Thinking

Its been a while since I wrote and I do admit to a lack of enthusiasm. Mostly as a result of the opressive heat which has been almost constant since December. But also, because Maputo spends all of January and most of February recovering from the excesses of December. I kid you not!
December is a wild month in Maputo. Which is a little odd since Christmas, although a holiday, is not supposed to be of very much importance in this supposedly socialist-based state. But any excuse for a party. In Maputo, the partying commences from the week before Christmas until the money runs out - which is some time in early January. During that time, the beaches are packed with people (many of whom, according to my empregada, drown), who somehow continue to populate the sand despite an what appears to be an unbroken carpet of litter. Again, I kid you not.
We drove out to Macaneta in early January and came back through Costa do Sol on the bottom end of the Marginal. The litter stretched as far as the eye could see: beer cans, drink bottles, food packets. And the crowds capering in between.
To the government's credit, there does seem to have been a lot more in the way of cleaning up since December. Its all very low-tech. People with rakes and bags (used to carry the litter and scoop it up) follow an open truck and sweep the beaches. Miraculously, the odd dustbin has also appeared.
Any-way, the net result of December's wholesale revelry is that everyone grinds through January with barely two meticals to rub together.
And the shelves remained bare in the shops until the start of February. For the whole of January, it was practically impossible to buy fresh fruit or vegetables in the shops. Again: I KID YOU NOT! When it got to the start of February  and I asked the friend catering my daughter's birthday party to make fruit kebabs, she scoured Maputo for oranges - and found one. Yes. One. You want to stand on street corner and yell ` It's an ORANGE! And we live in Africa!!'
Suffice to say that January was fairly frustrating.
January also saw my empregada registering her daughters and herself for school. Out of the blue, her youngest child's school decided that her child was one to be transferred to a school further out. My empregada's pleas that her child was too young to make the long journey fell on deaf ears; but she was advised that something might be possible if she paid 600 mets. Not a significant amount in Western terms (about £12), but quite a large amount in a country where the average wage is around 5000 mets a month. Amazingly, after payment, the school (or the administrator) then found that the child did not have to be moved after all.
A similar situation happened when my empregada signed up for night school. She has been plugging away at her education and this will be the last year before she attains her senior certificate. She was prepared to pay the several hundred meticals to sign up for the year, but was devastated to discover that she would be required to pay 4000. It goes without saying that we helped her, but the injustice of the situation is apparant.
And over all the frustration hangs the heavy air of summer.
It is hot and humid. The air is so heavy, you almost need to swallow as you breathe.
I do not enjoy February in Mozambique.