Our taxi driver, Micas, brought us the four hours from Nelspruit across the border to Maputo, and dropped us off safe and sound and exhausted at the doorstep to Dad’s apartment near the intersection of Avenida 24 De Julho (not to be confused with 25 de Junho which was when Mozambique declared its independence from Portugal in 1975) and Avenida Julius Nyerere (named after the first president of Tanzania). Our first challenge was just to get into the apartment. This place was a regular old Fort Knox! We needed one key for the gate from the street into the courtyard, a second key to get through the door of the building into the interior hallways, a third key to get through a gate of inch-thick metal bars that ran from the ceiling to the floor at the top of the four flights of stairs, and a fourth key to get through the door to the apartment itself. Huff puff! Looking out through the metal bars of the two balconies on opposite ends of the apartment , I saw many apartment buildings that looked similar to this one: tall cement buildings four to six stories high, with barred balconies where women hand washed laundry in a sink and hung the bright colors on lines to dry, barred windows through which wafted smells of seafood dinners and sounds of jazz and the more Caribbean-styled marrabenta. Like any city, it is alive with the sounds and smells of thousands of people cramped in together. Unique to this one, though, is the mixture of the old wooden colonial homes with wrap-around porches and detailed wooden or steel ornamentation which often look like they have been transported from a plantation somewhere; the ugly Marxist-styled cinder block high-rises built just after independence; and the more modern shopping centers and hotels that look just like the ones I have seen all over Latin America.
Being that our only mode of transportation within the city would be on foot, Dad’s apartment was ideally located. All up and down this section of Avenida Julius Nyerere there is a wealth of restaurants, coffee shops, stores, street vendors, and the Polana shopping center with an ATM and a fabulous gelato shop on the first floor. Our first night out, we chose the popular sports bar, Mundo’s, where many of the locals go to watch the football/soccer matches. The food was pub food- nothing great, but not bad. The atmosphere was alegre, happy and lively. The prices were fair. The service was lousy. We had heard from South Africans and Zimbabweans that we should not expect service in Mozambique to be “quite up to the task”. They appeared to be right. Well, just sit back, remember that you are on vacation, have an extra drink, breathe. You are in Mozambique!
The next day Dad went off to work so Rory and I were left to our own devices. Maputo is not an early riser, she likes to wake up slowly with the sun, no alarm, enjoy a cup of black coffee a sip at a time before rolling out to meet the day on her own terms. So, when Rory and I headed out around nine, the streets were still relatively quiet. There were few people walking around, the street vendors were just arriving at their stands, and the traffic was minimal. We checked out the little coffee shop on the corner, the Nautilus Pastelaria, and then headed down toward the shore for our first day exploring Maputo. There is a park that hugs the shoreline through most of the city, but we were cautioned that parts of this can be dangerous even during the day. We stuck to the Municipal Gardens section at the foot of Rua da Argelia where weddings are often held on weekends under the gazebos and the frangipani and jacaranda trees. The breeze off the water kept the temperature around what I would guess was low 70s Fahrenheit (around 22 Celsius), perfect walking weather. From the gardens it was an easy walk up to the Museum of Natural History, a beautifully ornate gothic-styled building with an odd display of taxidermied animals and a collection of elephant fetuses. Strange, but worth the visit.
The Hotel Cardoso is opposite the museum on a bluff overlooking the older port area of the city, so it was a great spot to stop and take a break. Feeling reinvigorated, we looped back around to Rua da Argelia to check out a small artists’ co-op we had heard of, the Núcleo de Arte. Unfortunately, the building was undergoing some construction so there was not too much going on. There were, however, two or three artists there who told us about the Guns into Art project where everything from bullets, helmets and guns left over from the seventeen-year civil war were transformed into all manner of sculptures, some of which were on display elsewhere in the city. We promised to keep an eye out for these and set out to meet up with Dad back at his apartment.
