I had planned to put up a couple of posts describing my trip to the beautiful sea side lagoon region of Bilene on my first weekend here, as well as some of the things of done and experience in Maputo over the last few weeks (like my craft market experienced and ferry boat ride). But considering the events of last Thursday I thought it would be more appropriate to devote my time to describing the tragedy that unfolded.
I was sitting in my office on Thursday afternoon, reviewing project documents and preparing some meeting notes for the following week (the most work I actually have done since I got here). Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. My mind was on the weekend and the coming Portugal vs Belgium Euro 2008 qualifying match, even though it should have been on conceptualizing a donor matrix for my police assistance project. My attention was quickly grabbed by a series of popping noises that seemed to be originating from a distance. The sound was reminiscent of the sound that fireworks make when they burst in the sky. It was strangely familiar to the sound of the rockets they send up during celebrations (religious or community) in Portugal, and so I found it amusing that it was seemingly a remnant of Mozambique's colonial past; much like other practices that have become cross cultural which are quite evident. My first reaction was jovial, and I returned to work. A few moments later a colleague told me that they must be destroying ordinances at the depot 15 kms away. I found it strange that they would do it within city limits, and without any warning, but having already witnessed so many things that do not fit into my frame of logic while I have been here, I just told myself "This is Africa", smiled and continued at my computer. I even sent a light hearted message to Kat about it expressing my amusement. Minutes later my amusement had faded.
Not only had the sound of the blasts become louder, but the windows began to vibrate with the impact of the sound waves. Suddenly a deafening boom immediately accompanied by a shock wave, shook the building and the windows. Car alarms went off, the power went out, and I found myself under my desk. I got up and quickly went to the window, in the distance, as the sound of smaller explosions was still going off, you could see a large cloud rising. It was at this point thatwe recieved the news that the heavy ordinances at ammunition's depot were going off. BANG. Again the building shook. Amazing that the windows did not shatter. Most of us have our desks close the windows, and so people began to refuse to sit at their desks for fear they would be hurt from shattering glass. Slowly people in the office began to call it a day, even though the power had been restored by the generator. Periodically, the building would shake from another heavy blast.
I have never experienced war. I am lucky. I come from a country that has not had a major conflict on its territory for nearly 200 years. I have studied conflict. It was the focus of my MA. I have a solid knowledge of international, regional, and civil conflicts that have occurred over history. I am by no means a war aficionado but I have tried to familiarize myself with first hand accounts of conflicts, and expose myself to footage (documentary and others) of armed conflict. None of this is to say that one can ever prepare themselves for being in a situation where they are within kilometres of exploding heavy ordinances. But if forced to describe what it felt like from where I was located, I would say that it was like being on the fringes of shelling or bombardment from an enemy army advancing on the city. The explosions got louder, the shock waves more intense, and if it were not for the fact that I knew that I was in a safe location (not necessarily out of range of such weapons ordinarily, but when they are going off from such an accident they are rarely project beyond a radius of a few kilometres), I am not sure if i would have remained as composed as I did.
Like my coworkers I to felt uneasy about remaining at my desk, and decided to leave. I would have got a ride with the colleague that I am staying with, Halfdan, but he had gone with a coworker closer to the site of the explosions to see if they could get any more information (my coworker Miguel is project manager for the small arms and light weapons control project, and is actively involved in creating a program for the decommissioning and destruction of stockpiles of munitions). I got a ride home, and made sure to let everyone know that I was alright in case news of the story reached back home. There was a part of me that felt as if I should do something, but not knowing where to turn I decided to keep my ears open for opportunities to assist.
That evening I attended a birthday party of a coworker as I had planned earlier in the week, and while the event was of course topic of conversation, it was not as dominant as I had expected. In fact the only evidence that there was anything out of the ordinary was the occasional siren, the more crowded than usual streets (as people were evacuated from the surrounding areas into the city), and the black cloud that was still in the air. I was quite surprised at how normal the entire situation seemed, despite the indications that this was going to turn out to be a significant tragedy. However, considering that this year alone the country has gone through a similar accident with a depot explosion (with no where near the destructive implications though), severe floods and droughts, two cyclones; added to that a legacy of wars and endemic poverty one realizes that Mozambicans are no strangers to tragedy.
In the days that followed my offer of assistance was taken up and I had the surreal opportunity to visit the main hospital in Maputo to get details on the injuries, number of dead etc. Needless to say it would have not been my choice of role to play. I arrived at the hospital and was ushered in to meet with the head of emergency services. I feared that I might not be prepared for what was awaiting me at the hospital, but I was fortunate not to be witness to some of the gruesome sights of the days prior. There were hundreds of people there, but very few were patients. The majority were family waiting on some news of the status of a loved one, or where they had been taken. Inside I there were more people waiting, some with their heads in their hands, others gazing emotionless in front of them. I could not begin to imagine the horror of what these people were going through.
My meeting with the doctor was brief, as he could not give me official statistics, only passing details that he insisted were not official and were off the record. If I wanted official details I would have to return in the morning to speak to the official in charge of communications. He did mention that the majority of serious injuries that they had treated were for burns and amputated limbs, while most of the cases that came in were for shock and trauma. The only official update he could give me was that the hospital had returned to manageable flow of operations. I thanked him and left and waited outside for my driver. I had to wait awhile as it was expected that I would be there for at least 30 minutes. Outside I felt like an outsider, incapable of empathizing with what the mass of individuals was there for. Two boys, no older than 15 approached me and asked me if I knew where the blood donor clinic was. I said that I was sorry but had no clue; I felt ashamed, and felt a compulsion to go with them and find it (a compulsion I should have acted on). As I stood there waiting I began to read the bulletins on the wall. I quickly realized that they were update sheets with names of patients, their ages, what they were diagnosed with, and the treatment or result. There were several dozen posted along the wall. I began to read through them. What I read nearly brought tears to my eyes. Name after name (some remained unknown) of people ranging from ages as young as 3 months to 83 years of age. At one point there was a string of 15 names where the diagnosis was amputation, some of multiple limbs. There was one girl, unknown, age 7, with two arms and a leg amputated. The gravity of the situation began to settle in. (I know you may consider this graphic but, there are many gruesome details that have been shared with me that I am not going to post on my blog).
