Hanging On

It doesn't seem too much to ask that an international supermarket would have both bread and dog food, does it?
Welcome to the frustrations of shopping in Maputo. My own little Pajero is literally rattling apart, so I'll only venture into town proper with DB. One morning on a weekend is designated grocery shopping. Requirements are carefully thought through before setting out so that we visit the shop where we are likely to get most of what we want. Which, in Maputo, is pot luck.
Needless to say: dog food and bread did not both feature on the shelves of our supermarket....(much use of expletives!!!)
And my frustration is only bolstered with a sense of guilt, because I know that this is the spoilt attitude of an expat.
Here in Africa, life is hanging on by its claws and teeth, and the inability to purchase dry dog food is the least of most people's worries.
Here, beyond the front of the comfortable, lurks a well of raw need.
Many Mozambicans are very poor and there's little room for niceties when you are poor. A lot of families eak out a living with whatever they can grow or sell.  Cages of chickens, ducks and guineafowl are a common sight along the roads, the birds shifting miserably in the heat of a tropical sun. In tourist season, you'll see puppies too - little bundles of fluff wilting at the entrances to supermarket car parks.
My Western sensibilities are appalled. But I am not living hand to mouth.
If you drive out of town, you will pass little roadside stalls where women sit next to small piles of tomatoes and cucumbers. Some days this is picturesque. On other days it is brutal. It seems impossible that they can make enough to survive on. Even further out, you might see little boys standing guard over bags of grass. It seems there is nothing else to sell.
Actually, emotionally, its been a rough couple of days.
On Thursday, I visited a small local school. It's within walking distance of our own international school and on the same road as a big private hospital and some new condominiums. The school consists of three classrooms, with a fourth being constructed.  Just beyond the classrooms is the `toilet block' - open pit latrines with a reed wall around them. The smell is appalling. The classrooms are not particularly big - maybe 3.5 metres by about 8 metres. Inside each classroom are 3 rows of desks. I didn't count, but probably 8 or 9 desks in a row. In the room with the smallest children, there were four to a desk. A rough calculation makes that approximately 100 little children in one room. There is no electricity. No fans.
Each little child is issued with a nub of a pencil and an exercise book, but the heat is unbearable and the sweat trickles down their little faces. Some were asleep when we visited at 11am.
On Friday, we drove out towards Goba, to visit a rural village.

I don't know the name. The village is very basic, with most people living in straw constructed houses. There is a brick school building, which proudly bears a plaque that it was opened in 1996. It is small and obviously outgrown, with the youngest children having class under a tree. (Much nicer than the classroom I saw on Thursday!) But it is relatively clean and the pupils seem happy. The school caters for children up to Grade 7. Thereafter, if they wish to continue their education, they must find a way of getting to the closest secondary school - 7km away.
The people are stomach-clenchingly poor. They live on what they can farm and this year the rains haven't been good.
They would like a better school. Yes, they would like a clinic (if someone gets ill, they have to be carried to the closest farm where a lift will be begged to the closest hospital, some 20 km away) But their biggest issue is , bizarrely, crime. They talk about children being kidnapped. It is hard to figure out how much of this is urban legend and how much is real. However, it would seem easy to snatch a child when so many have to walk long distances by themselves on lonely roads.
Its confusing. Constantly jangling your emotions, this Africa. The children we met were friendly and eager to show us around. They took us to the water pump and showed us their shop. In a way, their lives seem simplified and idyllic.
Old ladies with babies tied to their backs told us about their village in Shangaan, the children translating into Portuguese for us (translated into English for me!) They smiled and wished us well.
Then, as we were leaving, one of the wrinkly, shrunken women caught me by the hand and asked me for something. She was speaking in shangaan, but she was rubbing her stomach. I knew she was hungry and I had nothing to give.
Claws and teeth, this Africa. If it's not at your stomach, then its at your heart.
On the main drag into Maputo our bus passed a pig, tied and screaming on the edge of the road.
Living in Africa is complicated. Blue skies, open spaces, smiling faces, brutality. Quite probably I am over-thinking it all.
Sometimes I just want to go home.