A city of one million people does not sound that big when compared to cities in China, the USA and Europe. Sure that’s a lot of people in one area, a lot of light bulbs, trash, and cars but its no Beijing, Tokyo or Mexico City. Really, Maputo is just another San Jose, CA, well almost. Keeping with the California analogy, the entire country of Mozambique compares to California in about a 2:1 ratio, both in area and coastline. However California’s capital, Sacramento, seems more “fairly” situated as opposed to Mozambique’s national capital, Maputo, which is located less than a 100 miles from the southern border of a country that stretches 1,500 miles north to south. It is called home to about 1 million of the country’s 23 million citizens. It may be comparable in population to San Jose, but I guarantee that there are many more Mozambicans dreaming of moving to Maputo than Americans to San Jose.
Maputo stands alone in the country. No other provincial capital compares in diversity of commercial goods, food, cars, construction and nightlife, but also no American city of this size offers so little in terms of diversity of commercial goods, food, cars, construction, and nightlife. I can get various types of ketchup in Maputo, but have never seen a jar of pickle relish. How am I supposed to eat my hot dogs?!
If you made a trip to Mozambique and spent your time only in Maputo, you would know a different Mozambique. Everyone here knows this, yet I am constantly taken aback when I meet Mozambicans that have absolutely no concept of what life out in “the provinces” is like. Maputo can put blinders on you just like living in Manhattan or San Francisco can obscure the reality of a blue collar Midwest livelihood. I suspect many native wealthy Mozambicans do not know the truth of the poverty that so frequently categorizes this country. It is odd to imagine this and it is an extreme end of the spectrum, but it is true. I have been in houses in Maputo that surpass in wealth any house I have stepped foot in the USA; I’m talking about ocean views, marble staircases, and indoor pools. On the other hand, the images that arise in the media showing the poverty extremes of countries like Mozambique can be just as unfairly representative of the whole as my current experience in Maputo is. Maputo is not the Mozambique I know.
However, Maputo is not without its benefits. During my first time in Mozambique, and even before this past July, I knew Maputo through the lens of hotels, restaurants, the occasional museum, and bars. I enjoy the city now more than I ever did having found new restaurants, nice places to go for a run, cheaper and less touristy bars, a movie theater that shows exclusively Bollywood flicks, good pastry shops, and a group of Mozambicans that play Frisbee on the beach each weekend. Its not my favorite place ever, but my new finds help distract me from the faded cement skyscrapers, fear of getting run over by drivers who seem to forget that cars come with both an accelerator and a brake pedal, burning nostril reminders that any and every tree is game to be peed on, and street vendors selling anything from extension cords to carved ivory still chasing you down after you said ‘no, thank you’ three blocks earlier.
Yet there also exists a historical Maputo that becomes very apparent once you learn to look through the grime and crumbling facades. Before officially leaving in 1975, the Portuguese had left their mark in art deco architecture throughout the old part of downtown Maputo. It is easy to never notice it, but once you do you’ll find intentionality and unique details in many buildings in that part of town. It’s a pleasant surprise seeing as the majority of constructions post-independence are no more appeasing to the eye than a town of old-school Lego buildings.
Another bit of history has happened every Wednesday since about 1994. Post-independence in 1975 but before the fall of the Berlin Wall, about 15,000 Mozambicans were sent to East Germany to work in factories in a labor scheme between the then-communist allies. They were paid 40% of their wages in East Germany and were told the remainder would be paid upon their return to Mozambique. When the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, the Mozambicans were repatriated but their wages were never garnished. Ever since the civil war peace accord 15 years ago, the former East German workers, now called the “Majermane”, have protested and marched every single Wednesday. Usually about 300 former workers show up to march, with a police escort, across town to the German Embassy as a reminder of the injustice. Except for a very few incidences, the marches are always peaceful and a just call for equal rights, but some members of the group claim that as a Majermane it is more difficult to find any employment as they are labeled as troublemakers in the general public. As the group marches they carry old East German flags, an EU flag and a couple American flags. The USA government has never supported these marches, nor intervened, but when asked the Majermane will tell you that they carry the Stars and Stripes because they look to the USA as a generous and caring country that reaches and helps those in need. Carrying the USA flag is an appeal to a country they truly believe will help them unconditionally. Its sad to think of how the image of the USA abroad has changed and how such a flattering and altruistic reputation of the USA used to be the norm.
Another surprise in Maputo these past few months was the realization of the 10th Africa Games, hosted for the first time ever in Mozambique. For 2 weeks in mid-September, All-Africa Summer-Olympics-type events occurred through out the country, though as to be expected most games took place in Maputo. I was offered VIP tickets to the opening ceremonies but had to declining seeing as that I do not own a tie in this country. I did, however, make it to a number of basketball games, which played about a 10min walk from my house, and were a good deal at $1.50 for 4 games. The level of play was to be expected but more entertaining were the cliche physical characteristics of the team themselves: tall and thin Malians, muscular and intimidating Nigerians, show-off Mozambicans, both white and black South Africans, and some fantastic beards on those Algerians. The games were well publicized but, in typical Mozambican style, schedules, especially revised schedules, were very hard if not impossible to find. So when my lady and I caught a bus out of town to go to the Ghana vs Uganda soccer match (a game I had circled in the original program weeks earlier due to Ghana’s performance in the 2010 World Cup), we were disappointed but not totally shocked that the stadium was empty and no game was to be heard of. We did on the other hand catch one of the road cycling days. Maputo roads tend to be about as pock-marked as a teenager’s face, so I can’t imagine that finding a decent route through the city was an easy task. We stood on curb along Vladimir Lenin Avenue watching as teams of four from the DRC, Zimbabwe, Nigeria, South Africa, Mozambique, Congo, and others zipped by. There was some cheering from the sidelines, but more common were comments such as “Ksheesh!” and “Poooora!” in reaction to the fancy bikes, tight uniforms and speed of the racers. The morning race was winding down when from down the block a wave of cheers arose and quickly began coming towards us. Bystanders stepped out into the street straining their necks and squinting to see what team was coming and why they deserved such applause. Then the cheers arrived and arms went skyward and we all joined in with more spirit than anyone had shown all morning. Passing us was a solitary old man on his beat-up squeaky bike smiling widely as he meandered by with a basket full of bread. Ahhhh, Maputo!
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