During the day the numbers kept on increasing, with this morning totals indicating a tentative number of approximately 100 dead, and over 500 treated in hospitals, with over half of those with serious life altering injuries, and 40 still in intensive care. The numbers are very tentative because there many more unaccounted for. The surrounding areas affected by the explosions are littered with unexploded ordinances. Authorities have not allowed people to return until an effort has been made to clear all those that can be immediately found (i am wondering what happens to those that are not found, victims for another day, exactly why the tentative number will remain so for a long time, much like the issue with landmines which is a scourge that also affects this country, not a day passes that i do not encounter some one with a missing limb). The clearance effort has of course delayed the recovery effort which means that as authorities begin to comb through the rubble they will inevitably find more casualties.
All this is the view from someone on the outside. I can only imagine what I would have been party to had I been on location, or part of the immediate relief effort. And still, I cannot help but think that this experience will have some affect on me. What disturbed me most was the ability to just shut off the real world, come home, shower, and then go out for drinks as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Like so many experiences so far, it was surreal and perhaps to a great extent it's why I feel like I am lacking the appropriate level of empathy for the situation. How is one to relate with state of existence that does not conform with anything that one has experienced in their life time? When I have the answer to that one, I will let you know?
Monday, March 26, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
Welcome to the UNDP...
The day after arriving in Maputo, I was up early and ready to begin my new work experience. I woke up and had breakfast prepared for me by our house lady who arrives at 7:15 every morning. Halfdan quickly explained to me that it is important that I do nothing, no dishes, laundry, general cleaning etc. during the week as it would be taking away from her work and she likes keeping busy. Also, she would think that I was dissatisfied with her work. He told me that he had to accept her as part of the terms of lease for the apartment, and that it took some time before becoming adjusted to it. As uncomfortable as it makes me, I have accepted the arrangement for now, but the idea of becoming adjusted to having someone do everything for me is not appealing. Part of it I believe has to do with my own conceptions of privacy. As I would learn when I got home later that day and found that my suit case, and bags, had been completely emptied, and everything in them had been neatly put away, I realized that i would need to revisit my ideas of privacy.
I arrived at the UNDP at 8:00am sharp for my first day. I was introduced to my direct colleagues who were pleasantly surprised that I spoke Portuguese, something for which I have been receiving numerous compliments for (thank you to my parents). No one knew quite what to do with me, and there was no desk space yet made available, and I began to get a troubled feeling. Luckily, a coworker (her name is Mirza) invited me to come along and attend a daily briefing of the emergency, relief, and reconstruction situation in Zambezi and other regions in Mozambique (for those of you who had not heard, Central and Northern Mozambique had undergone some major flooding caused by heavy rains, the worst since the floods of 2000-01 which killed and displaced many people, if that was not bad enough two cyclones, or hurricanes, one of which was particularly strong hit in February exacerbating the relief situation). We called a driver, and we were off. We arrived at what I was told is a Military Air force base, I would have never guessed. Pleasantries were exchanged and the briefing was had. I was quite impressed with the level of discussion and coordination that was going on, and would later find out that the Government's response to the situation has been considered exemplary. For me, it was an exciting new experience to be able to witness this new environment.
After the meeting the National Director for the coordination of emergency and relief activities, a friend of Mirza's, offered us a ride back. He asked us if we wanted the direct route or the indirect route. I am glad I chose the latter. After finding out that it was my first full day in the city he took it upon himself to give me a tour. A very jovial character, he had me laughing the entire time. Driving around in Mozambique you begin to develop a profound appreciation for traffic civility in Canada, yes even in Quebec. As quickly told the golden rule in Mozambican traffic philosophy "there are no rules only suggested guidelines". After commenting that I was somewhat concerned by the lack of care taken for the safety of pedestrians I learned that "In Mozambique its the cars that have priority because they are in the minority". Seems reasonable. For my first day in Maputo I could not have asked for anything better than the guided tour that I was given. We had lunch in a restaurant by the ocean and I then was returned to the UNDP building.
In the afternoon I was taken around and introduced to the few people who had shown up to work that day. Then spent the rest of the day reading up on the current assistance program to the Police of the Republic of Mozambique (PRM). By the end of the week I had a large air conditioned office, with a computer and stacks of binders to go through. I attended my security briefing where I was told the many ways in which my stay here can be made unpleasant. I also spent a large amount of time processing my documents to obtain my residency here (that should come through soon I hope). On the Friday a colleague of mine, Miguel, came into my office and basically asked me if I was interested in collaborating on initiating a new project proposal. As the police project is scheduled to end this fall, with fading hope for renewal of the same format for assistance, I was asked to be part of a small project team to create a proposal for a project on assistance on Crime Prevention which would bring together policing and small arms (which is Miguel's current project field). I was made the programme officer for policing, and began attending meetings regularly, mostly on small arms, but soon will be meeting with 'my' contacts at the PRM. I honestly have little idea of how the process works, and am just now getting up to speed on the situation with the reform of the PRM. I cannot get into too much detail of course, but the major issues with the PRM are lack of institutional and human capacity, and corruption. Tackling those hurdles would facilitate improving other deficient areas. Needless to say that for me it seems like an overwhelming task given the length of my posting, but it is an excellent opportunity to position myself as indispensable (brain don't fail me now).
