This whole area including the town where I live, a suburb of Beira, has its own character and ambience that grabs at me every time I walk down its streets or take rides along its roads. Take yesterday, for example, me and Filipe (the Program Coordinator for Ascend here in Beira) were working in the office in the morning, so just after noon, me and him decided to walk down the street about a half mile and have lunch. This restaurant had been pointed out to us o
n occasion and even Tim Evans and I, when he was here, ventured down there for dinner one Saturday night, but it was too crowded, so we left. I asked Filipe if he had ever eaten there, and he had not, but we decided to give it a try anyway.It was a hot sultry afternoon as we headed toward the restaurant (I have yet to discover directions here, as there are no landmarks like towers or mountains, so I am continually confused). A mongrel male dog walked across our path, looked at us and continued. Its tongue was hanging out and it looked as hot as I felt, so I suggested to Filipe that we walk on the other side of the street where there was more shade. The street was still wet from the recent flooding and here and there, puddles still remained--breeding places for the many mosquitoes that infest this area. The sun, almost exactly over our heads was bright making the colors of the day, the beautiful greens of all shades that abound here stand out and look even brighter.
Every puddle that we passed that was hidden in the brush or under some trees rang with the sound of frogs. I have never seen any of these creatures, but there must be millions of them by there sounds. There are many people walking along this same road going both way; where I can’t imagine. A lady passed us; greeting us with a nod and the local greeting which sounded like “beun dia” but means good day. Two young men, maybe in their late teens or early twenties, were standing on the side of the road as we passed. I thought to myself, these young men don’t look any different than any college kid I might see in the U.S. They are dressed in very fashionable clothing and the one boy’s hair is made into some sort of special knots, like small braids. I commented to Filipe after we passed them that I thought these boys looked like they might be college students. He nodded uninterestingly, and made no answer.
Further on we passed a little shop and I looked in seeing only what appeared to be a small bar or counter with a few things on the shelf behind. There were two young women sitting at a table outside. They watched us as we passed by and I thought, as I have many times before, that many of the women in this country, like it was in Ethiopia, are very beautiful. These two women like many others I have seen here were attractive and well dressed. The table where they were sitting was empty of glasses or food. I asked Filipe if this was a restaurant, and his comment was that this was a place where people come to drink, like a Coke or Fanta, but that it was not a restaurant.
I noticed that the sand along the dirt road we were on was still wet and that we were making tracks like many people before us had made. A lot of people walk bare feet here as so many of the tracks are shaped like the bare feet that made them. I wondered how they do this, as I have seen people everywhere in all kinds of conditions underfoot, walking without shoes—many even carrying their shoes with them. It isn’t like they don’t have shoes. I just think that shoes must be optional.
It was a long way to the restaurant and my legs were feeling it. My old bum knee was bothering me and distracting me from enjoying the stride along the road. Filipe wasn’t talking much, so I broke the silence and told him about reading an article on the Internet the night before about mice used in Mozambique to identify buried land mines. He and Adolpho (a local volunteer working with us) had told me about this the day before when we passed this compound where a lot of people were waiting at the gate and I had asked what that was about. At first I thought he was joking, but both he and Filipe insisted that this was true; that an American company was using mice to detect old buried land mines. I couldn’t hold back from investigating this story, so that night I got on the Internet and sure enough, rats, not mice, and in fact, special giant African rats are trained to sniff out the nitro glycerin in the mines believing it is food, and thus with 100% accuracy, they can clean up an entire mine field in hours what might take days or weeks with other mean. So as we trekked along a little further, I told Filipe about the rats and some of the things the article mentioned. He said he knew where this place was that was mentioned in the Internet and had some more comments, but the discussion was soon lost as we continued along the road.
As we got nearer the restaurant, I noticed a large building to the one side of the road that appeared to be a movie house. I asked Filipe about it and if it was still operating, thinking it would be nice to go to a movie sometime. But he said the building was taken over by some church, but he didn’t think it was being used. The building is in pretty bad shape like most of the buildings in this city, and I thought maybe it was condemned and is not in use. But as we passed, Filipe remarked that it was being used after all. There was a makeshift sign where the ticket booth had been advertizing the church. As we continued, I was again distracted by another thousand frogs peeping in the bushes in some hidden pond they were occupying.
Just a little further a woman, perhaps in her forties came kitty-corner across the road in our direction carrying what looked like a heavy bag of potatoes or oranges. I couldn’t see what was in the bag, but it was obviously round, large objects. She was dressed very nicely and was an attractive lady but she was walking bare footed. When she got near us, she greeted us and said something to Filipe that I didn’t understand and then she continued on her way. I thought, as I had many times before, that the people here are very friendly and greet me and others warmly even when they don’t know us.
