District Blues

So I went to Mandlakaze with my special friend Jaime. Getting there was sort of a hassle, leaving only at 18.00 hs on Friday night, picking up more people (in the end we were 7) and then the car starting to have problems, ending up with just stopping and not wanting to start anymore, some 20 k out of Maputo. That was around 22.00 h and we waited along the road in the dark (well, with moon and stars) till midnight when we got a replacement and arrived only at 2.30 at our destination, deadly tired and getting up next day at 7.

In the morning there was this session of the Children's Parliament, with 12 kids between 10 and 14 years old from all seven administrative posts of the district (including 2 girls from Macuácua, the village where Kheto was born), first receiving training about basic stuff of how to organize and how to speak in public, and in the afternoon preparing their press conference for Sunday morning, where journalists from Maputo and Xai-Xai (provincial capital) would attend.

Once that was all over, at the end of the day, Jaime told me to jump in the car and go for a ride, to my surprise driving outside into the bush and ending up at his grandparents' home with grandma - Jaime's "wife" in the tradition - still alive (102 ys old and still quite clear-minded though tired and a bit deaf). His father, whom I knew from Maputo, was also there and very delighted to see me. He would have his anniversary the next day, becoming 78. And with some other very old and some younger uncles and aunts and neighbors joining in, it became quite a party. We all having supper there, delicious Mozambican food, with some wine and refreshments that Jaime and me brought. A small house with no electric light, but candles and a petrol lamp, and no water - had to be fetched quite far away as the pump had broken down. Dad told a lot of stories of who was related to which historical figures, one aunt being related to Eduardo Mondlane (the first president of Frelimo who through the Swiss Mission studied abroad, doing PhD in the US, marrying a white american wife, and when he came back organizing the liberation struggle from Tanzania - always insisting on the union of the 3 different nationalistic movements and on the fight not being racial but anti-colonial. He was the founder of Frelimo, but was killed by a letter bomb in Dar es Salaam before independence, after which the non-intellectual, militarist and populist Samora Machel – whom despite of all that we all loved and admired a great deal - took over.

I won't repeat all the history lessons I got that night, but it was really impressive and everyone so eager to tell me those things. And once I got out my camera they got hilarious, insisting especially on a pic of the very old uncle and aunt who had to kiss each other on the mouth for the pic. Hey, we all had so much fun. In the end they started to sing church songs and when after a while dad lent me his reading glasses so I could sing along from the psalm book (in Changane of course), there was no stopping them. When we finally got back to our pension, we made out to start at 7 next morning to go in the direction of Macuácua, Kheto's birth place. Kheto’s late father used to be the local chief there, the regulo as it is called here. As the press conference of the kids would start at 10, it wouldn't be possible to go all the way to Macuácua before the work started, but Jaime wanted to show me something.

So we left early in the morning, first dropping off a lot of fresh breads at granny's home, and continuing north, stopping at the monument of Coleela, the place where the historic fight took place between the troops of Ngungunhane, the great Mozambican warrior, and the Portuguese. Ngungunhane was captured there and taken into exile to the Azore Islands and later to Portugal, it was the end of his fierce resistance against the Portuguese.

Coleela is a very large open space with no bushes where those battles took place, and later that day Jaime's dad would tell me that in those days both sides would combine at what time the fighting would start, like (he said) in the Middle Ages in Europe. It was an open battle of forces, where the strongest would win. And the Portuguese had more sophisticated weapons... Anyway, Ngungunhane is on the one hand seen as a great African warrior who for a long time resisted the Portuguese, but here in the south of Mozambique he's not so beloved because he made these southern people slaves of his empire. Reason why many of them fled to what is now South Africa - it was of course before the Berlin Conference of 1885 where the European colonizers divided Africa amongst themselves.

Continuing our trip into history, Jaime took me to the birth place of Eduardo Mondlane, Nwandjahane, which is now finally being converted into a museum. It will officially be inaugurated on the 20th of June this year (his birth date, born in 1920). The road leading up to it is still under construction. When we arrived it was not clear if one were allowed to enter the area, but I said "hey, the gate is open, let's just go there as long as nobody stops us". So we went in and parked the car somewhere, watching from a distance if that threatening bulldozer wasn't going to crush it, but when we walked on we met a guy who was taking care of the place and after some introductions showed us everything. There is the (rehabilitated) hut where Eduardo Mondlane was born, the house he built for his mother which now contains an exhibition of pictures of his life (including some with Che Guevara), the grave yards of his father, his mother and the first wife of his father, and a lot more. Only the library was closed that day, but hey, that whole place - quite an area - was impressive, not to say overwhelming to visit. We got really into that "Mondlane feeling" of what Mozambique was supposed to become, so contrary to what it is today.

