Maputo: First Impressions

At the edge of the balcony, bellow in the small quart yard there is a place to hang laundry. Had it not been winter right now, the little green fruits on the papaya tree would be large, yellow and ready to eat.

If it were not for the neighbor singing in Portuguese, or the coconut trees that line the coast, I would have thought that I was at home. It is 65 degrees, and this polluted portion of the Indian Ocean looks like The Bay. The section of the city where I live is called Upper Baixa (ironically) and gives an advantageous view of the entire metropolis.

For a capital city, the streets are strangely empty. Coming from Nairobi, I was shocked by the silence. Well, it is not necessarily calm, but in comparison to Kenya's chaotic capital, I might as well be in an urbanized village.

In Zanzibar, when telling people, both locals and internationals, that I was bound for Mozambique, almost all posed the question, "Wow, isn't it poor there?" Like everywhere on the third sphere from the sun, there are those who have what some do not. No matter which city, state or nation, one finds extravagant chic dwellings inches, feet or miles from shacks, tenements or other humble housings.

Walking down Avenida 24 de Junho, there are less people begging for money than on Telegraph Avenue. However, I have noticed that people do not plea for money as much as they try to sell you everything under the East African sun. On my street, Batiks are the product of choice, and even though I have told the same ambulant vendor that I have already purchased ten batiks and do not wish to buy any more, he still follows me down the street trying to convince me to acquire the 11th for 50 Meticais.

I am quite aware that this area of the country is not entirely representative of the lesser developed sections of other provinces, and that despite appearances, most of the population dwells in more modest conditions. Still, if people were to see this city, they might not believe it were the place they thought was Mozambique.

On Lumumba street, staring at the houses one is led to believe that they are in some upscale section of Rio de Janeiro or Bahia, it is only during the brief moments where sidewalks go missing, perhaps destroyed in the civil war, or simple neglect, that the difference occurs. Perfectly gated houses line the streets and all of a sudden a peak of sunlight from the ocean slips through the gapping holes of destroyed, abandoned properties, alongside the satellite dish,/SUV equipped casas of the elite.

Speaking of streets, walking down these curious avenidas is much like a game of “Follow the Leader.” Today I made a journey to the other side of town to the surreal “Summerscheild” neighborhood that houses ex-pats, NGO and other government workers. It seems each street is named after a famous leader. For example, I live near the corner of P. Lumumba and Salvador Allende Past the 24th of June is Nkrumah. You take Nkrumah all the way to Mao and then Mao to Kim II Sung and then take Kim II Sung to Zimbabwe street. Somewhere over there you will find a plaza called East Timor and another called Mugabe. To get to the overpriced shopping center that no local can afford, one need only take a left on Lenin Boulevard. Need to get somewhere? Follow the leader.

To be continued…