That afternoon as we walked up Avenida Armando Tivane toward the artisans’ market, Dad explained a bit about what he understood of Mozambique’s recent history. As early as the 8th century AD, Arabs were voyaging up and down the east coast of the African continent, trading with different tribes and setting up outposts to receive gold and ivory from the interior. Vestiges of the Arab influence can still be seen and felt throughout the country, although more so in the north. In 1498, the famous Portuguese explorer, Vasco da Gama, landed on Mozambique Island up north and took it over, making it the capital of what would be known as Portuguese East Africa. Sadly, this island would later be the last glimpse many Africans would have of their home continent as millions of them were channeled from the inland areas, through what is now the town of Quelimane and out to the vessels that awaited them on Ilha de Moçambique to be taken as slaves to Brazil or the islands of the Caribbean. In the late 1800s, as trade was expanding with South Africa, the southern port of Lourenço Marques (now Maputo) gained importance. This, combined with the fact that Arab influence was again growing up north, convinced the Portuguese to shift their capital to the southern port city. By the 1900s anti-colonialism was rampant throughout Africa, and in 1964 Frelimo (the Mozambican Liberation front) began the fight for its country’s independence. On June 25, 1975 the People’s Republic of Mozambique was born with heavily socialist tendencies trying to redistribute wealth, land and power. By 1983 they were almost bankrupt and highly unstable, making Mozambique fecund land for revolution and civil strife. Enter the Mozambican National Resistance, Renamo, financed and backed by groups in Zimbabwe, South Africa and the West that were against not only black African sovereignty but, to a greater extent, the socialist government. What followed was seventeen years of devastating civil war, destroying the country’s limited infrastructure, her people and their hope for a better future. At last, in October of 1992, a peace agreement was signed and Mozambique began her tenuous and arduous journey toward peace, rebuilding her economy, roads, bridges and ports, and, perhaps most importantly, trust between her citizens. Now, almost twenty years later, the hope and excitement among the young Mozambicans is palpable as they see their country forging ahead in so many ways. Wikipedia says that, “since 2001 Mozambique is one of the world’s top ten for annual average GDP growth”. The number of malaria cases is dropping, thanks in part to outside help from organizations like the Gates Foundation. HIV/Aids, although still alarmingly prevalent in rural areas, is diminishing due to tremendous education programs on the matter. This year, the 10th All-Africa Games are being hosted in Maputo in September. It’s an exciting time to visit this rising star in southern Africa.
While Dad gave us our lesson, he trudged along ahead leaving Rory and I stumbling over uneven sidewalks, running the obstacle course of dog droppings and gaping holes in the walkways to the sewers below, and trying to keep each other from walking out into the street at the wrong moment (remember, cars drive on the left in Mozambique, so you have to look right first before entering the road- all too easy to forget!). At last we reached Parque dos Continuadores where a long line of merchant stands snakes its way across the center of the lawn with everything from wood carvings to bright sarongs to paintings. I think I did the right thing by stopping at different stands and haggling over prices (usually to a third or a quarter of the original price they had given) but then continuing on without having bought anything. This way I was able to compare products and prices all up and down the way before making a final choice. Besides, walking away worked wonders for bringing the price down! We bought a few items including a hippo purported to have been carved out of sandalwood whose end price nearly caused a riot in the market (now you know that had to be a good deal!). From there we headed back toward the ocean for a stop at the Polana Serena Hotel for a drink. This rather lavish and luxurious old hotel has a spectacular twilight view of the bay and the ocean liners heading in to the port. Much like the Nacional in Havana, the Polana is like the elegant old woman who may have seen better days but still throws on her best fur coat and diamond earrings before being taken out for a four-course dinner in the city.
We left before it got too dark. Avenida Julius Nyerere is pretty well lit and always seems to have enough people walking around, but we didn’t want to have too far to walk once it got dark. At this point I was reading Lawrence Anthony’s “The Elephant Whisperer”. One of his observations of the animals on his reserve in southeastern South Africa is that the larger more confident animals seem to allow people and other animals to get in closer before they resort to their fight or flight, while the smaller less confident animals are far more skittish. I definitely fall into the latter category: maybe not so small, but definitely skittish. As you walk the streets of Maputo, night or day, there is a constant barrage of people trying to sell cashews, artwork, whatever, or just asking for a handout or your dinner left-overs. Dad and Rory just ploughed right down the street, but I must admit that by the time we entered any establishment (the vendors stopped short of the entrance like vampires hitting a wall of garlic) I felt like I was pleading sanctuary from a church in a warzone. I’m dramatic, I know. That night my sanctuary consisted of the Restaurant Taverna, an excellent place (if perhaps a bit touristy and pricey) with a Portuguese motif and menu.
The next day we were up with the sun as the plan was to hitch a ride with Dad’s taxi in to the older part of the city. He would head off to work and we would do a walking tour we had seen detailed in one of our travel books. We were dropped off at the Plaça 25 de Junho across from the old Fortaleça (Fort) at around 7:30 AM when only the town drunks and the gringo businessmen were up and moving. As I mentioned earlier, Maputo is not an early riser, so most of the museums and establishments were still closed, but it was kind of nice to roam the streets when they were not yet bustling and crowded, and we could take our time admiring some of the architecture (once we outran the drunks in the park, anyway). One of our first stops was the old mosque, the Jumma Masjid, with its ornate, detailed exterior painted green and cream on Rua da Mesquita. We then marched … no, we glided down past the National Archives building, past the statue that is the WWI monument, across the roundabout with cars coming from every direction and into the courtyard of the old train station.
This is a must-see. Newsweek magazine recently voted it among the top ten most beautiful train stations in the world. It was designed by an associate of Alexandre Gustav Eiffel back in the days of wealth and colonialism. Its pistachio colored walls and iron dome were recently featured as a hotel in the movie “Blood Diamond” with Leonardo DiCaprio and Djimon Hounsou. At night the shrill whistles of the trains give way to the spunky rhythms of the jazz club in the lobby area.
