What I Think

When writing about India I felt I always had to have a story to tell. Well, folks, that took too much effort and surely contributed to my dearth of entries. This time I’m just being lazy … which is why I’m a month in and only now posting my entries. But this time I’m not going to worry about having to tell you about a spectacularly wild event (like getting on the wrong train without any money, ID or form of communication) or whether or not I’m posting pictures (though I will!) This time I’m just going to tell you what I think.

It’s not fair to compare Mozambique to India because I’m here and not there, and aren’t our memories always rosy? But the temptation is impossible to resist, so I’m going to go down that road anyhow.

1. Odors. India had lots of trash burning going on and more than its fair share of rotting flesh and street-side excrement. But it also came with magnificent wafts of fried dough and other street foods, of fresh laundry and fresh rains, of incense and steaming chai. In Maputo I am generally met with chappa exhaust (crazy little vans that whiz around the city picking up people so that they can sit on one another's laps to get around). But when I get to the outskirts of the city, I find sea breezes and seafood – whether it is fish off the boat or fried calamari. The grills are always going, stacked with whole chickens, oftentimes marinated in the cook’s own rendering of the country’s go-to piri piri spice.

2. Housing. Holy baloney, Mozambique blows India Out. Of. The. WATER. The TDY house is huge: three stories, three balcony porches, a spacious kitchen, a dining room and a small living room, five bedrooms, five full baths, a ballroom (yes, it’s small, but a ballroom), a car park and a small pool (not that there is anywhere to sit or even lay next to it, but isn’t that beside the point?) We have a rotation of guards who let us in through the front, solid wood-paneled gate when we ring, a clan of maintenance men and a housekeeper who cleans three days a week and occasionally cooks. And washer, dryer and dishwasher in house.

3. Safety. There are certainly worse places in DC, really, there are, and I was cautious in India, too. But here? I twist Kraemer’s arm to run with me in the mornings (though we frequently see the Ambassador walking with her husband, so it ain’t that bad), and I’m very alert when leaving and entering my house. Basically, no one has been seriously injured of which I’m aware, but there have been carjackings and muggings and home invasions (of people I’ve met or work for the USG) … because they want to steal your stuff. Your cell phone, your tennis shoes, your money, whatever.

4. Transportation. Sucks. Let’s just be real about it. Sometimes I feel like a prisoner in my own house. We aren’t allowed to take the chappas (er, not that I would), and only two cab companies have been vetted. There is no good bus system. And this is just within the city. No cross-country trains, and I might as well be flying to the moon when I get on a plane – it would cost upwards of $700 just for me to fly to a beach up north (this country seems to me about the size of California). Granted, I could reserve a USAID vehicle; but they’re almost all stick, and Maputo’s traffic is nearly as crazy as India’s (and left-side driving), and you wouldn’t find me driving there. India’s traffic might have broken my leg but at least I could take the bus, geez!

5. The view. Pretty much doesn’t get any better than this. From my house, well, I look out at the back of the Canadian Embassy or some such, but even that is kinda fun. I like the architecture. But from my office? I can see the ocean, not to mention a spectacular sunset just before I leave work at 5:30 (clearly, it’s winter here). Every morning we get picked up by a driver who then shuttles us to work, every morning along the boardwalk lined with palm trees and the morning’s fishermen.

I’m not sold on Mozambique as somewhere I would want to live – but it’s growing on me.