. Now I have the little camera again and I am trying to find a printing studio here in Maputo that will be able to handle film, without ruining me. I can’t wait to have those photos developed and finally see what was going on in Winneth’s little world.