I have quickly been targeted as the most confident anglophone in the office and thus have been asked to review and edit some very important proposals. Not the funnest of jobs, but it is amazing to see the glaring mistakes and horrible grammar that even the most professional of people make here. The entire country office is undergoing a re-organization of sorts, beginning at the top and working its way slowly downward. This has the effect of making all current structures temporary, and thus makes giving me clear guidance and involving me in projects difficult (especially since there are those who are clinging to their projects with resounding conviction, and do not want to appear incapable by asking for assistance, ironic considering that is probably why they appear incapable in the first place). Regardless, I will find my niche, and as some colleagues have been very good to point out; enjoy this time cause once you get started and they notice how much they can use you, you will wish you had days like these where your only responsibility was to surf the website and read documents. I must admit, I have only been here two weeks and there is already significant discussion on bringing me in on different projects, so I think I will heed their advice. They were extremely relieved to get a Portuguese speaker, especially at the level that I am at, which is better than some senior programme officers. So again the golden rule of Africa comes into play, hurry up and wait (I must exercise patience).
In the meantime, I am enjoying the amazing liberty that comes with working at the UNDP. I get 2.5 days a month in time off (totaling 6 weeks by the end of it), along with 8 unjustified absences, 10 national and UN holidays, and off at 1:30pm every Friday. Not to mention that accountability here is a very loosely defined term. Add to that the excellent European tradition of no shorter than 45 minutes for lunch, and I am beginning to wonder when am I ever going to get any work done. I am sure my tune will change soon, and there are things that will get on my nerves, but I trust in my ability to adapt, and have always prided myself in fitting in well with my work environment. Plus, if there is one thing that I inherited from my time at CANADEM is a overwhelming lack of surprise at the inefficiencies and bureaucracies found in government and international organizations like the UN. Patience and flexibility are the two most important qualities in this field; I look forward to having my capacities in both tested over this coming year.
I arrived at the UNDP at 8:00am sharp for my first day. I was introduced to my direct colleagues who were pleasantly surprised that I spoke Portuguese, something for which I have been receiving numerous compliments for (thank you to my parents). No one knew quite what to do with me, and there was no desk space yet made available, and I began to get a troubled feeling. Luckily, a coworker (her name is Mirza) invited me to come along and attend a daily briefing of the emergency, relief, and reconstruction situation in Zambezi and other regions in Mozambique (for those of you who had not heard, Central and Northern Mozambique had undergone some major flooding caused by heavy rains, the worst since the floods of 2000-01 which killed and displaced many people, if that was not bad enough two cyclones, or hurricanes, one of which was particularly strong hit in February exacerbating the relief situation). We called a driver, and we were off. We arrived at what I was told is a Military Air force base, I would have never guessed. Pleasantries were exchanged and the briefing was had. I was quite impressed with the level of discussion and coordination that was going on, and would later find out that the Government's response to the situation has been considered exemplary. For me, it was an exciting new experience to be able to witness this new environment.
After the meeting the National Director for the coordination of emergency and relief activities, a friend of Mirza's, offered us a ride back. He asked us if we wanted the direct route or the indirect route. I am glad I chose the latter. After finding out that it was my first full day in the city he took it upon himself to give me a tour. A very jovial character, he had me laughing the entire time. Driving around in Mozambique you begin to develop a profound appreciation for traffic civility in Canada, yes even in Quebec. As quickly told the golden rule in Mozambican traffic philosophy "there are no rules only suggested guidelines". After commenting that I was somewhat concerned by the lack of care taken for the safety of pedestrians I learned that "In Mozambique its the cars that have priority because they are in the minority". Seems reasonable. For my first day in Maputo I could not have asked for anything better than the guided tour that I was given. We had lunch in a restaurant by the ocean and I then was returned to the UNDP building.
In the afternoon I was taken around and introduced to the few people who had shown up to work that day. Then spent the rest of the day reading up on the current assistance program to the Police of the Republic of Mozambique (PRM). By the end of the week I had a large air conditioned office, with a computer and stacks of binders to go through. I attended my security briefing where I was told the many ways in which my stay here can be made unpleasant. I also spent a large amount of time processing my documents to obtain my residency here (that should come through soon I hope). On the Friday a colleague of mine, Miguel, came into my office and basically asked me if I was interested in collaborating on initiating a new project proposal. As the police project is scheduled to end this fall, with fading hope for renewal of the same format for assistance, I was asked to be part of a small project team to create a proposal for a project on assistance on Crime Prevention which would bring together policing and small arms (which is Miguel's current project field). I was made the programme officer for policing, and began attending meetings regularly, mostly on small arms, but soon will be meeting with 'my' contacts at the PRM. I honestly have little idea of how the process works, and am just now getting up to speed on the situation with the reform of the PRM. I cannot get into too much detail of course, but the major issues with the PRM are lack of institutional and human capacity, and corruption. Tackling those hurdles would facilitate improving other deficient areas. Needless to say that for me it seems like an overwhelming task given the length of my posting, but it is an excellent opportunity to position myself as indispensable (brain don't fail me now).
I have quickly been targeted as the most confident anglophone in the office and thus have been asked to review and edit some very important proposals. Not the funnest of jobs, but it is amazing to see the glaring mistakes and horrible grammar that even the most professional of people make here. The entire country office is undergoing a re-organization of sorts, beginning at the top and working its way slowly downward. This has the effect of making all current structures temporary, and thus makes giving me clear guidance and involving me in projects difficult (especially since there are those who are clinging to their projects with resounding conviction, and do not want to appear incapable by asking for assistance, ironic considering that is probably why they appear incapable in the first place). Regardless, I will find my niche, and as some colleagues have been very good to point out; enjoy this time cause once you get started and they notice how much they can use you, you will wish you had days like these where your only responsibility was to surf the website and read documents. I must admit, I have only been here two weeks and there is already significant discussion on bringing me in on different projects, so I think I will heed their advice. They were extremely relieved to get a Portuguese speaker, especially at the level that I am at, which is better than some senior programme officers. So again the golden rule of Africa comes into play, hurry up and wait (I must exercise patience).
