The Road from Machava to Maputo

First, close your eyes. They closed? Good. Now picture what you think Mozambique (or any southern African nation that you can think of or spell) looks like. What do you see? Well, what we see here may or may not be like anything you’re picturing. Sally Struthers showed the sad parts – babies taking care of babies, neither of whom have enough food to feed themselves much less their extended infant tribes. The Lion King illustrated the majesty of the bush – as it exists inside the better game reserves in South Africa and Botswana. The collision of cultures, traditions, and technology is humorously portrayed in The Gods Must be Crazy. And Tsotsi (if you haven’t seen it, rent it – PLEASE) demonstrated the brutality of poverty on the youth of Africa and the innate human capacity for compassion in spite of condition.

Our picture of Africa is some and none of that.

Perhaps the best illustration we can give you of our Africa is to try and describe the road from Machava into Maputo city proper. We make the trip several times weekly now (in going to and from the Heart Institute, running errands, for a night out, etc.), and it still never ceases to amaze. It is it’s own microcosm – that road is a “developing nation”. The road itself is fairly nice (by African standards), paved and frequently traveled. If you have to be somewhere, be sure to allow extra time for “rush hour” at the expected times. Note however, that the back-up that occurs seems less related to sheer volume – which is admittedly increased at these time as folks from the outlying neighborhoods jam themselves and their wares into chapas to travel to and from work – but more a factor of the scattered massive and many potholes which simply refuse to accommodate even a modest increase in commuter traffic. These lesions infect the lowest lying parts of the road and are most likely the remains of the floods of 2000, which have still not been adequately repaired. Mind you, as you go you might run into a few young men who spend their days filling the potholes with sand, rocks, debris…and then asking passing drivers for money. Wonder if the TDOT would approve of such a method of road renewal?? Anyway, as Jeff navigates the potholes (driving like a true local…forcing Erin to carry an extra pair of underwear with her on each journey), we both peer out the windows in awe.

Out of Jeff’s window (to the right, here!) we see what looks like great strides toward recovery from years of war and natural disaster – a big fancy BP gas station with an immaculately kept lawn, a huge shiny building that is one of a few local breweries (Mac-Mahon, pronounced here “doyz-em” or 2M…and yes, if we find out they give tours, we are totally going), and rows of cement homes and apartments. From this window, there are a few modern high rises in various states of construction – most appearing to be in a period of slumber. This view is sparse and leaves us wondering what’s next

Out of Erin’s window however, we see a totally different picture – a picture screaming of poverty. On that side, the section of road farther from town, boasts a fairly wide expanse of farmland, which is divided into small gardens tended by townspeople. At any given time, we will see dozens of men and women out watering their plots with watering cans, bending over to pull weeds or harvest their goods, silently acquiescing to the blazing sun. As we approach town, the road is lined by a row of shabby bars and “quiosques” with tin roofs and walls of plastic sheets, which flap in the breeze, selling anything from a roll of toilet paper to a cold Fanta to a cell phone card. Behind these bustling businesses, we see crowded neighborhoods comprised of tiny square huts made of straw – literally. At this point, these neighborhoods are perched above the road, which is running parallel to a concrete-tiled drainage canal. The sloping walls of the canal drop 20 feet to the bottom. Sometimes the canal has some water in it and we have, more than once, seen little kids filling their water jugs with that water a few feet downstream from someone else who had been using it as a latrine. That concrete slope is always littered with trash...lots of trash…enough trash to require mouth-breathing.

Looking from one window to the other, we wonder which is the view of the Mozambique to come. It’s hard to imagine our Africa any different than this. There is a simplicity that is both comforting and concerning. Comforting because it lacks any pretension and it is what it is – people moving and working to stay simple. Concerning because it is that simplicity that struggles to support the apparent need to keep up with the rest of the world. We kind of hope for a little of both.