another countdown

(30 days) and an apology to SOMEONE who has been having boring days at work because i haven't written here on this blog. hopefully what i will say here today will lighten up your day... or worse.

i spent 1 week just laying down on the couch pretending there was nothing else in the world except the most wonderful channel FOX LIFE, pretending i actually took the problems in UGLY BETTY's world seriously... maybe if it was GREY's world i'd probably wouldn't know the difference. anyway the couch worked for just about 8 days and then i took off. i'm telling ya, the more i stay out of here the more i will need to be alone, so i left the house of FOX LIFE and the house with the pool and crawled into my little nest, where silence is key and alone time is prime time!

just about... if you add to the quiet time a bunch of mails and phone calls i have been having to write or call in order to just UNDERSTAND what the heck i have to do to get everything ready to fly away, then i guess i have to find my silence in the toilet! my skype phone has never been so useful and the most professional tool i ever had. if it could only be so simple and reduced to ONE phone call, i swear it'd be nicer, but nooooooo every time i call someone the info changes or adapts according to the mood. and schedules? ah let me tell you something people... did you know embassies are only open to the public 4 hours a day???? maybe only the one i need, but still 4 hours??? are you kidding? if you can't get stuff done until 13:00 you have to do it tomorrow, all over again. !"

!"#$%&%$#"! my point exactly.

there was a high point in this mess, i had to go get my CRIMINAL RECORD, yup... i had to ask for my legal life to be handed out to me. strange how even if i KNOW i'm a good person and have committed no crime i still felt a bit shy asking for one.
"can i have my criminal record please... today?"
"it depends, have you ever committed a crime?"
"no ma'am, never"
"well... we'll see"
"...ok... sorry for interrupting you day here all alone"
after 2 minutes... it figures
"well, here you go, apparently you were right (she was surprised!) it's €3.00"
"does this mean if i had comitted a crime i'd pay more??? eheheheh ahaahahha" i made a joke!
"goodbye"

so crime pays or not? i should rethink this whole being good thing...

just in case you missed it... it's my 6th anniversary of me leaving home for the first time. my my my... back in 2002!

last saturday in a'pen

now... this was the ultimate horrible last day, this was it... the last 24hours, the last moments of such a wonderful time. i didn't wake up with this feeling, of the last moment... i woke up with Rosie next to me smiling, and grabing my nose and talking her own language, and it was so nice to wake up to such a beautiful face, our girls' night sleepover was almost over, only a breakfast away.

breakfast at the REVISTA was the moment when i realized it, if i leave this place now and go home to catch a few hours of sleep, it would be the end, but i couldn't keep my eyes open and if i wanted my "goodbye drink" to go smoothly i had to turn off my mind, sleep and wake up again to enjoy this saturday.

it's hard to explain how i felt when i arrived at the CARGO BAR, because i knew i'd see a lot of people that would celebrate with us our new adventure, wish us their best and send us off to africa, but my goodness, i had no idea how many tears i had in me and how hard it would be to hug my friends and say "goodbye"
i know, you'll tell me "you'll see them again", or "we're in 2008, you have email, facebook and skype", or even "you can get on a plane anytime", which are all valid assumptions, only i hate flying so i don't think flying anytime i feel like will at all be possible, but still you're right. but sorry if i ask, what will i do when i wake up on sundays and need a "koffie verkeerd" or just a complete breakfast? what do i do on thursday evenings? who is going to call me on fridays? and how do you deal with a boring afternoon at work and a craving for great coffee?
who will save me from work, home, or even from A.T.?

funny thing is, i know i will manage it, i know by this time next year so much water will have run under the bridge, so many things will have happened, so many feelings and fears overcome, and those wonderful people who i take with me to Maputo will be ready anytime to hear me, to see me, to let me in their lives just as much as i will let them into mine. they gave me so much that i know i will always be grateful, i will always cherish them... i will always take them with me.

i left that goodbye drink with a very empty feeling inside me, as if i'd given away my tears, heart and soul, the empty feeling almost felt good in a way because i had given myself to everyone who said goodbye. i also felt my purse a bit more empty... a groupd of idiots stole my phone just before midnight... funny enough is that they stole it just before i left Belgium which basically means they made my number dissapear the moment i didn't need it anymore. i didn't get upset, i liked the coincidence about it... there was just one detail that made me a bit sad the next morning: they stole the phone with the coolest ring i ever had, the SEX AND THE CITY ringtone!

and so just like that... i left Antwerp.

29.07.2005 - 29.07.2008

A.T. called me tonight telling me that being in Antwerp amongst all those boxes of clothes and books, of our life was killing him, he said "it was bound to happen, i still hadn't realized that we're actually doing this" as i listened to him i noticed that i had never realized that this must be as hard for him as it is for me. he's always so together, everything is always so well, give 'im a beer and he'll get through it.

but how can any of the two of us get through this "just like that" when today is the 3rd year anniversary of the day we started something new together? how can we get past this day and not shed a tear, or panic, or remember, or even just think about what we've already been through, or imagine what will be next?

i remember so many things. i remember that first night when we arrived when it rained like there wouldn't be a tomorrow, how the thunder roared, how dark it was. i remember sleeping that first night on the floor of our living room, realizing that the window was so big i thought i was sleeping outside, i remember waking up and opening my eyes and seeing that horrible fireplace and thinking i had to cover it one day (that's how the search ended when i found a great window to put in front of it), realizing we still had so much to do in that small appartment. i remember 8days of non stop labour of painting, scrubbing, putting furniture together, cleaning and finally sitting down in our couch, looking at our masterpiece "the calendar" and realizing both of us "this is our home now"
for 3 years we added on to that white canvas, it was a continuous work, but it was a work of love. to me i'm sure worked as herapy, i was upset a lot about the bad weather, the cold almost made me deaf, but that appartment kept me going. everything i bought or made for it, made me realize the best thing of moving is being able to put your personality in everything you do. i'm sure people walked in and saw me and him in those colors, on those walls, on small details such as chairs, flowers, kitchen utensils, objects, anything really. i'm sure we were both present in that "home" even if we were out.

it is a shame that the friends we have in Lisbon or Milan didn't get to see this part of "us". they didn't see us as we are now, they saw us either individually or together but in situations that helped us get to where we are now... and that is the reason why i know Antwerp will always be better. it isn't a competition, it's just a fact. we had the liberty of chosing any city in any country to live in, and together we choose Antwerp, and it had nothing to do with the health system, or the salaries, or of course the weather... it just was. and i'm sure any other city would have given us as much pleasure and happiness, but because of our choices, Antwerp is now our "special place, our home" and that will always be with us.
so, my loving A.T., that is why it couldn't have happened any other day than today. we couldn't have chosen another day if we wanted than this one.
the anniversary of the day we chose ANTWERPEN.

dreaming limbo

i had a dream (yes so did u martin) last night where i had just bought this enormous barn, i didn't actually pay for it, i just know it was mine, where i strated putting in everything i loved about A'pen.

i stuffed it like so it almost burst at the seams, and you'd think i had nothing to stuff it with, no sir, i had plenty, between good breakfast places, i counted 4, good dinner places, those are about... 12, good lunch bars, 6, coffee places, 3, places i'd go if i couldn't go to the places i really wanted, probably 6, shops... hmmm my favorite, 18, places i hate but are part of my memories, about 3... bookshops, 2 (only because antwerp is missing a few of these). i put in miniture sized streets, miniature sized crossroads, miniature sized squares... and stret corners, and traffic lights (did you know that on valentine's day they put hearts in the red lights?? cool huh? ya i know, corny but still i put them inside my barn).
oh what else. no, not people, they were al standing there behind me watching as i picked and stored away so many things. i just put clones of the guys of the REVISTA bar so that i'd have copies of them and it doesn't count as people!!! why? 'cause... duh!

and after all this was packed away it just all of a sudden got swollowed by earth, as in planet earth. it dissapeard like it meant nothing. it got eaten by the ground. i couldn't believe it... but seeing that all the people i would've wanted to pack away in that same barn with the revista guys were still there, with the same habits, smiles, gossip stories and ticks i had this feeling of tranquility. in a way maybe it just meant that, in the future when i come back to Antwerp, it probably will have change a lot, maybe nothing will ever be the same, but they will all be there.
i guess when i go back to Milan that is what conforts me. and even in Lisbon, seeing all of thos who i grew up with makes me want to be there. it doesn't mean that they haven't done anything, they just adapted their lives to this city that will keep moving... and i think that is much braver that leaving.