As we continued, a car passed us quite close and swung around the corner making some pedestrians who had started across the street jump back out of the way or be run over. I commented to Filipe about the drivers here in Mozambique and how I have come to the conclusion that most drivers when they are on the road it is as if they own the road and that they are the only ones on it. Pedestrians seem to have no rights; and like the people we just saw, they have to get out of the way or get run over. I was reminded of a ride down to the city we took the other day when our driver, Jenny, who is the Director of the Ascend programs over here, seemed to be in an extraordinary hurry for some reason. It was evening and people were everywhere along this divided main road that leads from our community into the city. I noticed from the back seat that Jenny was going 90 km/hr (almost 60 mph) when suddenly I saw this man in our lane on foot just standing there. Jenny didn’t slow down. It was as if she hadn’t seen the man. I shouted at her to stop, but she just swung into the next lane to the left, crowding a car out of the way, not slowing down any and then buzzed around the guy who by then was jumping to the curb. She only missed the man by inches. Filipe was with me at the time, so I asked him to tell Jenny that she should slow down so as not to run over anyone. He did and I told her through him that I was not trying to be mean, but that I just wanted us to be safe and not crash into a pedestrian or get into an accident. She nodded her agreement and slowed down some, but later it was back to the same old offensive driving as before. As Filipe and I crossed the main road leading to the restaurant, I was not surprised when we had to hurry up to beat two cars that were approaching us from the left at a high speed when I knew we would be the victims if we didn’t get across quick enough.
The “restaurant” is really a bar and restaurant—mostly bar, as I would soon learn as the majority of people who were there and came later were drinking rather than eating. At first we went inside and sat at one of the empty tables, but it was too hot inside, so I suggested that we go outside. We did and were soon greeted by the waitress who took our orders. The special for the day was chicken with either rice or potatoes, or we could look at the menu. We ordered the chicken and two Cokes, but the lady said they didn’t have any Cokes but we could have a Fanta or Sprite.
The outside along the street was cooler by far the inside. A nice breeze and the shade made it very comfortable. The table was surprisingly clean and soon we were drinking our sodas with, believe it or not, ice in our glasses. It’s a rare thing to find ice here, and as we started to drink, I commented to Filipe that I was taking a chance that the ice was made from filtered water rather than simple tap water. But it was cold and refreshing, so I took the chance. Filipe soon complained that his glass was dirty and called over the waitress to tell her. She took his glass, poured out the contents and either gave him a new glass or cleaned the other one returning it empty. She didn’t attempt to give him another Sprite as he had lost most of his, but he didn’t complain or ask for it. Once more I was seeing the timidity of these gentle people in action. At home I would have asked for another drink or the waitress would have apologized and given me another one. This waitress just seemed disgusted that she had to make another trip outside for his clean glass.
Our lunch was long in coming. I guess we were there more than one half hour after we placed the order. In the meantime a small boy sat on the veranda by us continually asking for money and food. Everything about the boy spoke well-to-do or at least better than average for this town. He was well dressed, was clean and didn’t look at all emaciated. But yet he kept on begging and even when Filipe told him to leave on several occasions, he would persist and move only a few feet away and then he would be back. The waitresses coming in and out of the building to serve other customers never said anything to the boy. Later he was joined by another boy who did look hungry and wore ragged clothing, but this boy did not beg, nor was he a nuisance. A bit later I watched the boy with renewed interest when he was joined by another boy who insisted that he move away from us. While they talked, I noticed this other boy who was bigger and likely older, take out a paper from his pocket that was rolled up like a stick and hit the boy repeatedly on the head until the younger boy was crying. The other boy soon left, and as I watched him leave, he looked at me with a smirk that communicated something like; I’m still the boss here.
Our meal finally came and it looked and tasted good. The chicken was over cooked, but I had expected that it would be. I haven’t tasted chicken here or in South America that was not over cooked and dry, but people don’t seem to mind. We chatted as we ate and the boy continued to bother us. About half way though our meal a woman came down the street from behind me and entered the restaurant as if she was going to be a customer. She was well dressed, was not dirty or slovenly, but I noticed right away that she began going around to all the people in the restaurant begging for something. She finally came to our table and did the same. Filipe spoke to her nicely and she finally went away down the stairs and along the street. I noticed that to everyone she passed she held out her hand. This woman appeared to be about 45 or 50, but I have a hard time telling age here as people don’t really look as old as they really are.