In the meantime, I am enjoying the amazing liberty that comes with working at the UNDP. I get 2.5 days a month in time off (totaling 6 weeks by the end of it), along with 8 unjustified absences, 10 national and UN holidays, and off at 1:30pm every Friday. Not to mention that accountability here is a very loosely defined term. Add to that the excellent European tradition of no shorter than 45 minutes for lunch, and I am beginning to wonder when am I ever going to get any work done. I am sure my tune will change soon, and there are things that will get on my nerves, but I trust in my ability to adapt, and have always prided myself in fitting in well with my work environment. Plus, if there is one thing that I inherited from my time at CANADEM is a overwhelming lack of surprise at the inefficiencies and bureaucracies found in government and international organizations like the UN. Patience and flexibility are the two most important qualities in this field; I look forward to having my capacities in both tested over this coming year.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Maputo at last...
My excitement at finally reaching my destination was quickly turned into sadness. Being a student of international relations I have always believed I had a sense of what the world was like. However, little can prepare you with such a drastic encounter with poverty, especially as I lacked the normal comfort of knowing that it was only images on a screen or pictures in a book, and that when I walked outside the world around me would be completely different, familiar and affluent.
Maputo is surrounded by ‘Bairros’ (type of shantytowns) all around, approximately 65 in total. They vary in population density and types of infrastructure. But those on the very outskirts of Maputo, between it and Matola (another large city across the bay), are the most destitute in the region. These are the first you see on your way into the city. The majority are made up of straw houses or material long ago disregarded as garbage by more affluent neighbourhoods. Those lucky enough to use remnants of former houses have only to fashion a makeshift roof to complete their homes. Open sewers (nothing more than small dykes dug out to road) often divide where one bairro ends and the next begins, though normally the distinction is impossible to an outsider like me. Garbage is the common element that draws together the landscape. And everywhere children play among their sad surroundings. All along the highway we passed bairro after bairro with the odd industrial yard until we reached Maputo proper. But even into Maputo the bairros continue extending into old parking lots and abandoned lots. It is truly a contrast as you enter the ‘Baixa’ (the lower part of town as Maputo is on slight hill, it is also the older part of the city), with businesses and renovated car dealerships inter-dispersed with abandoned buildings, the overflow from existing bairros, and lots used as local land fills.
As we ventured into the city further the bairros eventually disappeared and you are left with old decrepit buildings (some falling apart from disrepair), uneven and pot whole filled side walks with a mass of people and traffic to navigate. The scenery began to look much more promising the closer to the centre of town the bus trotted along to. As we made our way to upper town we passed renovated villas and new buildings under construction. As the bus turned down a narrow street lined with exotic trees (mostly palms) I began to see where Maputo got its reputation for being beautiful African city with a European flavour. The architecture reminded me a bit of what you see in Portugal the further south you travel (large multi-complex villas).
Somehow through what seemed to be impassable traffic our bus lumbered through to its destination. The scenery had distracted me from the fact that we were over 2 hours late and the thought that the ride which the UNDP had arranged for me may have given up and left began dawn upon me. Luckily as the bus came to a stop I noticed an older gentleman holding a sign up with my name. I quickly disembarked and greeted him. The first thing I learned is that on a whole Mozambicans are one of the friendliest people you will meet. Within a few brief moments he could tell that I was a continental Portuguese from the North (my accent had betrayed me). Unexpectedly his next question was my favourite soccer team (even in Mozambique you cannot escape the rivalry between Benfica fans and Porto fans and me being from the north he pegged me as a Porto fan from the start – let the razzing begin – which is ironic since Porto has dominated the league and won the UEFA Cup and Champions League in the last 5 years, I think its envy, but I digress).
We loaded my things into a large UN 4X4 and back into traffic we ventured. He told me about his family, his job, his country, why he hated communism but distrusted capitalism, how cheap the beer was, and beautiful the women were. Within minutes I had received a very brief and dirty Mozambican education. If any of you come and visit Maputo something that will strike you early are the names of the streets. They are all, and I mean all, named after former communist dictators, great African leaders that support the war of liberation, or important dates in that war. And I am not kidding. The US information service centre has the unfortunate circumstance of being on the corner of Kim Il Sung Ave. and Mao Tse Tung Ave.
As we turned from Julius Neyere onto Kenneth Kuanda we began to approach the UNDP headquarters. This stretch of Maputo is very affluent and houses the majority of the embassies and the headquarters of most International organizations. UNDP is a moderately sized compound along Kenneth Kuanda (the the renovated remnants I am sure of an old colonial villa like all compounds in around that area). I was introduced to Haldan, the Danish JPO that was kind enough to let me stay with him for a while (more on him to come, what a great guy). Halfdan drove me to his place, took my bags, showed me my room, let me settle in and then took me to dinner at Mundo’s (a popular expatriate bar). His apartment, while in a run down building, is a fabulous large place with air conditioning, huge kitchen, Internet access, and as I was soon to learn a maid that insists on doing everything for you.
More on that and my first days at the UNDP to come ( I have to start making these short hehehehe)
Maputo is surrounded by ‘Bairros’ (type of shantytowns) all around, approximately 65 in total. They vary in population density and types of infrastructure. But those on the very outskirts of Maputo, between it and Matola (another large city across the bay), are the most destitute in the region. These are the first you see on your way into the city. The majority are made up of straw houses or material long ago disregarded as garbage by more affluent neighbourhoods. Those lucky enough to use remnants of former houses have only to fashion a makeshift roof to complete their homes. Open sewers (nothing more than small dykes dug out to road) often divide where one bairro ends and the next begins, though normally the distinction is impossible to an outsider like me. Garbage is the common element that draws together the landscape. And everywhere children play among their sad surroundings. All along the highway we passed bairro after bairro with the odd industrial yard until we reached Maputo proper. But even into Maputo the bairros continue extending into old parking lots and abandoned lots. It is truly a contrast as you enter the ‘Baixa’ (the lower part of town as Maputo is on slight hill, it is also the older part of the city), with businesses and renovated car dealerships inter-dispersed with abandoned buildings, the overflow from existing bairros, and lots used as local land fills.