When finally we had to sign the visitor’s book, I signed (after some historical, emotional remarks) with my name and under that “former activist of the Eduardo Mondlane Foundation in the Netherlands”. I felt kinda, not proud, but special. For sharing all this history, up to today.

After this we had to rush back to be in time for the kids' press conference (after all Jaime responsible for that whole thing), which is a whole story by itself. Especially because of all the political influences that everyone wants to hold over this kids' initiative. Ah but in this Gaza province, of which Mandlakaze is an important district, Renamo rebels have done so much havoc during the war, even occupying the local hospital and killing the patients, not to speak of all the terror and killings they inflicted on Kheto's, Jaime's, and by extension on all families in the area. There isn't any space even after 17 years for Renamo as a political party. It's just absolute Frelimo territory. So even in this very well-prepared, supposedly children-owned event, at the last minute the District Administrator showed up together with the district’s health director (both Freli of course), and the whole kids’ protocol was broken.

The kids were sitting all next to each other in their red Children Parliament’s t-shirts, behind an extended table, facing the public. That way each would have an equal chance to answer any journalist’s questions. But this set-up was broken because now the Administrator had to sit in the middle and have a chance to speak. The president, a girl of 13, dealt quite ironically with it, after her own welcoming speech she said: “now I give the word to the Administrator, in case he has anything to say”. Afterwards the adults thought that this was a lack of capacity of how to deal with authorities (protocol), but I thought she did great.

During the weekend I heard some more negative remarks about the “too” outspoken girls, but I was secretly very proud of them. Mind you, this is not in Maputo, this is in a very lay-down rural place, where life is pretty conservative. And then these girls speaking in public, without any inhibition. I got on good terms with a number of the kids during the weekend and am planning to follow their future meetings.

After the work was over – this was Sunday afternoon - we went back once more to granny's home to deliver a cake for dad's birthday. With all the other people waiting for us in town to get back to Maputo, we couldn't stay long, but even so, now in the daylight, granny stood up from her mat to come to me and greet me, so I quickly helped her to sit down again and sat beside her and the other women on the ground. She asked where I came from and Jaime's father told her: "our friend Elma comes from Holland" (had to repeat 3 x the word before she acknowledged: "Holanda"). And he continued: "In Holland they know very well how to rob" (repeated 3 x). So I was curious what this was about, bycicles? Did he know about that detail? Then he said: "They robbed the land from the sea, can you imagine that, they robbed the land from the sea!" And asked me to teach them that, how to rob land from the sea and protect the land with big dykes.

Now I take my late-night snack which is a big, fresh, tasty tomato.

And I go to sleep.

Freedom of Expression on the agenda

To start with I must say that I'm back to zero in terms of laptop logistics. No internet, no sound, not even microsoft office. Too much help from too many machos around me who each wanted to do their thing, trying to get me on the fixed internet line (which all 3 other laptops in the house now have), but in the end left me in the dark, blaming my laptop - which I know is not right. Well, I take a deep sigh and hope for better days.

This week is World Press Freedom Week (at least baptized as such by the Mozambican Media Institute - around the occasion of 3d of May, World Press Freedom Day). So MISA had organized a number of afternoon debates around media matters in the country, which I could all attend. Was good to take the media temperature in this election year (28th of October: presidential, parliamential and for the first time provincial parliaments' elections). And interesting to see the actual level of debate, with a handful of journalists really having grown to a professional level (the most outspoken one rightly saying that even he was far from being at an international level, compared with the New York Times and such), whereas others claiming that "we now have so many educated journalists who passed through the Journalism School", implying they know all the tricks of the trade and don't need to learn more. Whereas the sad truth is that, for lack of good salaries and means, everyone depends heavily on the party, government officials and even the firms that finance the "independent" press in buying advertisement space. It's true that nowadays there are a lot of stories on corruption at high level in the press, but always based on anonymous sources (everybody afraid to loose jobs, promotion chances or study opportunities abroad for their kids). But then, one can hardly expect the journalist class to be way ahead of the rest of society in this country that is still struggling to become a functioning state. South Africa was often mentioned as an example where, despite high levels of poverty and unequalness, at least the justice system is functioning.