...or maybe the dream meant that whatever i try to get organized, and ticked off my TO DO LIST, one moment i'll look and it will all be gone, i'll take care of burocratic stuff and then i'll fall down the stairs and i can't leave anymore, or Portugal will declare that girls that know how to make cupcakes shouldn't leave the country, or i'll be discovered by Martha Stewart and they'll exile me to New York...
and all the people i should've put in that barn will be whistling away ignoring me...

this dream interpreting business will one day give me a heart attack.

www.jessemonggo.com

meu querido santo antonio

http://images.google.be/imgres?imgurl=http://deltacat.blogs.sapo.pt/arquivo/marchaCarnide1

mais um ano e mais um dia 13.junho que eu perco... não vai ser o último ainda por cima... já começa a fazer falta, já começa a doer. mas com o EUR08 eu ainda vou comendo umas sardinhas e fazendo de conta que a praça de São João aqui é estreitinha e a subir tal como as ruas de Alfama.

um dia vou voltar sem pensar que mais um ano vou perder a festa mais genuína da minha linda lisboa. mas por enquanto faltam 31 dias para ir para casa.

italia 0 _ holanda 3

... non ho parole. acceto le scuse di Buffon che ha detto ai giornalisti "chiediamo scuse", le acceto, avete magari pensato che essere Campioni del Mondo fosse gia mezza strada per una buonna partita, ma no, invece magari avresti dovuto concentrarvi e veramente pensare che perche siete Campioni, ieri dovevate provarlo ancora di piu. siete nel girone piu dificile del EURO... e adesso?
adesso si aspetta. fino a venerdi. dai ragazzi

e poi, TONI, hai 8 metri e 300kg, dai, fai qualcosa, puoi rompere qualsiasi holandese in 2 secondi, dai!!


e a parte questo... anche la francia ha fatto merda, quindi non vogliamo fare con che io scapi del belgio perche si come non sanno gioccare e non sono nel EUR08 voglianno che vincanno i holandesi. e poi... una squadra che si veste di arancione fuorescenti non merita... NIENTE!
ma se vi fermate qui, ditelo, cosi tifate per PORTOGALLOOOOOOOOOOOO

eu devi estar aí

You Belong in Dublin

Friendly and down to earth, you want to enjoy Europe without snobbery or pretensions. You're the perfect person to go wild on a pub crawl... or enjoy a quiet bike ride through the old part of town.

What European City Do You Belong In?

peanut butter-cinnamon-chocolate chip cookies

my first ever cookies! never had i attempted to make cookies before and this weekend, because the weather was calling for a more homy feel, while the man of the house was working on a 3d (tipical man!) i decided to dedicate to a long postponed hobby, ever since i live on my own, i've discovered this passion for cooking, not necessarily sweet or salted food, i just like having people eat what i make... and hopefully enjoying it!

so sunday after a morning out in a shy sun i bought all the ingredients to make thos amazing cookines from "Martha's Cookies" book. some look so hard, and so chic, but i decided to go with an almost classic, not just make a chocolate-chip cookie, but try her variation for it, with peanut-butter and cinnamon.
i won't write the recipe, because this is not a food blog, but i will let you know what's in it: flour, light brown sugar, granulated sugar, pinch of salt, cinnamon, peanut-butter, butter, baking soda and chocolate-chips (you can also add extra peanuts, but i thought it was too much)

mix it

use an ice-cream scoop to make equally big cookies, not too big (i made that mistake so the first batch burnt a bit), the recipe says to press slightly with a bottom of a cup... i did it once, burnt the sides of the cookies, so the other 2 batches i didn't press and made them smaller.

look at the photos in the recipe book a few times so you can make them just like it!

i'm not a professional but they looked pretty good on the drying rack! i have to say the taste was even better than they looked, soft in the middle, almost chewy and so fragrant with the double amount of cinnamon Martha told me to put... i love cinnamon, so i added lots more!

because i can't lie and tell you they ALL came out beautiful, here is the first batch of cookies and the second one... the first is only slightly burnt on the sidesn but the taste is still very good. of course the ones one the right were the best.

and as my coleague Liesbeth said when she tasted it, (without me having to bribe her!)

"hmmm... these are the best cookies i ever tasted"

i guess i'll keep making cookies...

BOM DIA!

daqui

ao papá Luis e ao papá Alvaro!!

"teacher, can i go to the bathroom?"

no últimos meses tem sido muito dificil para mim a 2feira, eu sei, parece-te uma frase feita, todos odeiam a 2feira e olha que eu sempre fui daquelas crianças que adorava estar na escola, não me importava nada que o fim-de-semana fosse curto,queria era ir brincar com os meus amigos no colégio... mas agora, adulta, odeio. e não é o ter que acordar cedo, porque sabes que isso para mim não é problema, a única diferença é que durante os dias úteis, acordo com despertador "artificial" enquanto que aos fins-de-semana acordo pela luz que me entra quarto a dentro.

mas como todas as 2feiras ultimamente tenho tido dificuldade a começar a semana de trabalho, lá para as 11 da manhã e depois de 2 cafés é que a coisa começa a aquecer... e ontem não foi excepção. believe me, i hate it... e não sei se foi exactamente essa minha lenta disposição para o trabalho, ou a pena que o meu chefe tem de mim quando o A.T. vai de férias sem mim (sabe-se lá porquê mas existem pessoas que acham que mulher sem homem morre...), mas o que é certo é que veio ter comigo muito alegre mas cauteloso e perguntou
"can you take my place?"
tenho desde já a dizer que esta frase por si só quase me fez fugir dali, se há pessoa que não precisa ser substituida, porque por vezes ele só já é demais, é este homem, mas talvez o facto das coisas estarem ainda muito lentas no meu cérebro, acabou por fazer com que eu calmamente o ouvisse até ao fim
"i need to give a class in the University of Leuven, but i'm not feeling ok, so if you want to you can substitute me"
"...uh... uh... uh... ok..." resposta inteligente de uma futura professora!
"it's a workshop really, you just need to develop a project that will be given by the organizing comittee and you'll help a group of students through it"
"so... how old are these students?" para mim haveria sempre uma idade limite, only under 25 and not 12!!!

bem, só enquanto ia no carro com a minha outra chefe é que percebi bem o que se estava a passar... e que a coisa ia durar umas horas, eram 13:00 e o programa estava todo organizado pelo menos até ás 20:00... and counting

basicamente o que se passou foi o seguinte, a Universidade organiza 1 semana por ano umas workshops intituladas "WORKING WITH THE MASTERS IN ARCHITECTURE"

by the way... o facto de eu ter ido, faz de mim uma MASTER IN ARCHITECTURE!!!!