As we ventured into the city further the bairros eventually disappeared and you are left with old decrepit buildings (some falling apart from disrepair), uneven and pot whole filled side walks with a mass of people and traffic to navigate. The scenery began to look much more promising the closer to the centre of town the bus trotted along to. As we made our way to upper town we passed renovated villas and new buildings under construction. As the bus turned down a narrow street lined with exotic trees (mostly palms) I began to see where Maputo got its reputation for being beautiful African city with a European flavour. The architecture reminded me a bit of what you see in Portugal the further south you travel (large multi-complex villas).
Somehow through what seemed to be impassable traffic our bus lumbered through to its destination. The scenery had distracted me from the fact that we were over 2 hours late and the thought that the ride which the UNDP had arranged for me may have given up and left began dawn upon me. Luckily as the bus came to a stop I noticed an older gentleman holding a sign up with my name. I quickly disembarked and greeted him. The first thing I learned is that on a whole Mozambicans are one of the friendliest people you will meet. Within a few brief moments he could tell that I was a continental Portuguese from the North (my accent had betrayed me). Unexpectedly his next question was my favourite soccer team (even in Mozambique you cannot escape the rivalry between Benfica fans and Porto fans and me being from the north he pegged me as a Porto fan from the start – let the razzing begin – which is ironic since Porto has dominated the league and won the UEFA Cup and Champions League in the last 5 years, I think its envy, but I digress).
We loaded my things into a large UN 4X4 and back into traffic we ventured. He told me about his family, his job, his country, why he hated communism but distrusted capitalism, how cheap the beer was, and beautiful the women were. Within minutes I had received a very brief and dirty Mozambican education. If any of you come and visit Maputo something that will strike you early are the names of the streets. They are all, and I mean all, named after former communist dictators, great African leaders that support the war of liberation, or important dates in that war. And I am not kidding. The US information service centre has the unfortunate circumstance of being on the corner of Kim Il Sung Ave. and Mao Tse Tung Ave.
As we turned from Julius Neyere onto Kenneth Kuanda we began to approach the UNDP headquarters. This stretch of Maputo is very affluent and houses the majority of the embassies and the headquarters of most International organizations. UNDP is a moderately sized compound along Kenneth Kuanda (the the renovated remnants I am sure of an old colonial villa like all compounds in around that area). I was introduced to Haldan, the Danish JPO that was kind enough to let me stay with him for a while (more on him to come, what a great guy). Halfdan drove me to his place, took my bags, showed me my room, let me settle in and then took me to dinner at Mundo’s (a popular expatriate bar). His apartment, while in a run down building, is a fabulous large place with air conditioning, huge kitchen, Internet access, and as I was soon to learn a maid that insists on doing everything for you.
More on that and my first days at the UNDP to come ( I have to start making these short hehehehe)
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Buses, Borders, and Bureaucrats. Oh my...
Monday morning of the 5th of March, I woke up early to catch a taxi to the bus station. After a quick but sweet goodbye with Kat, I was off racing in crazy morning Joburg traffic anxiously hoping that I had left myself enough time to get my ticket and board the bus. Luckily taxi drivers operate by their own set of rules and traffic legality aside I reached my destination with time to spare. Hurry up and wait seems to be the recurring theme, as my desire to be punctual was not matched by the coach service I was taking to Maputo.
I waited an hour and a half for the bus to arrive in Park City Transit Centre (Joburg Bus depot). I must have been looking especially friendly that morning as through out my wait, I was approached a number of times and asked about everything from bus schedules to where the washrooms were (a kind old man even asked me if I knew the results of the weekends football match). Unfortunately I was not able to help any of them, but it helped pass the time. We finally boarded at 9:30am, and I was relieved to see that despite not offering the luxury that one may expect from the description offered on the website, the bus was much more comfortable than the Greyhound I am used to taking from Ottawa to Toronto. The bus was under sold, so I got to relax and stretch out my feet as there was no one around me. We a jolt and a puff of black exhaust we were off, Maputo bound my home for the next year.
I had slept very little the night before (a lot of trouble sleeping my first week in Africa), so I had no problem passing out within minutes. I awoke only a couple of times, once at each rest stop, which surprisingly differ little from the ones we have in Canada (well except for all the palm trees and the lack of a Tim Hortons), gas station, bathroom and disgusting fast food. Now I have had some disgusting fast food in my life, but my first (and last) encounter with the South African franchise Steers gave me a new found appreciation for McDonald’s. I will leave it at that.
Luckily the nausea I was feeling was surpassed only by my sleepiness, and with a few delicious apples so lovingly packed quickly by Kat, my stomach had settled enough for me to pass out, again. I awoke some hours later at the next stop, and opted to stay in the bus catching the last few minutes of the movie classic Big Momma’s House 2 (personally I think one of the most underrated sequels ever hehe). It was the perfect time to wake up as we entered the highlands region of Eastern South Africa.
It was at about this time that I began to realize where I actually was. Sounds crazy I know, but with all the rushing in the week prior, the anxiousness and excitement at being reunited with Kat, the jet lag, sleeping in, the comfort and modernity of Melville and Joburg, it was not really until moment, as the bus winded its way through the highlands, with its breathtaking landscape that it dawned upon me that for the next year that this was going to be my environment. For the first time I felt I was in Africa. I beamed with excitement at what lay ahead. I would say that if was an amazing inspirational moment in my life if it were not for the odd fact that Big Momma’s House 2 had now been replaced by a DVD of all of Celine Dion’s ‘greatest’ (and I use the term loosely) hits. What was even odder was the intense attentiveness of some of the passengers on the bus to the videos. This fascination with Celine Dion distracted me from the passing scenery from time to time. Soon we had escaped the narrow, winding passes and tunnels of the highlands and arrived at Nelspruit where some got off, and we took on new passengers.