We had finished eating and had paid for our meal when Filipe received a call on his mobile. It was Jenny who was at the office and was soon going to join us. We had planned to meet her for a meeting with the Board of Education at 2:00 P.M. so I wasn’t surprised that she was there a little early and I believed we would be going right away when she came to pick us up as it was about 1:15 P.M. when she called. In about ten minutes she arrived, joined us at the table, said something to Filipe who told me that she was hungry and would be eating before we left. I was surprised at that as it was almost 1:30 P.M. by then and I knew it took at least 15 minutes to get downtown.
Jenny ordered minutes after she arrived and as we talked I asked Filipe if there was some change in the time of the meeting, as I knew we would never be through before 2:00 P.M. He said there was no problem, but didn’t explain. I asked again if the meeting time was changed and he said no, that it would be alright if we were late. I just surrendered to the fact that time is no factor here, and continued to observe the goings-on in the restaurant while we waited for Jenny’s meal to come. Most of the people were gone by then, but inside a man who had been standing at the counter all the time we were there drinking beer kept grabbing the young woman who was waiting on tables and cleaning up after customers who had left. At first I thought he might be the manager, but later I realized he was quite drunk when he came out briefly to the door of the restaurant and did a wobbly thumbs-up to me for some reason. When he staggered back to the counter, it was obvious that he was pretty drunk.
The woman who was being grabbed by the man every time she passed the counter displayed an ambience of sex in her behaviors and dress, which was likely the reason the drunk was so attracted to her. Her tight-fitting jeans, her makeup and blouse that revealed her large bosoms were quite stylish and she was very attractive and would be one of the women I spoke of earlier who ranked as some of the most beautiful women I have seen in Africa. But her attitude, even with us, was somehow seductive for some reason. When she would come to our table, I noticed her looking at Filipe, who is a handsome young man anyway, with more than what seemed to me a “regular” look. I noticed too that when she served the man who was sitting alone in the next table to us that she seemed to do the same with him. Oh well, I concluded, being old, I guess I notice those things more than others, as neither of the men (Filipe or the other man) paid any attention to her. It was only the drunk who seemed determined to grab her each time she passed that had more than a passing interest in her—except me, of course.
Jenny finished her meal about 2:05 P.M. I had already paid for it, and to my surprise, she called the little boy over who had been pestering us continually even after she came to our table. And then she invited him to take her chicken bones and one piece she hadn’t eaten which he did, and disappeared around the corner of the building to eat it, I guessed, or to give it to someone there. Suddenly, however, I noticed that there was an urgency in our leaving that surprised me. We all rushed to the vehicle, and in seconds were speeding down the road to the meeting we were
already late for. I asked Filipe on the way what was the general attitude about keeping your word around here and mentioned to him that I personally had a thing about being on time and keeping my word. I know he understood what I said but did no more than nod his head at my critique that I had attempted to make very diplomatic. Nevertheless, we raced into town like there was a fire to go to, dodging pedestrians and swinging in and out of lanes as Jenny, I guessed, tried to make up the time we had lost at the restaurant. 
When we arrived at the education office, I was not surprised that the office was on the fifth floor and that the elevator was broken. Was I back in Ethiopia, I wondered? That’s the way it was there all the time. Every government office I went to during my long stay in Ethiopia seemed always to be on the third floor, and the elevator was always broken. I commented about this to Filipe on the way up the stairs and asked if we were in the right office. He said we were and not to worry, that we would not miss meeting the fellow we had planned to meet. I looked at my watch and it was 2:30 P.M. when we arrived on the fifth floor.
Jenny and I sat down, as in all occasions when I enter any office I am forced to sit down, while Filipe took an inordinately long time, it seemed, in another office. I guessed he was apologizing that we were late, but I didn’t know. He finally came back in and said we would be going to another room to wait for the man we would be meeting. We did, where we found three large couches and a coffee table and were offered to sit and wait. In a few minutes a woman joined us shaking hands, but saying no more than a few quiet words to Filipe. He mentioned that she said we were waiting for the man we were supposed to meet at 2:00 P.M. and that he had been delayed unexpectedly. When the man we were to meet finally arrived with long apologies at 3:15 P.M. I now had a better idea of how this all works in Mozambique. It had been a long an tiring day for me when we finally arrived back at the office at 4:20 P.M. ourselves late 20 minutes for a meeting on Skype with the Salt Lake Home office.
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