o que é certo é que cada MASTER (that's me if you've forgotten) teria a seu cargo um grupo de 4/5 estudantes, de variados anos, visto ser aberto a qualquer um, mas a diferença é que estes miúdos não são simplesmente arquitectos to be mas também enginheiros, aqui na Bélgica existe também esta licenciatura de Engenheiro-arquitecto... um mix! basicamente são mais arquitectos que engenheiros mas as componentes de física, estruturas, construção são bem mais pesadas do que um "simples" arquitecto e muito menos que um "simples" engenheiro.
enfim... foi-me dado um grupo, 4 rapazes e 1 menina... ela passado 2 horas disse que tinha que ir embora... ok, vai... fiquei com os 4 meninos, aliás 3 meninos lindos de olhos azuis, todos do 2 aninho, super excited e prontos a concordar comigo no que desse e viesse... o outro... cómico, in a way, mas igual e eu reforço a palavra IGUAL ao Frankenstein Junior!!!

passamos 4 horas muito bem passadas, no frio de uma velha fábrica abandonada da cerveja Stella Artois, de onde saí com os pés congelados e a bexiga cheia... as wcs eram aquelas dos concertos... sitio onde eu não meto os pés, nem morta!
apresentaram o projecto muito bem e ainda me vieram dar os parabéns pelos belissimos sketches que eu fiz, perguntaram onde aprendi e disse que desde que nasci todos me deram sempre espaço e tempo para desenvolver desenhos á mão, fazem parte do processo de design de qualquer tipo de projecto, a própria letra com que escrevo é "desenhada" por mim, de maneira a que para cada coisa, quase, uso um tipo diferente... a font é sempre a mesma, minha, mas ajustada a cada tipo de pensamento... os desenhos a mesma coisa. é a minha maneira de transmitir algo a outra pessoa... ou apenas a mim mesma. os olhinhos azuis ficaram impressionados com a coisa, disse-lhe para tentarem investir no desenho á mão, basta querer...

quanto ao Franky, esse, ó dio mio, não tem esperança... assim que lhe disse para tentar desenvolver a ideia que tinha no papel, tirou da MOCHILA um bloco de PAPEL MILIMÉTRICO e 3, 3!!!!!!! réguas!!!!!!!!
esse vai ser mesmo engenheiro... os outro pode ser que não! ;)

adorei a experiência e espero um dia voltar a repetir... e não só a substituir outro "master".

this could make me wonder...

"i'm calling you first because you're the most difficult..."

said a friend when she called me to invite me to her bday dinner...

lisbon story 3

eu já te tinha dito muitas vezes que um dos meus filmes preferidos onde a cidade de Lisboa é protagonista, é o filme de 1994 de Wim Wenders, "Lisbon Story". até já tinha escrito aqui no blog algumas vezes posts dedicados á minha própria versão de Lisbon Story... dedicámos até o que pensámos poder tornar-se tradição, os passeios anuais do blog pela cidade que nos diz tanto.


os passeios em blogcompanhia não deram muito certo, funcionou 1aninho, no 2ano já ninguém respondeu, mas eu cada vez que volto a casa, faço muitas Lisbon Stories... não resisto. e há uns anos atrás, enquanto andava eu a passear amigos italianos pós-erasmus por essa cidade da qual morro de saudades, decidi fazer do passeio uma busca... a busca pelos cenários do filme.

as vistas, essas foram fáceis de encontrar. foram tantas que muito provavelmente vimos mais do que se devia para seguir o filme, mas é dificil tentar reduzir em número... Lisboa tem vistas que fazem parar qualquer um, até uma alfacinha como eu.

mas nada de se perceber qual era o cenário que serviu para a casa da personagem principal, e onde os Madredeus ensaiavam durante o filme... perguntei, pedi, implorei que alguém me dissesse se no longínquo ano de 1994 se lembrava de uns alemães terem filmado qualquer coisa por aqueles lados... houve quem dissesse "ai menina, aqui na nossa cidade passam a vida a filmar, nós já somos todas famosas de tantos filmes que já fizeram... já não consigo lembrar-me de todos!"

estive ali, a subir e a descer ruas, entrar nas lojas, nos cafés, até entrei na casa de um fotógrafo holandês que me deixou entrar no seu atelier e cozinha para ver se da janela eu ia conseguir perceber de onde foram filmadas as vistas do filme... nada... ele ficou mesmo triste porque até disse que Lisboa também o conquistou quando viu esse filme, disse-lhe que voltaria quando o encontrasse.

ter que ser no ano de 2008, em férias em Lisboa enquanto andava com o meu pai á procura de uma barraquita para talvez comprar, quem sabe, fui levada como nos bons velhos tempos pela sua mãozinha até ao Palácio de Belmonte. quantas vezes já passei por aqui, neste pátio semi-público para ir ao Castelo, ou pura e simplesmente porque faz parte dos meus passeios... entrámos, e pedi como arquitecta para ver o interior, já estava feliz por ter conseguido entrar ali, porque sem o meu pai nem sequer teria pensado nisso, mas fiquei ainda mais quando subi uns degraus e dei de caras com uma sala enorme, cheia de azulejos nas paredes, pareceu-me muito branca, como se já estive estado ali, mas não com as paredes tão limpinhas... perguntei ao senhor que nos acompanhou "mas... parece a sala onde filmaram o "lisbon sotry""
"e é mesmo. filmaram mesmo da recuperação do edificio para se tornar em hotel. que engraçado que percebeu"

"é só o melhor filme de lisboa para mim"



foi melhor do que conhecer um actor famoso... liguei ao A.T. que estava no meio da neve em Milão... quando lhe contei onde estava... silêncio.
acho que ouvi lágrimas...

eu não acredito no ano novo

...pois é... a minha irmã já deve estar a rir outra vez, mas é verdade, eu não acredito no ano novo.
no último dia do ano não bebo champanhe (mas isso mesmo nunca), começo a comer passas ás 10:00 da manhã e só acabo já o ano vai a meio (aliás como todos os dias um pacotinho mini de passas), não me ponho em cima de cadeira nenhuma porque odeio meter os pés em cimas das cadeiras... e primeiro que me decida a tirar os sapatos, esquece. sempre me irritou o barulho das panelas, embora prefira do que fogo de artificio... odeio msgs de ano novo e nunca respondo porque recuso-me a gastar dinheiro nisso e fazer parte da primeira noticio no telejornal do dia 1 de janeiro e principalmente não acredito que naquele segundo, por mais desejos que se façam, que alguma coisa vai mudar...

eu acredito na esperança, claro, seria muito estúpido não acreditar, mas o que me deixa perplexa é que durante o ano todo, todos passam os dias a lamentar-se de mil e uma coisas, umas que talvez valem a pena, outras sinceramente... e naquele instante, só naquele segundo acham que umas passas e uns copos vão salvá-los de um ano menos bom. o ano tem 12 meses, 366 dias (este ano) e sei lá quantas horas... cada dia, mês, estação do ano é uma boa oportunidade de mudar o que nos incomoda... o segundo entre as 00:00:00 e as 00:00:01 do dia 1 de janeiro não serve mesmo para nada.