I'm reading new publications, scientific or journalistic, where the memories of the war are still very present, all the destruction and massacres, the difficult peace talks that lasted over two years in Rome, and those days come easily back in my memory. Compared to those days, Mozambique has come a long way. It really should be an example to a number of other African countries. And in a strange way I'm proud of somehow being part of its history since the liberation struggle. Maybe proud is not the word, but it makes me part of everything, makes me somehow responsible too (for all the negative things the "West" did and continues doing to this country, and for the positive things as well).

I had underestimated the weight of the "cunha" system, giving jobs and contracts to family and friends not on the basis of merit but of social relations. I also hadn't counted with the high level of distrust, unfair methods (stealing each other's ideas) and general falseness in the consultant community. Which is, therefore, no community at all. Quite unlike Holland, where we have this association of consultants in development (Nedworc), continuously striving for more ethics in the job, a code of conduct, continuous individual learning and also generously sharing experience (of older ones) with those that are just starting. My idea to start a kind of Nedworc daughter for local consultants here, possibly with some small funding from the Netherlands, will need a lot of ponderation. But some old friends of mine from different backgrounds (economic justice, journalism, anthropology) that have started consultancy companies besides their other jobs, say I'm welcome to join once I come with creative ideas. That's a challenge.

And so, with support of my always creative Southafrican friend Carva, I'm starting to work out alternatives, not just waiting till someone will give me a contract. C is willing to share his own course material with me, which I'll have to adapt to the Mozambican situation. Plus look for funding possibilities etc., but it's a good exercise to think "out of the box". Meanwhile continuing to contact all kinds of organizations. I just need patience, and hard work, and an end to technical problems...

Salad life not always easy

Finally having internet going and even sound on my laptop (music!!), I'd hoped that suddenly my life would all be easy and things developing fast. But the reality isn't quite like that. With all the changes in phones and rebooting laptop, I lost practically all my contacts here so have to spend a lot of time recovering them. Organizing meetings with people who are so occupied all the time also turns out to be wearisome. However, today I got some more dynamics going, a lot of recovered contacts, I'm sure this week will bring more light. I had a wonderful meeting with my close friend Jaime, who just wanted to sit down with me and talk about possible work opportunities, he promising to facilitate contacts. That sort of moments keep me going and give me energy to engage even more in fighting for my dream.

Yesterday my mum called me, just back from great holidays with my brother in Nice, it was so nice talking to her. And today -YesYes - I finally talked to Youri over skype. Sometimes it's just so important to talk to family, especially Youri, who is also living in a foreign environment (and so different from Moza). Knowing that he's also struggling to find his way, exchanging encouragement, it's so undescribable nice to share experiences and now that I also have to deal with things like different culture, friendship more superficial, sometimes this extraordinary positive meetings - I am so proud of how he has been dealing with this since a year, I understand now (that I'm living the same thing) how strong he has been to always see the bright side of life. But (hehe) about his experiences and philosophies you can read in his blog ("the mad hatter's funki kyotoness") hm, worthwhile, he got much more into philosphies about life and Japan and what not.

good vibes on Mozambique Jazz Festival and looking forward to a new week full of surprises

So this weekend was full of jazz (and other music), the first festival day being a disaster in terms of organization and logistics: starting 3 hours too late, once inside the parc not allowed to go out, waiting 1 hour for tickets for drinks, plus suddenly a very cool night and me wearing my lightest silk shirt. But some good music from Spiro Gyra, Nondje (Mozambican band with several ex- or re-entered Ghorwane musicians) and others you won't know. But we left around 2 in the morning, deadly tired, while the thing dragged on until 4 because of late starting. On the second day there were lots of improvements, logistically, plus a really hot concert of Hugh Masekela, the South African trumpet player and singer who is dearly loved by his Mozambican fans and v.v. At some point the public started singing 'Happy Birthday to Hugh', he being 80 this year, but from his musical and dance performance you would't say this. I was in the front lines, observing a sort of dance between a security agent who had to keep the public some meters away from the stage, and a guy who was constantly pressing forward, dancing and probably drunk, and just as often being pushed back by security. It was nice to see that there wasn't any hassle, just each one trying to defend his interest, but with respect and smiles. Good vibes all around, I finally got over my assault trauma.

