Destination: Maputo

23 March

Well a week after returning to my quiet little mato home after my excursion to the big city, I finally have a moment to breathe. I was lovingly greeted back in Chidenguele with requests for presents, “so what did you bring from Maputo?” – luckily I had bought some apples in the chapa on the way back and people were just thrilled, Dorcia, my embregada literally almost cried as she exclaimed “I had forgotten what an apple tasted like!”

But I came home to about 150 compositions to grade, two final exams to write, grades to record. Oh, and I have been officially assigned to the post of typing slave. I didn't mind at first, when my roommate Hortência and my neighbor Iraque asked. I am good friends with both of them, and was happy to help. And then I spent about 2 hours typing math exams because there are so many gosh darn symbols, before little mister passions walked in with 7 pages of geography-god-knows-what in Portuguese to be transcribed. So now I have begun telling people that they can use my computer, but they have to at least try and type part of it. I figure this is a more sustainable community project anyway.

So with no time to organize my life – meaning unpack and fazer a little limpeza – until this morning my bedroom looked like an explosion of American clothes and TEFL materials. But this really is just a momentary lull, as it is already exam week, and after tomorrow I will have about 350 exams to grade by Friday and then I have to do my final grades, then revise my final grades to make sure not too many people are failing (if I don't do this revision, it will be done for me… and will probably benefit someone’s girlfriend or brother or wallet). But anyway, I will use this moment of blissful silence to reflect on all the wonders that Maputo has to offer.

Ok, so I say wonders, but really I think that anyone NOT accustomed to living in no-where Africa where you can only buy tomatoes and onions in the market, would find Maputo a little lack-luster. In fact, even I find it a little lack-luster. The city is big, and dirty, and crowded, and dangerous. Don't be alarmed. When I say dangerous, I really just mean that I have to be on constant cell-phone guard. 3 seconds of daydreaming and the phone will be gone… and then 3 minutes later some guy on the street will be trying to sell it to me again. But so far so good.

The wonderful thing about Maputo is that you can buy anything there. In fact, you can usually just sit at a restaurant, conversar, have a nice little lunch, and wait until some vender walks past your table with exactly what you need – be it a cell phone charger, wall decor, or an amazing assortment of fruits, including this strange spiky thing called an ata that sort of tastes like a pear.

But the problem with Maputo, is that it just isn’t made for tourists. There are only sick dirty hotels, or excessively ritzy hotels. Restaurants cost at least as much as say some cheesy chain in America, but are usually sub-par versions of what you really want. If what you want is authentic Mozambican cuisine (which save a few dishes I wouldn't recommend), you really have to buy it off the street… and that often leads to a latrine experience.

Also, there just plain isn’t much to do. I think there is one museum, and a few galleries – but they are few and far/dirty/bandito ridden between. The beach is dirty and dangerous. So I spent my time indulging my addiction to bartering… and now I have far too much African jewelry and a dwindling Mozambican bank account.

Advice to tourists:
Stop in Maputo, but stick to the tourist barrio (museu). It has the best restaurants – I had pizza, Thai, and about 12 scoops of gelato, which I must say was far better that the sick dirty Mozambican oily tomato fish thing that Hortencia makes me eat - the largest selection of incredible African jewelry and artwork, and even a 1-screen movie theater.

Perhaps it is worth wandering into the baixa, but really only if you want to re-discover the wonders of the supermarket. Which I did. And it was glorious.

If you can afford it, take a cab everywhere. Ok, take a chapa at least once, just to experience the splendor. But beware, there aren’t really stops. Just ask a few people where you can flag down the right one and then try your best to make out their bad directions (“la, assim” accompanied by confusing hand gestures). Definitely take a cab a night to avoid banditos and prostitutes. But not just any cab, because that could lead to an unsolved mysteries episode. Better to call Frankie, this Mozambican man who was a cab driver in New York City for ten years, before returning to navigate the streets of his homeland. And don't worry when some random beat up car pulls up, and the man in the front seat says, “Frankie sent me.” That is just the way it works.

In general, hit Maputo on your way north. The pristine beaches definitely win over the dirty, pothole-ridden, sure to get cholera when it rains, streets of Maputo. But I suppose it is worth a stop for supplies, because rest of the country is pretty sparse.

Side note: I write these words as I sit beneath my mosquito net listening to my neighbor blast Bon Jovi. Oh how I missed 80’s rock ballads while I was away.