The back of the bus being nearly empty made it an attractive place for newcomers. While no-one was adventurous enough to sit next to me, there were some young folk who sat in the seats in front and next to me. Within moments the individual to my right had made I contact with me as began chatting away. Naturally looking out of place, he asked me where I was from. I responded as every proud Canadian does, modestly from Canada. Strangely they did not believe me. It required a look at my passport for me to finally gain their trust that I was just not an American paranoid about my safety. My Canadianess attracted much attention from those around me. First there was a young couple from Germany who was travelling with a guide (the guy who initiated conversation with), whom had been to Canada and were feeling nostalgic enough to re-count all their adventures to me. Second there was the young man behind me who had been quite the entire ride from Joburg, but who it turns out lived in Ottawa the last two years (what a small world). Before I knew it we had arrived at Komatipoort, the South African side of the border (Ressano Garcia is the Mozambican side). I left the bus, and it was suggested that I take nothing but some cash and my passport with me.
Komatipoort was a pleasure to cross. A short wait at passport control, a clean and efficient border control office, with a pleasant official. All access points into South Africa were monitored by a border guard. Once you clear passport control you have to walk on foot to the other side. I enjoyed the stroll as I entered for the first time was is to be my new home. As you enter Ressano Garcia the contrasts begin to surface. A single Mozambican border guard checks your passport as you enter (what he is looking for I am not sure), and you continue walking at which point it is really your choice if decide to announce your presence at customs or not as there is no one else directing you there. I decided to be a good international citizen of course and do as everyone else was doing.
The border control office on this side was in stark contrast to what I had just passed through in South Africa. Some would call it organized chaos. If it were not for one of the bus attendants kindly noticing my confusion, I probably would not have known to fill out the customs card, so conveniently hidden behind a pillar in a gap between the quickly forming lines. Oh, and thinking that you could possibly be provided a pencil or a pen at this point is truly misguided. Even trying to borrow one from the officer at the car registry window proved to be a negotiation worthy of challenging my language skills. Once the card was filled out, the task of trying to pick the right line was in front of me. Here is a piece of advice for anyone who follows in my path; there is no right line. Just stick yourself in the shortest one and pray you do not get the guy who speaks worse Portuguese than you in front of you.
By the time I reached the front of the line I must have looked like I was melting (it is significantly warmer in Mozambique, very humid). I also noticed that aside from the Australian in front of me practicing what he was going to say to the border official in Portuguese over and over, that I was the only white person left in the line. Which also made me notice that I saw no one from my bus in line. My sweat glands already working overtime, it was impossible for me to sweat even more from nervousness. After an excruciatingly long negotiation between the Australian guy and the border official it was my turn. Everything was going alone nice and smoothly until he muttered something and pointed to the wall. I could have sworn I was hearing a different language. I used my Portuguese and the second time around I caught a familiar word; tax. Now that is one we all know. So I asked how much – a dangerous question to ask if you are an obvious foreigner at a border entry point. Luckily, it was not more than what would work out to two dollars Canadian so I paid it and off I went.
I arrived outside to a sight that frightens me to the core even to this day. My bus was pulling away. I had a passport and the equivalent to twenty dollars Canadian in my hand. Everything else was on that bus. Instinct took over, and I did what anyone else would do. I ran. And boy can I run fast when it comes down to a crunch. I must have been quite a site. Some locals shouted “run run”, some nicer locals actually alerted the bus driver and he stopped. I boarded the bus to some applause from my German friends who got a kick out of watching me run. They assured me they would have alerted the bus driver (I am not so sure).
Tired from run I fell asleep. I woke up just as we began entering the outskirts of Maputo.
To be continued….
I waited an hour and a half for the bus to arrive in Park City Transit Centre (Joburg Bus depot). I must have been looking especially friendly that morning as through out my wait, I was approached a number of times and asked about everything from bus schedules to where the washrooms were (a kind old man even asked me if I knew the results of the weekends football match). Unfortunately I was not able to help any of them, but it helped pass the time. We finally boarded at 9:30am, and I was relieved to see that despite not offering the luxury that one may expect from the description offered on the website, the bus was much more comfortable than the Greyhound I am used to taking from Ottawa to Toronto. The bus was under sold, so I got to relax and stretch out my feet as there was no one around me. We a jolt and a puff of black exhaust we were off, Maputo bound my home for the next year.
I had slept very little the night before (a lot of trouble sleeping my first week in Africa), so I had no problem passing out within minutes. I awoke only a couple of times, once at each rest stop, which surprisingly differ little from the ones we have in Canada (well except for all the palm trees and the lack of a Tim Hortons), gas station, bathroom and disgusting fast food. Now I have had some disgusting fast food in my life, but my first (and last) encounter with the South African franchise Steers gave me a new found appreciation for McDonald’s. I will leave it at that.
Luckily the nausea I was feeling was surpassed only by my sleepiness, and with a few delicious apples so lovingly packed quickly by Kat, my stomach had settled enough for me to pass out, again. I awoke some hours later at the next stop, and opted to stay in the bus catching the last few minutes of the movie classic Big Momma’s House 2 (personally I think one of the most underrated sequels ever hehe). It was the perfect time to wake up as we entered the highlands region of Eastern South Africa.
It was at about this time that I began to realize where I actually was. Sounds crazy I know, but with all the rushing in the week prior, the anxiousness and excitement at being reunited with Kat, the jet lag, sleeping in, the comfort and modernity of Melville and Joburg, it was not really until moment, as the bus winded its way through the highlands, with its breathtaking landscape that it dawned upon me that for the next year that this was going to be my environment. For the first time I felt I was in Africa. I beamed with excitement at what lay ahead. I would say that if was an amazing inspirational moment in my life if it were not for the odd fact that Big Momma’s House 2 had now been replaced by a DVD of all of Celine Dion’s ‘greatest’ (and I use the term loosely) hits. What was even odder was the intense attentiveness of some of the passengers on the bus to the videos. This fascination with Celine Dion distracted me from the passing scenery from time to time. Soon we had escaped the narrow, winding passes and tunnels of the highlands and arrived at Nelspruit where some got off, and we took on new passengers.