...não, não é verdade... serve, afinal até tem uma função... de há dois anos para cá percebi que afinal até tem função... naquele segundo penso logo "que bom, posso começar a escrever na agenda nova!!!"

este ano decidi outra vez por uma MOLESKINE mas pela edição limitada VERMELHA. é lindissima e já tem os aniversários de quase todos lá dentro. está pronta a ser usada... quem sabe o que o ano de 2008 me trás, mas para mim os anos ainda se contam como os anos lectivos, para mim o ano começa em setembro, é em setembro que eu olho para trás e sorrio pensando naquilo que fiz e não fiz...

este 2008 começou tranquilamente e com umas saudades enormes do meu A.T... estamso cheios de planos e sonhos, mas nada a ver com as 00:00:00! e tudo a ver com NÓS. somos nós próprios que mudamos o rumo dos nossos anos, dias, sonhos e esperanças... e isso desejo eu a todos, a ti. que possas viver estes proximos dias com vontade de viver os outros todos, com sonhos por concretizar e com calma para mudar o rumo das coisas que não te fazem feliz.

seja em 2008, setembro ou até 2009... vemo-nos lá.

ah, queria só mostrar que a chegada a Antuérpia foi bem sucedida... tinhas estas amiguinhas á minha espera, se alguém souber que tipo de flor isto é, faça o favor de me esclarecer. dank u wel

a já agora BOM DIA DE REIS que este sim é de acreditar... que saudades tenho dos almoços na casa da Bivó!

13.12.2007

eu sempre, mas mesmo sempre, gostei de fazer anos. sempre achei esquisito que tu como tantos outros amigos não gostem. eu, desde o dia 11 de outubro, dia de aninhos da minha maninha começo logo a contar os dias para o dia 13 de dezembro. eu acho este dia o mais lindo do ano. tudo neste dia é positivo... tudo é "quase meu".

mas ontem, dia 12 de dezembro acordei com muito mau humor. tudo me chateou... até fazer o bolo de anos para levar para o ateliê já me aborrecia... tudo parecia chato, frio, e longe de ser o que eu escolheria ter por perto no meu dia.

credo... apetecia-me dormir 26 horas, as 24 do diea 13, mais a hora extra que ganho em Portugal, mais 1 para parecer mesmo que já tinha passado. quem me conhece bem deve pensar que eu tinha bebido, que não estou bem da cabeça porque nunca num estado mental dito normal, ou pelo meno o meu normal, eu nunca pensaria coisas destas.
ora eu parecia outra.

ainda bem que logo pelas 2:30 da manhã recebo uma msg no tlm da minha amiga Elisa, que está neste momento na India a ensinar meninos a aprender inglês, a dizer que hoje iam cantar-me os parabéns todos juntos... ainda estava furiosa com o som do tlm áquela hora, mas de repente imaginei os miúdos a cantarem e lá também cantei como faço todos os anos "parabéns a mim" em 3 línguas mais em holandês inventado por mim.
o sorriso voltou e a vontade de viver o dia em pleno, naquilo que a chuva permitisse...

acordei cedissimo, sem conseguir voltar a fechar os olhos e pensei logo que já tinha passado 7 horas do meu dia a dormir, não valia a pena estar ali mais uma hora sem fazer nenhum.. assim decidi fazer um bolo, o meu bolinho de anos, outro, o primeiro, cheesecake metia dó... por isso decidi fazer outro, mais divertido e com mais sabor a festa!

fui a correr para o ateliê e acabei lá na nossa cozinha de fazer o bolo, a andar sempre de bicicleta não podia levar um bolo com chantilly nos sacos de trás, por isso levei tudo, até a batedeira, mais as natas, mais o açucar, mais as framboesas mais as uvas para acabar o bolo em grande.

quando cheguei tinha 4 colegas á minha espera, cantaram "happy birthday" e até levaram velas para eu fazer um desejo... que fique bem claro que ninguém no meu ateliê, embora leve bolo (sempre comprado na padaria da esquina) leva com velas e canções de parabéns, ninguém recebe cartões e nem presentes... eu tinha 3 cartões na mesa e um presente de um colega meu, o Domien ofereceu-me um dvd de PILATES mas nos anos 80... tipo Jane Fonda, daqueles que tu gostas mãe... ele diz que tem outro mas este era muito importante!!!!

não havia razões para duvidar que este ia ser um dia muito bom.
o telefone não parou da tocar, chamadas e mensagens, tantos mails. cheio de surpresas... mal sabia eu.
o Domien tinha-me dito que tinha deixado outro cartãozinho para mim, dele e da namorada, na minha caixa do correio, mas como eu odeio ver o correio de manhã, prefiro lidar com as ocntas de electricidade de noite quando é tarde demais para pagar nesse dia, não o vi.
claro que quando cheguei ao meu prédio olhei logo para a caixa para ver se o via, não vi... pensei que se tivesse enganado na caixa, comecei a subir as escadas e ao mesmo tempo á procura do número de telefone dele para lhe ligar e para me descrever exactamente em que caixa tinha metido o cartão, mas nem deu tempo, tive que abrir a porta e mal acendi a luz da sala, ainda com os mil casacos e cachecóis, de mala ainda a tiracolo, de luvas ainda nas mãos, dei com dois cartões claramente de parabéns em cima da mesa...

o que se passou a seguir durou acho eu nem 2 segundos... mas parecia muito mais tempo. vi os cartões, pensei que então o A.T. tinha estado em casa... mas se tinha estado em casa enganou-me, mas então se me enganou é porque anda a tramar alguma, se anda a tramar alguma deve ser o meu presente... e se é o meu presente é porque já cá está em casa... e antes que eu pensasse onde poderia ele esconder o que pensava fosse um anel... do canto do olho vi que algo ingonbrante estava a 20cms dos meus pés...

a cadeira dos meus sonhos... EAMES ROCKING CHAIR!!!!!! acho que mandei um berro... ou daqueles berros que em vez de sair para fora vão para dentro, quase susto+surpresa+choque+alegria+medo tudo junto num só som. olhando para trás parece mentira... aquela cadeirinha que eu sempre sonhei ter mas nunca imaginei que iria mesmo ter... aquela cadeirinha que o A.T. sabe que eu tinha feito há anos uma promessa que quando tivesse um filho adoraria ter esta cadeira de baloiço para lhe dar de mamar e cantar canções de embalar, estava ali á minha frente.
nem coragem de m sentar tive... chorei baba e ranho, literalmente ranho porque ontem eu tinha pensado em dormir o dia todo sem querer pensar no esforço que alguns fazem porque me querem bem e dar-me um dia muito especial.
eu quase quis perder um presente que significa muito mais que um cadeira onde me sentar... eu quase perdi um dos momentos mais felizes da minha vida.

ele há coisas...
tá bem que pode não ser um sonho enorme... demasiado dificil de concretizar... mas nunca, nunca eu pensava que is ter a minha própria EAMES ROCKING CHAIR.

eu amei... e agora posso dizer que adoro ter 28 anos... sentada no meu baloiço a pensar o que será ter 29???!!! ;)

obrigada Darjeling pelo pedido que fizeste por mim á Sr. Cegonha, mas ela anda mesmo ocupada... farta-se de enganar na morada e anda a deixar bébés por todo o lado menos na minha... enfim, se calhar tenho que falar com o meu pai, ele sabe onde é a loja dos bébés, assim posso ir ao mesmo sítio onde ele me foi encomendar. ...long story...

bazaruto

if i hadn't been there myself not even the images of google earth would've made me believe it was true.
the island of Bazaruto takes literally your breath away... of course there were 50 degrees under the sun and that basically took out your breath. but the gigantic dune of sand (duh) in front of me seemed so amazing i couldn't stop laughing. there was nothing i could do but laugh... say "shit!" and thank God in a low voice thanking him to let me live long enough to see this.