Why did I start my blog more than a month after arriving here? You don't wanna know how many technical obstacles I faced getting internet working via my cell phone. If I'd had net before I would have bored you with all the details, but I didn't so I won't. I was literally working for hours every day (assisted a lot by Chico and later also Antonio and Samito) during the whole month. Finally we got it sorted out (had to reboot my laptop, with the consequence that it lost its sound - still another problem to be resolved and urgent (no music, no voice contact with Youri or whoever). So that's one important reason why I didn't get a fast start in terms of work contacts. I was always welcome though at AMODE's office (my friend Otilia's organization for which I helped to draw up their strategic plan last year), could use internet for the most urgent emails, but doing so I was always robbing someone of her desk and computer, so it worked only for really urgent matters. AMODE stands for: Mozambican Association for the Development of Democracy, which has been my core business since many years. I did have some important meetings though and sent in my CV to several organizations - changing it daily to adapt to new opportunities. In doing so I found out that I can be a specialist in various areas, without lying, fruit of having had such a diverse professional life.

I did have some desperate moments though, even expressed in my dreams, wondering "what the hell am I doing here" or "why did I ever think I could just arrive here and make a living". But fortunately I have my great friend Carva, who not only has total confidence that I will succeed, but doesn't want to hear about lamentations, just kicking me forward all the time. Sending me smsses like this: "Everything worth while in life is worth fighting 4. Worth hanging in 4. Worth sacrificing 4. Be strong." And me knowing that he's also having a pretty hard time in life right now, I don't dare to give up. It's good to have a person in your life to whom you can complain about solitude and back-sets, but who nevertheless demands of you that you just have to continue and be focussed.

So that's what next week will be about. After trying to resolve some more shit from being robbed (like how to get a new driver's license without being in Amsterdam), I will FOCUS on making those contacts that one day might result into work. And meanwhile continuing to contact my personal network, because also friends are important to get me going in this new life.

2 assaults and countless welcoming gestures

After four wonderful days with my friend in Johannesburg, sort of interval between my two lives, I arrived in Maputo one month ago to start my new Mozambique adventure. This is the third time I came to live here (though the first time I hadn't planned to stay here, just to arrive, but that's the magic of Mozambique: once you arrive you don't want to leave).

Chico fetched me at the airport and brought me to the house where I'd stayed for some six weeks last year. It's well located between the luxury and the more run-down part of town, a nice house with a small but beautiful garden. My room has a little veranda towards this garden, with some chairs and a lot of plants and sculptures. Nice to sit there early morning or at the end of the day (discounting the mosquitoes), with a view of streetlife at the other side of the gate. At the beginning Nirvana was still living here, a sweet dog - but outsiders wouldn't know she was sweet so it was a good protection against intruders. Unfortunately she was making a lot of holes in the garden when she was alone, so the dona da casa decided to take her away to Bilene, a beautiful seaside town where she will probably have a nicer life. Since then we sometimes had a gardener to clean up the garden and plant new grass and take care of dozens of small palm trees in pots. There's also a big lemon tree, a mango tree and some grown-up palms. And other plants whose names I don't know, but quite beautiful.

One day after my arrival I got companion of a young Italian, Antonio, who's doing some project here in a southern district. He's sleeping in the living room, while the dona da casa is slowly moving into the second bedroom, with her beautiful baby of one year. From the beginning I got along well with Antonio, sharing life stories and food, sometimes going out to concerts or other nice places. He has a car and I know the places to show him, seems a good combination. Antonio had to get used to the fact that sometimes I'm just silent, but when I do tell him stories of my life he's always impressed, which makes me realize that in fact I did live quite an interesting life up to now, and continuing. In turn he tells me about Italian life under Berlusconi, lots of jokes as well and stories about him and his friends driving crazy rides through the mountains, all the accidents they made, and him always laughing out loud, he has a funny laugh. Sometimes he is away for days in his district and I see other friends, or just stay at home reading, studying or watching slideshows of my pictures to compensate the missing of my beloved ones. Lately I've been decorating my room with the pictures I brought with me, lots of Youri but also my mom and sis, Astrid, Mara, Carva, Kheto, Sergio, even Richard Bona and planning to print some more of other sweeties in my life. This is really nice waking up to, greeting everyone and wishing them a good day.

