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Crime in Maputo by Mia Couto
This is another text by Mia Couto, imperfectly translated by me. I apologize for my obvious shortcomings.
The photo above was taken by João Nogueira and is part of his wonderful blog, where he shares impressions of Maputo, where he taught for a year (in Portuguese).
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A foreigner friend of mine asked me, just arriving in Maputo, in which streets could he walk safely.
'Safely'? I asked, just to gain some time.
He stared at my thoughtful face. A few years before I wouldn't have hesitated. The city still had areas relatively quiet, where the average citizen could walk with no risk. But that day I had just gotten the news that a friend from work, right in Joaquim Lapa street, a few meters from the police station, had been robbed at gunpoint, in broad daylight. The day before, the newspaper stated, a woman had been raped in the marginal. Not at twilight. It happened in daytime. The night before I had learned on the news that there were entire neighborhoods complaining against the reign of terror of bandit groups. The week before, a foreigner that had visited our company, not far from Hotel Polana, had been assaulted by a group of teenagers. We had informed that same consultant that the neighborhood was quiet and that he could walk around with no problem. Hours later we were visiting him at the Hospital.
'Well, walk safely...', I dragged, already aware of the price of my delay.
The visitor saved me from the embarrassment, deciding to cogitate about the universal tendency of criminality to increase. I believed the bad moment was over when he threw a new question:
'What about driving?'
'Driving'?
At least I could have used the imagination a bit more. Repeating a question was a strategy that could saturate.
'Yes, driving a car. Do you think I can?'
'Of course you can, if you have a license.'
'I do, but is it safe?'
'Well... I mean... You need to be careful about a few things...'
' Like for instance...'
This time the images crossed my mind with the speed of a city bus. How can I explain the tourist that at the lights you don't hit the gas when the green is on. How do I explain that at certain corners green is equivalent to red and you only stop at the yellow light? That at some other crossroads green is equivalent to yellow? How to clarify that the buses never stop at the lights but always stop in the middle of the road?
The foreigner understood the delay in my answer. He must have been ruminating: he couldn't walk, he shouldn't drive. How could he enjoy the city?
And I questioned myself too: what city is left for us, citizens of Maputo? We can't offer the city to others because it is becoming no longer ours.
'Don't worry', he said to alleviate me. 'I'll stay at the Hotel'.
In an impulse I almost said: I'll move into your Hotel too. And while I drove my friend back to his accommodation, I looked at Maputo and thought if how the citizen is loosing the city, how we are left with the leftovers of what the voracity of chaos is not dominating yet.
Mia Couto
2005-07-28
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I found this story here. Below some beautiful photos of Maputo taken by Juliano Ipólito, available at his Flickr page.