i kept looking around me, almost as if to let the world know about it, i wanted to say "i'm here" "i've made it" and "it's real", i would've called everyone to let them know, but in a place like this there is no place for mobile phones... none whatsoever. the telephones were dead... and with that slowly i realised this was a moment in a lifetime where someone drops you off in a corner of the world and tells you to enjoy it to the fullest for 1 whole day.

i did...

there were no colors except for blue, light blue, dark blue, pink blue, yellow blue, white blue, green blue, sea blue, turquoise blue, orange blue... whatever blue, it was there... i saw all the different tones of blue... actually i now believe there is only one color on this planet, BLUE... the rest humans created from it.

wherever you looked you saw space... almost but different as in Gorongosa, only here it was the ocean... the so beloved Indian Ocean my mother says it's the most beautiful she's ever seen... as i sat on that warm and soon-to-be very hot sand i took deep breaths and smiled, laughed, probably cried thinking i almost ended up missing this... and i was surprised by the tricks and trips your mind does when it's confronted with a place like this.
the first question couldn't be other than "what the heck am i doing in belgium?" and the next one wasn't a question... it was a goal "what if i lived here, would i see it like i'm seeing it now? is it possible to take this for granted? to forget that it exists? will the cold of belgium make me too sensitive for these things or will it make it dissapear too soon from my mind?"

i guess that's just up to me...
the same way my family always made sure i knew exactly what it was like to live here and how the dirt smelled, how the sun burnt, how the wind blew, how the trees swayed and how the monkeys laughed, i am trying to explain how blue the ocean is, how warm the sand felt, how far the horizon layed, how red i became, how happy A.T. was and how scary it was at first to jump in the water later on and snorkle for the first time...
see bicuka, it's not that scary they said... Antonio held my hand, this young dark guy, held my hand so i wouldnìt stay inside the boat... i wasn't scared of the water, i'd live in water if i could, it wasn't because i couldn't swim, i love to swim... but the thought of looking down upon another type of life felt like i'd be intruding on someone's life... and also because it's like being afraid of heights upside down... i'm not afraid of heights, but i can't, or couldn't conceive the idea of swiming with fishes... Antonio made sure i was calm... i saw starfishes bigger than my dinning table, goldfishes bigger that rocks and rocks that actually were just coral swaying slowly with the water... there were no sounds, no noise, no voices... just me and a chocolate colored hand in mine and billions of life beneath my body...

AND i found Nemo! i did, i did... he even winked at me.
it was probably the sun... he made me allucinate, but i swear it was Nemo.


tomorrow we're heading to Maputo... it's been a long month, a long trip down memory lane... and a great trip to my inner self.

vilanculos

i haven't been writing any dates on this "diary"... i wrote on the first post and then completely forgot... maybe unconciously i don't want to see how long it's been... but if i had remembered you'd noticed that between the last post, about Gorongosa and now, there has been a gap, a gap of almost 2 full days.

i'll explain why.
after fixing, or better, having had the flat tire fixed FOR us, by great people, i drove like a mad woman towards Vilanculos... between Gorongosa and Vilanculos there is the AMAZING DESERT of SOFALA... the desert of the SAVE RIVER, which on our way north almost left me out of breath, or at least until i discovered that the little jeep had airco.

the trip went well, no problems with the hotel reservations for on our way up we slept in the same hotel and reserved 3 more nights for a week later. the idea was to sleep 3 nights, 1 day for Vilanculos and 1 day for Bazaruto and Benguerra, after the 3rd night we'd get up very early and head to Maputo.

... i lost 1 day... or maybe i actually won one.

when we got to Vilanculos, already at night because no matter how many times i was told not to drive at night, it's almost impossible to arrive anywhere before 6pm, so, we got there with not a lot of trouble, i knew Vilanculos by heart now because of the other night and it made things easier to get to our own soft bed later. but A.T. was having a hard time with his stomach, he was wishing for a very private bathroom when there were still almost 200kms to arrive, and with that if you add a couple hundred craters in the middle of the road making easier for you to drive on the fields next to it than actually on it, you can imagine that all the shaking wasn't helping him. i tried, but i couldn't go faster than 11okm/h which was already a lot for such bad roads.

i laughed all the way though, A.T. was in pain and i laughed. talk about being punished for laughing at other people's suffering!!!!!
we arrived, A.T. used the toilet... which made me decide i'd go much later, let some air in, and we decided to go out for dinner earlier than usual. i was exhausted and i think he could use some sleep also, like children he can get a bit cranky.
so back to the main hotel restaurant and i ordered a hamburger... well the owners are from Zimbabwe, and i couldn't eat another "prego" or "frango piri-piri", and i ate it with apetite, very hungry...

it didn't take even 10minutes, i was in pain... my aunt Nelinha called me then asking the latest news, made fun of me eating a hamburger in Mozambique and wished me a good stay in Vilanculos... she was the last to talk to me before everything started going wrong. the pain in my belly reminded me of those awful period cramps i used to have before my surgery, and my head starting pounding worse than my daily migraines. i knew A.T. would've like to stay out a bit more, but my head starting spinning and i couldn't focused anymore.

back in out little cabin i couldn't figure out what was wrong so i took some digestive medicine, ENO, and hope i'd just burp this pain away. fat chance.
i had to lay down, hoping that it wouldn't make it worse, i started sweating and my head was pounding like there was a live concert of a bad band inside it.

sleep caught up with me after i think 30minutes, and i don't even remember A.T. kissing me goodnight, which probably also means he didn't but i hope he did. it didn't last long... i was awake at 00:00... ah ya, you don't know that i fell asleep at around 21:30... too early. anyway, at 00:00 i was turning and turning in the bed trying not to cry with so much pain... A.T. also woke up, upset telling me to just go sleep in the bathroom... i understand, i actually woke him up on purpose, i hate being awake by myself in the middle of night (don't tell him because he still thinks he wakes up by himself and voilá i just happen to be awake also), so i decided to swallow another spoon full of ENO, if i could just BURP!!!!!!!

in our room there were no spoons, vanished, so i dumped a "bit" of powder in a bottle of water, it was then i noticed the water i was drinking was the one i stole from the last hotel in Gorongosa, actually it was free but i still didn't ask if i could take it, it's name was NAMAACHA, so that's why there was no water in the waterfalls!!! i get it!
anyway... i drank that disgusting thing, and stayed for a few moments staring at the mirror praying that i would be ok in 5 seconds...
i burped...
i went back to bed.

01:30 - i woke up again with the urge of going to the bathroom, so i did... i was still walking ok. as i washed my hands and put some cold water on my face... my legs started shaking, i couldn't stand up anymore and i couldn't stop sweating cold sweats... i fell to the ground.
i don't recall exactly how long i was there, but i knew i was talking, i think i only said 3 words, "A.T." or "daddy" or "mommy", it was strange because i couldn't really understand what i was supposed to do to get up or to do anything... eventually he came in, he has this cappacity to just stand there as if it's all too wierd, so i know for sure that i got up on my own.

i also was able to walk back to bed, but i just couldn't stay put.
i had no strengh to fight the pain in my stomach and now the awful taste i had in my mouth...

4:00: i opened my eyes, stared at the ceiling for a second, decided to get up again and try again to go to the bathroom but stay up this time. no way jose!
i didn't even finish thinking of a strategy, that i was already on my side with everything i had eaten the previous day come out of me like a fountain. i even ran out of breath. i couldn't coordinate the vomit with my breathing so i started having an ashma attack and freaking out, trying to scream A.T.'s name and hoping he'd help me... tears even started coming out of my eyes, and in the meantime i was loosing my forces, i couldn't feel the arm that was holding me and my head from falling right in the middle of all that gooey stuff.