From there we continued on to the Central Market, a mustard-colored building with ferns growing out of cracks in the roof, reminiscent of King Louie’s palace in The Jungle Book. The Market, full of colorful spices and produce, was also rank with the stench of seafood, too many people and rotting vegetables. In any case, it was a cheap place to load up on some snacks like apples, oranges and nuts for our later trips. Munching on some of the oranges (since you can peel them you don’t have to worry so much about washing them) we made our way to the old Botanical Gardens on Avenida Samora Machel (named after the country’s first president) at very much the heart of Maputo. These gardens were designed by an Englishman, and you can imagine that they must have been breathtakingly beautiful at one point- very lush and tropical but nicely spaced. They were worth seeing for that, even if now the paths have crumbled and there is trash everywhere. Across from this is the Iron House, which was initially designed by Eiffel himself as the governor’s mansion. It was soon realized, however, that the metal building became hot as an oven in this tropical climate. Nice to look at from the outside, anyway! A little ways up the street we came across one of the highlights of our walk, the Franco-Mozambican Cultural Center, an old French hotel which has recently been renovated and now has a stage in the center where they put on theatre and dance performances. Although most of the building was still closed (it was not yet 10:00 in the morning), we were fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of a group rehearsing a dance routine. The little gift shop was also open and had some lovely artwork made by some of the emerging local artists- everything from modern comic-book style paintings to traditional wood carvings and woven fabrics to the elusive Guns to Art Projects! The building itself is something to admire: a two-story wooden edifice painted the color of the blue African sky and the red Texas clay, encompassed by porches on both floors decorated with very ornate metal pillars and railings along the outer rim of the balcony meant to gather up but let flow both the people and the sea breeze before delivering them to the central courtyard. Lovely!
By now the streets were bustling with people coming from and going to work, washing cars, selling food on the corners, or just meeting up at a café for a chat. We stopped ourselves to get Rory a coffee (she was like a junkie on a mission to get her fix, so until we got her some coffee we were sure to keep flying past all of the interesting landmarks with barely a glance). That done, we leisurely doubled back past the Botanical Gardens and strolled down to the British High Commission where Winston Churchill once took refuge as a journalist after he escaped arrest in South Africa while covering the Boer-English War (love that bit of history). Around the corner is the Supreme Court of the country, actually encompassed on three sides by the Botanical Gardens, and further down is the National Library. The Library reminded me of some of the old buildings of my youth on the banana plantations in Central America, with slatted wooden shutters framing the tall glass windows filtering the sunlight that warms and illuminates the quiet interior. Our next stop was the Central Post Office on Avenida 25 de Setembro to mail off some postcards. Although this was not in any of our tour books, I’m glad we stopped in as it is cool to see a magnificent old relic of a building still functioning and being put to good use. Again, one could see the old grandeur hidden in the details of the building’s architecture. Leaving the post office, we made our way back to where we had begun our walk about three hours earlier. By now the old Portuguese Fortaleça was open to the public and the drunks had melted into the shadows and the dark alleys. We ducked into the fort where they have monuments depicting the arrest of the Emperor of Gaza (the head of the kingdom of tribes in southern Mozambique back when Europeans arrived) and the ensuing conquest of his people. Within the walls of the fort there are also some tombs of some of the early Portuguese residents, now watched over by the frangipani trees. At mid-day we met up with the taxi driver back out on the Plaça where he had dropped us off hours earlier and made our way back to the apartment, stopping at Casa Elefante back up on Avenida 25 de Setembro to buy Rory a sarong.
After that action-packed morning and an afternoon spent scrubbing loads of laundry by hand for the three of us, and trying dozens of tricks to get all the clothes to fit in the limited space on the lines to dry (fyi, quick-drying clothes are a good idea if you are going to be moving fast from one stop to the next because there are no driers… also, don’t take frilly underwear that you don’t want the whole world to see hanging out on the clothes line!), I felt I had earned my Mozambique travel badge. On top of all that, I had somehow been designated the Portuguese-speaker in the group and often ended up ordering our meals at the restaurants, conversing with the taxi drivers and shooing the street vendors! Wasn’t Dad the one who had been living in the country for six months? Wasn’t he the one who had spent hours in front of his computer with the Rosetta Stone program? All I had was the fact that my best friends in high school in Santo Domingo were Brazilian and their mothers spoke to me in Portuguese, and I had befriended a lot of the Portuguese interpreters at the hospital on Cape Cod. I am not sure how any of this qualified me as our resident expert on the language! OK, so it was actually a lot of fun and I was glad to do it. But I milked it at least enough to get a free dinner that night at the nearby Thai restaurant, the Inter Thai on Mateus Sansao Muthemba. That night would be our last in Maputo for two weeks. The next day we would be up with the birds again to catch our flight to the seaside city of Beira.
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