The back of the bus being nearly empty made it an attractive place for newcomers. While no-one was adventurous enough to sit next to me, there were some young folk who sat in the seats in front and next to me. Within moments the individual to my right had made I contact with me as began chatting away. Naturally looking out of place, he asked me where I was from. I responded as every proud Canadian does, modestly from Canada. Strangely they did not believe me. It required a look at my passport for me to finally gain their trust that I was just not an American paranoid about my safety. My Canadianess attracted much attention from those around me. First there was a young couple from Germany who was travelling with a guide (the guy who initiated conversation with), whom had been to Canada and were feeling nostalgic enough to re-count all their adventures to me. Second there was the young man behind me who had been quite the entire ride from Joburg, but who it turns out lived in Ottawa the last two years (what a small world). Before I knew it we had arrived at Komatipoort, the South African side of the border (Ressano Garcia is the Mozambican side). I left the bus, and it was suggested that I take nothing but some cash and my passport with me.
Komatipoort was a pleasure to cross. A short wait at passport control, a clean and efficient border control office, with a pleasant official. All access points into South Africa were monitored by a border guard. Once you clear passport control you have to walk on foot to the other side. I enjoyed the stroll as I entered for the first time was is to be my new home. As you enter Ressano Garcia the contrasts begin to surface. A single Mozambican border guard checks your passport as you enter (what he is looking for I am not sure), and you continue walking at which point it is really your choice if decide to announce your presence at customs or not as there is no one else directing you there. I decided to be a good international citizen of course and do as everyone else was doing.
The border control office on this side was in stark contrast to what I had just passed through in South Africa. Some would call it organized chaos. If it were not for one of the bus attendants kindly noticing my confusion, I probably would not have known to fill out the customs card, so conveniently hidden behind a pillar in a gap between the quickly forming lines. Oh, and thinking that you could possibly be provided a pencil or a pen at this point is truly misguided. Even trying to borrow one from the officer at the car registry window proved to be a negotiation worthy of challenging my language skills. Once the card was filled out, the task of trying to pick the right line was in front of me. Here is a piece of advice for anyone who follows in my path; there is no right line. Just stick yourself in the shortest one and pray you do not get the guy who speaks worse Portuguese than you in front of you.
By the time I reached the front of the line I must have looked like I was melting (it is significantly warmer in Mozambique, very humid). I also noticed that aside from the Australian in front of me practicing what he was going to say to the border official in Portuguese over and over, that I was the only white person left in the line. Which also made me notice that I saw no one from my bus in line. My sweat glands already working overtime, it was impossible for me to sweat even more from nervousness. After an excruciatingly long negotiation between the Australian guy and the border official it was my turn. Everything was going alone nice and smoothly until he muttered something and pointed to the wall. I could have sworn I was hearing a different language. I used my Portuguese and the second time around I caught a familiar word; tax. Now that is one we all know. So I asked how much – a dangerous question to ask if you are an obvious foreigner at a border entry point. Luckily, it was not more than what would work out to two dollars Canadian so I paid it and off I went.
I arrived outside to a sight that frightens me to the core even to this day. My bus was pulling away. I had a passport and the equivalent to twenty dollars Canadian in my hand. Everything else was on that bus. Instinct took over, and I did what anyone else would do. I ran. And boy can I run fast when it comes down to a crunch. I must have been quite a site. Some locals shouted “run run”, some nicer locals actually alerted the bus driver and he stopped. I boarded the bus to some applause from my German friends who got a kick out of watching me run. They assured me they would have alerted the bus driver (I am not so sure).
Tired from run I fell asleep. I woke up just as we began entering the outskirts of Maputo.
To be continued….
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
And The Adventure Begins....
At last. After over three months spent wondering and pondering, researching, preparing, and talking about a life changing experience, I suddenly find myself in the middle of it. From mid-November to the end of February I lived with the thought that I would be leaving behind good friend, a loving family, and a wonderful country to take up a volunteer Governance and Development Consultancy with the United Nations Development Programme in Mozambique. For someone like me who likes to ponder about things it was a long time to dwell on what was to come. But it was amid a flurry of activity, and a mix of emotions that I first bid farewell to my co-workers (a great group of individuals who I enjoyed working greatly with), my friends in Ottawa (thanks for coming out Friday night), and my fan club in Da Hammer (thank you for Saturday night it was and will always be truly memorable). Having raced to finish up as much of work project as I could, made arrangements to move all my worldly possessions (and those of a particular love interest of mine), and prepared for a move to another continent, it was nice to have so many warm and alcohol laden send offs (I am surprised I made it to the airport).
After bidding farewell to all my friends, I enjoyed a very nice and relaxing meal with my family (something I will surely miss over this next year). It was hard saying goodbye as I have never been separated this long or this far from them, alas I kept my composure and infused it with excitement. I am very proud that we were not all reduced to a sad pile of weepers at the airport. I miss you all so very much already.
My flight was delayed in Amsterdam, which gave me the opportunity to get some extra sleep so that I could stay awake for most of the second leg of the flight to Joburg. I got some amazing views and photos of the Pyrenees, Southern France (Nice), Corsica and Sardinia, The coast of Algeria, the Sahara, and what must have been the remnants of a very large volcano - absolutely breathtaking. I fell asleep for a little longer and woke up to our descent over Joburg. I began to feel butterflies and the thought that I was touching down on a new continent (well new for me), my new home and reality. Anxious more even to see Kat. But those feelings were quickly tempered by my first encounter with African reality - hurry up and wait. Only one customs officer for a 747 carrying over 300 passengers. By the time I picked up my bags and found the driver waiting to pick me up I was already over 2 hours late. The inconvenience was small compared to the reward of being greeted by the one you love.