I walk a lot through the streets of Maputo. It's amazing how many people I meet this way and when I tell them I came here to stay they are all so nice, big hugs and saying things like: "Finally you've come home, girl". Heartwarming. A concert of Ghorwane, the band I've been sharing my life with when I lived here in the nineties with Youri. So nice to be acknowledged by them with big smiles from the stage, while I was dancing and taking pictures.

But there's also another side to Maputo life. On one of the first days walking in a deserted area with only cars racing by, just when I thought: "this is the first and the last time you walk here", suddenly from nowhere someone jumped on my back and put his hands over my mouth. Nevertheless I managed to scream out loud and kick him heavily with my elbows, so he let go off me. In the split second it took me to turn around and look at him, I'd seen that a car had stopped in front of me. So instead of following my instinct to go after him and beat him well (I'd noticed that he didn't have a knive or anything), while he was gesticulating with a finger over his mouth to be silent - as if we shared a secret - and with his other hand gesticulating that I should give him my bag, I ran the other way towards the car of a nice lady who had seen what was happening and rescued me from the situation. With all sorts of good advice, which wasn't really necessary anymore, I'd learnt my lesson.

And then last Monday. Antonio had to cross over the border to get a new visa, and Sunday night I'd been giving him explanations of how to go to Nelspruit, the first larger town in South Africa, but said I coudn't go with him because my passport was still at immigration for my residence permit. However, at 7.30 the next morning Kheto came by to give me my passport with a one-year residence permit in it (next year renewable for 5 years, it seems). I was elated, and when Antonio left I decided spontaneously to go with him. So we spent some hours in Nelspruit, unreckognizable from over ten years ago, I couldn't even find the good Italian restaurant Youri liked so much. We met a loud ANC election rally there (SA elections on 22 of April - will we get Zuma as the next leader of the leading state in southern Africa? - but that's for future blog entries), nice music, people dancing in the street.

Anyway, when we wanted to return to Moza we got somehow on the highway in the wrong direction, so we returned to Nelspruit looking for the N4 back to Moza but didn't find it rightaway. We went off into a quiet parking place, where we asked this guy for directions. He told Antonio to get ouf the car so he could show him the way, which he did (never again!). For some reason he took Antonio about 10 metres away from the car and gesticulated that I should come there too. But in the meantime I had detected the sign for the N4 Moza, so I tried to call A back, but he didn't understand. They returned to the car, and then a second guy showed up, repeating what the first one had already said, and just when I realised something was wrong, this second guy grabbed my bag, while I had it over my shoulder with my hand on it and even the security belt over it, with such force that the bag came loose and he ran away with it. Antonio immediately got in the car chasing him and meanwhile hooting and screaming and pointing his finger at the running guy, but nobody did anything. We came to a cement obstacle where the car couln't pass so A jumped out running and shouted to me to stay put. I moved over to the driver's seat to try and go after them with the car, but then saw it was just impossible, I'd go right into the opposite traffic. Some time later Antonio came back with my bag in his hands, which the other guy had thrown away, but only after having taking my purse (and my reading glasses had fallen out). Miracolously my passport (with my new residence permit!!!) was still in it and so was my cell phone. Anyway, in my purse were two credit cards, Dutch SIM card, money, my last passphotos of Youri and what not. So, still very shaky, we went to a police station to get a declaration of theft, and then finally on the way back home. Where the car presented serious steering problems, so in the end we had to drive at 30 km speed for hours. Once in Maputo (Antonio trying to get back to cheerful), he insisted going to this place where Isabel Novella would be singing, but of course much too late.

So I survived another assault without injuries and still alive, but I was seriously wondering if Africa wants me here or not. Since then I'm hardly sleeping, always when I try to I just see this whole film in my head, each time with different details of what happened, and too conscious that I have to learn this very shitty attitude of not trusting anybody.

As to work opportunities: still in the phase of making all possible contacts. Some very positive (but is this just Mozambican courtesy or for real?). I have to work harder on this.

So much more has happened in this first month, but there's an end to your pacience reading as there is to mine writing.

Will be continued.