I’m almost at the end of my time here in Mozambique. On Boxing Day I saw off my travel companion, Manda, who went back to Australia. In just a few more days I will be saying goodbye to some of my closest friends, some that I will see again and some that I may not.
I’ll miss Domingo, the guard who sits just outside my room. I’ve had so many funny conversations with him. Somehow we have bonded through my broken Portuguese. It makes all other random conversations boring after living in Mozambique with a friendly Maconde guard that calls me “little girl”. I speak to him most days, so now I know about his family, the places he’s traveled to, the languages he speaks, the differences between Macua, Swahili and other tribes…we talk about animals, the weather in Pemba compared to Australia. I’ll also miss Laura, our cleaning lady. Yesterday I walked out of my room after a desperately needed sleep in, and because I’d been away for the past week, they didn’t realize I was back in Pemba. Everyone started yelling when I opened my door and walked out. “Ahhhhh! Mana Christina!!! Voce voltar!” (you return). Then I was inundated with questions about Ilha de Mozambique. It was a challenge to my language skills, but nothing else compares to how alive one feels when immersed in another culture.
Two days ago at 5am I was leaving Ilha de Mozambique, the island that was the capital of this country for over 400 years when the Portuguese were here. I was sitting in the back of a chappa (a small bus), crammed into the corner so tightly that I now have bruises all over me. I had my big backpack on my lap and my shoulder bag jammed behind my neck as the locals continued to pile in and as men outside continued to pile ridiculous amounts of chickens, goats, suitcases, rice and mangos on top of the chappa. I tried not to think of 5 days before when we’d seen another chappa tip on its two right wheels and nearly topple over as it turned a corner. They either rock like they’re about to tip over on their side, or they look like the tires are about to pop under the weight. I relaxed and thought that it was probably better to not know or even think about how high they’d piled things on top this day.
Three hours later we made it to Nampula. We got off the chappa and our ride came straight away to pick us up. I got in the car, and then a police officer with a massive chip on his shoulder told me to get out and wanted our passports. He was angry…for no apparent reason, but he’d been watching us since we got off the chappa. I was with three other friends, two of us had white skin and in the middle of hundreds of dark skinned people, we stood out as a financial opportunity for the police. I was covered because I had my passport, but immigration had messed up my friend's passport that previous month, so it was back in another city 500kms away. Oh dear. So with no choice but to pay a corrupt officers yearly salary, or my friend face getting beaten up by angry police officers, the money was handed over. This is Africa.
Yesterday, I took money out of an ATM in town so I could pay for a flight to leave for Tanzania on Tuesday and the ATM shortchanged me... Africa. The pressures of underdevelopment here are obvious here. I should probably just be grateful there are ATMs at all!
White bread, processed biscuits and coke are all easier to find here than water and there are no public latrines anywhere. The corrupt police are just a reflection of other greater issues. I’m sure this will be channeled through many essays to come.
I leave Pemba on Tuesday 8th and fly to Tanzania for two nights in Dar es Salaam, and then fly to Entebbe, Uganda on Thursday where I’ll be staying with Uganda Orphans Fund in Kamuli, about an hour from Jinja with a missionary friend. I am hoping for safe travels for the next week, especially because I’ll be on my own. I was originally going to pass through Kenya, but rearranged my plans because of the election and war that has broken out there.
This time I leave Mozambique with the thought that we should be concerned about exposing corruption. We should be concerned with stopping child trafficking. We should try and change the stone hearts of proud wealthy Westerners who don't want to see how most of the world lives.
Through the power of unconditional love, the same spirit that inspired people like Gandhi, mother Teresa or way back - Jesus.
Christy