Arriving at night in an unfamiliar place is truly like experiencing a lucid dream (especially after being stuck in an airplane for 10 hours). Things appear so real, but seem to lack substance at the same time, as if they were being generated or projected by something. Perhaps it was just my mind adjusting to the new reality, perhaps it was the beginnings of jet lag, perhaps it was the effects of a couple of days of heavy drinking, greasy food, and no sleep. Before I could process anything more in my head, the car had come to a stop in front of a gated Villa, the door opened and out came Kat. Nothing else mattered at that point.
Saying that time apart is difficult is an understatement, but I was truly pleased, a bit surprised, and extremely relieved at how quickly we connected. I slept until 1 pm the next day to awaken to a mini paradise. I arrived in the middle of the night so i was not able to discern the maze that I had traversed to get to the cottage where Kat was staying. Here place is small but gorgeous and opens up to an amazing semi wild garden. Above is the main house where her supervisor and her family live, and work out in a sort of veranda. In the middle there is a giant oak tree that provides staggering shade to the rest of the garden though out the day. Next to it a refreshing salt water pool for morning swims, afternoon cool offs, and evening and late night dips hehe. Kat works out back in one of the corners of the garden in a shed (not kidding, it is a nice shed of course which provides wireless Internet to the rest of the Villa). This was my vacation get away for a week, and I could have not asked for better. I slept in most days with periodic visits from Kat, woke up to catch some sun and stroll out for lunch. Melville, where Kat is staying is full of restaurants, bars and shops, very pleasant to waste away a week (maybe even longer). I would try to let Kat get some work done most afternoons offering to help by either providing a massage or foot rub, or whatever else I could, and would attend to myself by reading or listening to some music and napping. We had dinner every evening at a different place, and would pop by her favorite watering hole, Berlin, for some drinks and good fun with one or more of the many friends Kat has made. One night I was told that I that I reminded someone of Tony Soprano, got a kick out of that one, especially as the guy reminded me of that character Sanka from Cool Runnings.
I cannot say I saw much of Joburg, aside from some very nice strolls through Melville with Kat, and on my bus ride out on Monday, but I would not have had it any other way. Simple, intimate, relaxing and gorgeous describes it. We had aspirations of making it out to the Apartheid museum and some other interesting places, but found it much more enjoyable to be lazy and lounge around the entire weekend. I will be heading back to visit for sure, and maybe that time we will make it out of Melville, but if we don't i will not be too broken up about it.
Ten hour bus ride, border craziness, Maputo at last, and UNDP beginnings to come....
After bidding farewell to all my friends, I enjoyed a very nice and relaxing meal with my family (something I will surely miss over this next year). It was hard saying goodbye as I have never been separated this long or this far from them, alas I kept my composure and infused it with excitement. I am very proud that we were not all reduced to a sad pile of weepers at the airport. I miss you all so very much already.
My flight was delayed in Amsterdam, which gave me the opportunity to get some extra sleep so that I could stay awake for most of the second leg of the flight to Joburg. I got some amazing views and photos of the Pyrenees, Southern France (Nice), Corsica and Sardinia, The coast of Algeria, the Sahara, and what must have been the remnants of a very large volcano - absolutely breathtaking. I fell asleep for a little longer and woke up to our descent over Joburg. I began to feel butterflies and the thought that I was touching down on a new continent (well new for me), my new home and reality. Anxious more even to see Kat. But those feelings were quickly tempered by my first encounter with African reality - hurry up and wait. Only one customs officer for a 747 carrying over 300 passengers. By the time I picked up my bags and found the driver waiting to pick me up I was already over 2 hours late. The inconvenience was small compared to the reward of being greeted by the one you love.
Arriving at night in an unfamiliar place is truly like experiencing a lucid dream (especially after being stuck in an airplane for 10 hours). Things appear so real, but seem to lack substance at the same time, as if they were being generated or projected by something. Perhaps it was just my mind adjusting to the new reality, perhaps it was the beginnings of jet lag, perhaps it was the effects of a couple of days of heavy drinking, greasy food, and no sleep. Before I could process anything more in my head, the car had come to a stop in front of a gated Villa, the door opened and out came Kat. Nothing else mattered at that point.
Saying that time apart is difficult is an understatement, but I was truly pleased, a bit surprised, and extremely relieved at how quickly we connected. I slept until 1 pm the next day to awaken to a mini paradise. I arrived in the middle of the night so i was not able to discern the maze that I had traversed to get to the cottage where Kat was staying. Here place is small but gorgeous and opens up to an amazing semi wild garden. Above is the main house where her supervisor and her family live, and work out in a sort of veranda. In the middle there is a giant oak tree that provides staggering shade to the rest of the garden though out the day. Next to it a refreshing salt water pool for morning swims, afternoon cool offs, and evening and late night dips hehe. Kat works out back in one of the corners of the garden in a shed (not kidding, it is a nice shed of course which provides wireless Internet to the rest of the Villa). This was my vacation get away for a week, and I could have not asked for better. I slept in most days with periodic visits from Kat, woke up to catch some sun and stroll out for lunch. Melville, where Kat is staying is full of restaurants, bars and shops, very pleasant to waste away a week (maybe even longer). I would try to let Kat get some work done most afternoons offering to help by either providing a massage or foot rub, or whatever else I could, and would attend to myself by reading or listening to some music and napping. We had dinner every evening at a different place, and would pop by her favorite watering hole, Berlin, for some drinks and good fun with one or more of the many friends Kat has made. One night I was told that I that I reminded someone of Tony Soprano, got a kick out of that one, especially as the guy reminded me of that character Sanka from Cool Runnings.
I cannot say I saw much of Joburg, aside from some very nice strolls through Melville with Kat, and on my bus ride out on Monday, but I would not have had it any other way. Simple, intimate, relaxing and gorgeous describes it. We had aspirations of making it out to the Apartheid museum and some other interesting places, but found it much more enjoyable to be lazy and lounge around the entire weekend. I will be heading back to visit for sure, and maybe that time we will make it out of Melville, but if we don't i will not be too broken up about it.
Ten hour bus ride, border craziness, Maputo at last, and UNDP beginnings to come....
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