"go to the bathroom!" he shouted.
"i can't, i can't..."
so he helped... but as soon as i sat down on the ground with my head stuck in the toilet, he was gone. i couldn't figure out why.

he was so disgusted, that he went outside of the cabin, sat down on the porch and only came in almost 1hour later when i had thrown everything out of me and more, cleaned the bathroom, and cleaned the floor in our room, washed the mosquitonet hanging above the bed (they are so long that of course it was impossible not to get it dirty, and only when i told him everything was cleaned he was able to walk in... he said "i'm sorry"... but to this day i have never felt so shocked. no matter how gross it could've been i would've never left him alone and i felt ashamed for having been sick.

of course, at that moment i only wanted to get back to sleep, try to at least arrive to the morning and hope that i could talk to someone who would know a great medicine to not let it happen again. and again i was wrong, i slept until 9:00, i think in total i slept 5hours and badly, i woke up with a fever and the right side of my boby completely numb. my neck was so sore and my head about to explode. there was no way i was getting out of bed.

malaria?

everyone who called me that day got the same report i just gave you, every detail because someone had to give me a clue of what was happening, i needed to get up so A.T. and i could go to the islands, it was my birthday present to him, but like this i just couldn't. i think i cried all day, when he wasn't looking i cried because i felt useless and i felt that i was stopping him from doing whatever he felt like. he can't drive, and doesn't want to learn how to, so basically means he was stuck with me... thankfully he went out to the beach for the afternoon, which was just 3m from our front door, while the owner of our lodge stayed with me, gave me cookies, gasless coca-cola, tee, water and some biscuits. and also a few drugs!

i couldn't wait any longer, called a few people, even without a voice and with all my boby aching i called a few people from Mozambique and Portugal and got a contact of a doctor here in Vilanculos, he was not working anymore and i'd have to wait for the morning to get a proper Malaria test.
Malaria????!!!! really?
oh goodness, that would mean that i'd have to miss out going to the islands, that A.T. was going to stay here bored one more day... i confessed to the owner of the lodge that i was feeling like crap that he couldn'te go to the islands, i didn't care anymore, all i wanted was to get back to Maputo and be close to people i know.
she was kind enought to offer to drive me to the hospital in Vilanculos the next morning, and pick me up afterwards. she also offered me a free night and she put our names in a list of the passengers of a boat that would be heading out to Bazaruto the day after.
basically she allowed me to still give A.T. his birthday gift, and allowed him not to regret this whole trip.

this meant that we stayed 4 night in Vilanculos. 1 day i was in bed all day, vomiting and not able to move anything on my right side. 1 day to visit what they call a hospital, having a blood test in the middle of dozens of people, they have beautiful babies by the way, you should've seen the hospital... gosh, there are things you just can't get them to understand... but then again, why worry about nurses who wash the patient bedsheets on the ground when they're all dying of AIDS? the day of the hospital visit, it was funny now that i think about it, i tried walking to the beach and getting a bit of sun, tried to explain to everyone that it hadn't been malaria but probably the water NAMAACHA which had been declared filthy for human beings, but i ended up drinking 3 litters of it! if felt good to go outside though... and seeing for the first that amazing blue people talk about when they visit paradises.

i found it to be beautiful... and i found out that the reason A.T. was gone for so long the day i stayed in bed, was because he had found already a new friend... another dog!

this time, i think his promise to take his driver's license is for real...

parque nacional da gorongosa

So until now, no sight of elephants, or lions for that matter... none whatsoever... where were these beasts? Weren't they supposed to just walk around amongst humans all over Africa? It's not like they can hide, can they??

After arriving at Gorongosa National Park, already after dark even though it were only 5pm... my goodness can night be dark in Africa... we ate and went into our cabin, but because after 9pm the park shuts off its generator, lights must be out, so all you can really do is either be inside sleeping, or outside looking at that amazing sky. It's hard to take pictures of such a sky, but I guess that's what and african sky must be like, it's only for those who look up and stay there staring... for those who take time to try to count how many stars there are, because here there are a lot more, so much more, you don't know from which to start wishing.

It tooks us about 20minutes to realise that we were still there, standing in the darkness, with our necks hurting from looking up... we were speechless, tired, exhausted, and speechless. no words in my vocabulary could start describing it... and the most beautiful thing of all was remembering something my daddy use to always tell us to make us confused "girls, the moon in Africa is always smiling!"

Again, he wins... the moon smiles every single night. It stays there for hours on end with the biggest smile... he was right, he was lucky to have seen it for so long... he was able to make us jeaulous, but I was able to see it for myself.

Life at the Gorongonsa starts early... be it because you sleep so early with the lights out, or be it because those freaky monkeys wake you up with their wild parties right at around 4am... you know... I thing I like them better in the zoo!

They tell us not to feed the animals that might come near the cabins... and I thought monkeys would only come for food if they were taught to get it from humans... not really, it's in their instinct to smile and do funny-monkey things to steal food from you... so in reality, in the zoo, when they steal stuff from your hand it's not a trick they've learned from the zoo keeper... it's in their blood!
Anyway... enough about monkeys. We decided to do our first SAFARI. Yeah... I never thought I'd do such a thing, kind of makes me feel ridiculous sitting in a jeep with a lot of people trying to spot animals... all I wanted was to see an actual elephant.
The jeep was empty, just Jonathan the driver, a blond blue-eyed Zimbabweian, me and A.T. It looked even more weird to be in such a big "car" where you basically jumped from side to side whenever you drove through a tough road... ALWAYS!
We saw a lot of birds, Joanathan tried, but sorry birds aren't really my thing, but I did spot a lot of different ones, sometimes I did it on my own... nevertheless I was just looking for elephants. Bambis were also all around us, they get scared of turists, so out of the 200 I saw I was only able to photograph about 90.
Also Pumbas (well it's not my fault you haven't seen "the lion king", just the best walt disney old-fashioned movie ever) were following us, also scared of turists, but I was able to photograph them more... but boy, are these creatures UGLY!!!! really, besides being actually of a dark gray color, with long rat-hair, they also walk around with dry mud all over their bodies to capture the bugs that live on them... they also run like girls shaking their hair out of their eyes, and they should go to a dentist... really, such a dissapointment... I really thought I would get an autograph from the Pumba in the movie, but I was glad we were far away.

Crocodiles... yes, I did see one... well I saw one, and then next to it I saw another pair of eyes, which probably would mean there was another one next to it, but because I'm really scared of crocodiles, I like to think it was just 1.
Monkeys, of course... so many it was almost too much, I made a few movies, and really these animal are very funny at times... there were a lot of mommies with tiny babies on their backs. good to know they're keeping themselves busy out here.

Lions? none
Giraffes? not even one
Buffalos? there aren't any yet
Hippos? ...
Zebras? do they actually exist?

"...I really just came for the elephants. Jonathan could you please call one to show up just for the picture, really it's a bit embarassing going back to europe and having no pictures of my favorite big animal...
by the way, what's that gigantic hole in the ground, has there been a meteor shower here lately??? ah ah ah ah"
"that is an elephant footprint"

"AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH RUUUUUNNNNNN!"

Ok so I panicked, you should've seen the size of that thing, I don't care if I never see an elephant, I'll just tell my kids the only elephant they should see is Dumbo.
...a few days amongst the wild creatures of Africa. So all I actually got to see to be proud of, were 2, I mean 1 crocodile and too many monkeys for 1 human being... and a giant Dumbo footprint.
Not bad. I guess it takes 2 trips to Gorongosa to see more.
The Carr Foundation is making sure anyone who ever visits this beautiful place will one day see what they always dreamed of seeing, the real wild life of Africa. They have 30 years to do it, we have all our lifes to make it happen, and why not even help them. Just going there and learning of the amazing work they're doing already helps so much.
Plus, the 1rst class treatment you get at the CHITENGO lodge, is worth all the rest, such as monkeys in your front yard, Pumba's breaking through the fence of the lodge pool and the funny flat tire I found on my jeep the morning I had to drive 600kms to Vilanculos.

I guess in Mozambique, you can't really predict too much, we wanted to leave at 5am, we ended up leaving at 8am... I didn't even have to sweat and lift a finger (which just basically means I still can't change a tire, I'm one of the best woman-driver parking ;), but don't ask to change a tire... I didn't even see it was flat!), there were about 6 men doing it for me.
Ah the beauty of holidays!!!

...little did I know that holidays sometimes have very non-beautiful moments... i'll see you in Vilanculos.

machipanda

Before lifting off from Lisbon to Maputo, I warned Aldo and hugged him, I told him he'd have to be patience with me... or at least for what could be me in such an important place. You don't control your emotions, and I knew somewhere in this endless country I would shead a tear.
I guess I imagined it would be in the great beaches of Tofinho, or the 1920's house in Beira, probably not Maputo, but maybe even Manica with the big pool... no. I was wrong, and looking back, Machipanda was the place it had to happen.

This was the town that made me cry. (great for a book title)

We were driven there by this Canadian colonist wanna-be, a funny man, wearing socks 'till his knees, with the weirdest accent I've heard, A.T. only smiled, sometimes worried he's be saying "sim" when he should've said "não senhor". This.... oh, I forgot his name... hmmm, I hope it comes back to me, anyway he drove us there in his wear-out jeep, one of those with the continuous seat in front and an open back... well, dargeling, girls, if you ever sit in a jeep such as this one, remember: THE SHIFTS ARE IN THE MIDDLE! yup, I sat in the middle, thinking it'd be cool to sit there... not when the driver needs to put the 4th shift!!!!!! really, it's really scary to have someone suddenly going with their elbow straight to your... well, you know. Actually on the way back, A.T. sat there... he says boys shouldn't either!!!!

Mr. What's-the-name drove us there, asked by the guy who thought he's in charge, to give me a tour of what I could find once belonged to my past. As you drive in this town you literally see the entrance and the exit, you see it's limits, and you understand how small it is.
It did remind me of my mother's parents' town in Portugal, Soalheira, close to Fundão in the Serra da Gardunha (i think). Around Machipanda there are amazing big hills, just around the corner is Zimbabué, it looks peaceful from here...
I think I was able to count 3 streets... a few roads, about 20 houses, and the thing they're so proud of, the train station. Now, this station was once the connection between Zimbabué (Rodésia) and the Indian Ocean, it made it possible for the english merchandise to reach the port of Beira and from there the ports of the world. Not bad for such a tiny town.

My mother was born in Beira, just like her sister, but they lived here all their childhood... as you can see, I did this backwards. This is where I thought she lived with lions, and elephants and snakes... but all I saw were a few fat chickens and a bunch of scary-cat monkeys. Really, monkeys! again...

I guess, until you see where they live, and where they grew up, maybe the school where they did all sorts of bad things, and where they learned to read, the pool where they swam, the beach where they dreamed, the tree where they kissed or the road they had an accident, all you can do is smile, take the photo and tell them "it's still here mom, really your elementary school desk is still here!"

...but when you walk into a place, a place such as the "11th November" bar that my grandpa built and served in as his hobby giving free drinks to my mom's friends (not to the boyfriends) when they visit. the bar my granpa gave to a man when he decided to run away from what would be a very long war and revolution. He gave that man his bar, all the papers, gave him a transfer of ownership, gave him money and told him to try to make his living on it.

what happens when you walk in a place like this and recognize from the pictures the bar, the dark wood bar with the high stools and see this small man with light gray eyes looking at you... behind him 20 bottles of whisky... there was nothing I could do but say "bom dia, I'm the grandaughter of Mateus Paulo Duarte"

"ah menina, a sua mãe esteve cá no dia 17 de fevereiro de 2004. lembro-me muito bem. sabe devia dizer ao seu avô para cá vir. eu queria que ele visse que tenho tomado conta disto."
("ah, your mother was here on the 17th of february of 2004. I remember it well. You should tell your grandfather to come here, I'd like him to see how well I've taken of this bar.")

of course you can't say these things to me and not think it wouldn't touch deep in my heart... because if you did, you don't know me. I cried... not just because it was a surprise to hear this man speak of my grandfather not knowing he has been dead for 12 years... but because I didn't even expect to see anyone on this trip who'd speak of him... he spoke like grandpa Mateus would be there in 5 minutes... he even added "you should also tell him that we have save all these years the trees he planted.."

ok stop... it hurts now. I cried in front of him, and in front of the kids who were there, because I missed him so much right then and there, I remembered him, and for a few minutes outside of that bar and looking out at his lovely cute small house I could hear him calling me, I could almost smell him. I actually think he was watching me. Hard to explain, but almost as if everyone, my mom, aunt and grandparents somehow found a way to make me really realise that all of this was real. I guess I hadn't understood how much this could affect me... but it did.

You can never doubt the importance, and the power of small towns... Machipanda is tiny, has a long name, it's also my mother's email address, but it's the biggest place in my heart in all of this travelling.

The canadian also drove us to Penhalonga... the most secretly kept botanical garden. trees longer than the distance from earth to heaven. Green leafs greener than mother nature. Air as pure as I never thought possible... I even choked with it... city girl!

We didn't stay long, almost as if there was a timer there telling us to leave so that the secret could still be kept within those hills and trees... it's a pity, but then again, it's a secret I know about now.
I couldn't stay long so I asked to drive us back to Manica where we were sleeping, Chimoio, ex-Vila Pery was our next pit-stop, I had to go in search of my mother's Boarding School, ah ok... now let's go.
We were heading towards our first non-family-related visit, the National Park of Gorongosa, we were about to see the real savanah, or we hoped.
They tell you knot to drive at night, but it was during that night, actually at 17:25, pitch black already, that I reached my 2000kms.

and I'm still alive... my butt though isn't.

Brian... that's his name!!!!

manica

Manica is the name i'll give my child... not as a first name, as a second name... it's a name. Out of all the places I have been to in my life, there has never been a place where just as I pronounce the word I feel like I'm about to meet someone. That someone might just be my first little girl. She will inherit a second name that will make my mother and her big sister prouder than ever. She can do anything but with a name like that, they'll forgive them forever. With this, my good deeds in life will be done with! ;)

We arrived in this little telenovela lookalike town on my sister's birthday, the moment I saw that sign "MANICA" I knew it was the moment to say "happy birthday" to someone who'd understand why I'd have pick that spot. I was about to enter the real childhood of my mommy. Actually my mother did not spend her chldhood here, it was more her teenagehood, she went away to Boardingschool in Vila Pery, now known as Chimoio (which has already been chosen as our second child's second name if it's a boy... Umbeluzi just doesn't do it for us!), where she was VERY well behaved............ NOT!!!! while her parents lived in Manica. Not bad for spending your school holidays and ocasionally weekends, huh?
Was it fun waking up to this beautiful mountains and hills? Do you realize you simply forgot to tell me there were mountains in Mozambique? Africa? You always let me believe that you lived in places called "mato" in the sense lions were your pets, and elephants ate in your back garden... ok, you never told me that, but when you and Titi told me that you lived in places where you didn't even wear shoes, I presumed that meant you were part of the Tarzan and Mogli family...
no?
...hmmm... let me reprogramme my mind... ok, so I imagine that the pool you swam in on weekends wasn't a pond, huh? yes... I know, it was this huge Olympic pool... clean as you'd never imagined after 30 years, but still humangous. This was where you flirted with the town boys? This is where Titi gave her first kiss? I bet grandpa Mateus was happy for that, as he watched from his designed and contructed (yup, no architects in the family just wannabes!!) MANICA LODGE (known as MOINHOS back then) office window. I was very proud to see that whoever took it in charge, took care of it very well, the little windmill suites don't have their white sails anymore, but they look very cute, and in a country where Zimbabueians (??) are conquering all the hotels and lodges by storm, it was very conforting to know these people are keeping it comfy and cute, just like I'd imagine grandpa would.

I can't get over these mountains... was it always like this? Are you really sure mom this is the same Manica you lived in????? It's so wierd!!!

Oh... there's a monkey crossing the road!!!!!! aaaaahhhhhhhh ok, NOW, this is where you lived! uffa... I thought i'd have to give my child another name!

By the way, did I tell you my aunt had her 1rst comunion in this beautiful church (someone told me it was a cathedral... hmmm), abandoned... but on a hill. With a "via sacra", imitating the ones in Braga, really I'm not bragging, it was really like that, where you can see the whole town and almost a peek of Zimbabué...

and I thought this country wouldn't surprise me.
from city, to beach, to desert, to sweaty weather, to beach again, to smaller cities, to hills and to mountains... from total deserted places to green as nature should.

Manica touched me like any other place, in it's own particular way. Simply simple. The people I was in contact with weren't what I'd say, hospitable... actually I don't need to be nice, he wasn't at all the type of person I'b ever be around to, but my grandpa was his father's friend, really good friends, and of course I thought he would sit down with me and let me know everything I should about life back then. Well... to him, it had no importance what so ever... he showed the houses my family lived in, showed that church, showed the pool, showed the post office (?)... but from his car, driving at 200km/h, yelling at anyone who crossed our path, called people by their color, was rude, agressive, and surprisingly enough thought of himself as the king of Manica.
This I make a point to tell you because to me one of the saddest things I noticed in Mozambique, a lot of people who stayed after the independence, which I think is very honorable, believing in their state as a Mozanbican, now are most of it BOSSES, they just boss anyone around. All in the name of trying to impress. They didn't understand when I offered to washed my clothes by hand in a basin, he ordered the others to do it for me. I couldn't wait in line, because they'd make me pass in front of everyone, and couldn't understand when I'd refuse to.
"you're not very used to this are you?" they'd asked... well, not really and I'm in no hurry or in no place to be better or first than anyone... and it DOESN'T IMPRESS ME!

And to think so many people stayed to change the country from colonialism, and now, look where some are, doing eaxctly the same thing and even worse, not even looking around you. Of course probably for him he can afford to be like this because Manica is a tiny town... I guess you'd lower your little balls if you had to share!

Anyway... here in this green garden I saw a little bit of what people can really be in their worse, and apologizing to my mother, I told her that Manica dissapointed me. But I guess the people don't make the places, maybe places make people...

But then again, my grandparents lived there and were happy there for many years...
which makes me sure that because of that, my little girl will have MANICA in her name.
...will you still be her godmother?

beira 02

Beira is as delicate as the sand on it beach, it's soft to the eyes, to the heart, it's as gentle as the wind that you feel in the morning.
It may seem like a bunch of crap to you, but that's how it seemed to me there. It was so easy to imagine living there, with a small house, garden, kids running around, it's easy to imagine you'd be calm and relaxed over there.
I decided to stay a day more than I had planned, I needed to feel that peace for one more day... one more morning, one more very hot afternoon. I needed to still search for something... something I'd been dreaming about for a very long time.
No, it wasn't just that almost white sand, that soft feeling of being able to walk on it in bare feet... nor the extension of those beaches. It wasn't the presence of that adorable lighthouse, which at night fills the beach with it's warning light, or the abbandoned houses right by the beach front just calling out for us... or me at least. It's impressive how quick I can calculate how much money it would cost to leave everything and come and live here. It wasn't even the rotted ship Macuti, which was put purposely put in the sand in front of the lighthouse as to protect the sand dunes from overfloods, to save the beach someone ingeniously thought of picking up a sunken ship below water and put it back on earth... but with a lifesentence, to save the beach. It's motor is impressively big, you wonder how gigantic it was when you see it's detail... but, even in my mother's childhood photos, it's there... noone could tell me more.
Maybe you'd think it was the actual Macuti Church, made in the 50's or 60's, I think, I'm actually making this up, but it's from that era for sure, you can tell... built practically on the beach, it is falling apart because of the salt from the ocean. The staircase outside is hanging by a thread, literally and it's amazing how the steal columns are still holding the roof. Destruction apart... it is absolutely breathtaking. And, detail I love, has it's own outside church... prepared for every season! It serves as a school, and very lucky those kids are... unless it falls, which by the way, I offer my services to restore it... I'll do it for free, well actually, I'll do it for a couple of hours at the beach per day! good for me!

But no... I wasn't looking for things things specifically in Beira. In 1921, a little girl was born here, the first of my family to be born overseas, the cute adorable girl who dreamed of being a pilot and flying, just like those after her, daddy and me, and who because of her grandaughters, decided to give up her dream, put away those wings and take care of us. Well, as much as I appreciate all those "croquetes" you've made grandma, I'd prefer you flying me around the world!!!
Anyway... that little girl, 86 years ago (i won't say 86 and 1/2, because it's good to keep her young) was born in a house, she told me it was after a bridge, a steal bridge, designed by Eifel...

She, and any of us, really imagined that 86 years after, that bridge, the one she claims was very close to her house, would end up collapsing, and being deslocated to the other side of town, or at least, if you stand where the bridge is now... there is no way you'll find that house... so, I decided to call her LIVE... but then I thought maybe it's better, if I have to spend so much money calling home, then I need the call to be efective: I called her sister. She's 10 years younger, almost, and has the memory of my huge exterior hard disk, she's a walking encyclopedia and my "google" for any subject... and I even found out that also her was born in the same house.
I expected the simple confirmation of "yes it's close to the bridge" or "no it's not". But like google, she'll be precise if the subject is interesting. "where are you?... ah, ok, so turn left at the bridge, go to the end of the street, you should find a white tower, it looks like a firemen exercise tower, but instead it was built to be the bell tower of the first Catholic Church of Beira, but apparently was never constructed, way before our time, it's white and it used to have a flag I think, now if you are standing in what seems like the front of it, then you look to the left, and you should see a house with an antique zinc roof..................."

Well, one more minute and I'd practically could've walked in and found my way to the actual bed they were born in... but the it was... still standing... filled with people who evaporated giggling as soon as I asked if they wanted to be in the photo, colors all over the place, but there it was.
I have a picture of my greatgrandfather, and his little girl, sitting on it's front steps... and here I am, 86 years later, standing in front of it's door... was there one???
I guess there are things in life you will never be able to explain to others, things like knowing where people you have grown to love have been... my children will probably never do this trip themselves, they won't probably fly off to Mozambique in search of their mother's, father's, grandparents', uncle's, aunt's, friend's past here, but they will know all the stories I lived, and if one day they come to Antwerp in search of this tiny appartment I'm in, then I want them to feel like this. That in one second, that second... it all made sense.

Beira made sense... it always will.