Piece of day

This are the houses of a comunity 20 minutes away from where I live. They are a bit different than the ones I shower here, and they are not the most common ones.

Piece of conversation heard at the supermarket, between two employees:

- So he killed his son for 20,000 Kz*?
- Yes, can you believe it?
- No, he really did it? Killed the son? 20,000?
- No, no, no, sorry, it was 200,000 Kz
- Ah...so it's ok!

When I say it is a complete diverse world, I am not kidding.

* Kz is the local money (Kwanza), and the equivalence is around 78Kz for 1 dolar. The man killed his son for 3,000 dolars.

Deep blue

This is a beach half an hour away from Benguela, know as "Shark Beach". No sharks around, but a tiny and cute jellyfish got me...I'm trying to find out the specie, and for that I asked Dr. Roberto Goiten - who was my Zoogeography teacher in University. I'll reserve a special post just for this amazing animal, for now you can enjoy the beauty of the beach itself.

I stayed for a long time looking at the view and staring at that pink-coloured house on the top of the hill. It is abandonned, but I couldn't stop imagining how would it be to live there. No power, no neighbours, no near market, but honestly: why would you need that? I'd scuba dive all day, just like this lucky man under here.

The image is like a postcard from Caribbean, or of a hidden place on Hawaii. But it's in Africa! Ten minutes away, kids asking for money walking over the sandy soil, women digging the sand to find water to wash their clothes and goats. It's impressive to see the beach from the mountain, it is like finding a paradise you would never imagine to be there.

We're planning a journey to the desert of Namibe, and the pictures will be way different than today's. There's still much more to see and experience here in this place forgotten by many.

Don't let it fly away

These are the houses I already mentioned, with the rocks and bricks over the ceiling. Attention on the way it mixes with the rest of the scenery, because of the material used to make the blocks - soil, camel-coloured. It is easier to see in the picture below.
It is also common to see goats, it is a sign of wealth to the family it belongs. They only eat them in very special ocasions, like birthdays, baptisms or if the family really hasn't anything left to eat.
The baby goats are more than cute, so young that they don't even walk straight. The mother is all the time close to them, because some things are the same everywhere, doesn't matter where you go.

Seven hours in a car

Today I went to a comunity called Gabela and also to a place called Sumbe to see the Waterfalls' Park. It is hard to understand, as a human being, how can it be possible that water is such a rare article here when you have rivers and a waterfall like this, even though I can understand it as a biologist.
In the Park, a man was charging for the entrance and holding a book we had to sign before entering, with our names and birth country. He didn't work for the government or for anyone else, but was alone doing that and getting money from the tourists. Smart guy. He also has to find a way of surviving.

The kids, on the back? Fishing.
The kids, with the hoe? No idea.

Tough routine

I know the picture is small, but can you see what this kid is carrying?

A plastic chair. He is going to school, and here all the children carry their own chair to go to school, because normally the school itself has no funds do buy chairs for all of them. Because of that, they bring it from home.

This other picture was taken in the same place as the cemetery is, they also have a school there. I talked to the teacher today, asking for permission to visit them next week. Sitting in his motorcycle, ready to go home, he seems happy with the possibility of my visit. The kids had left a minute ago, but they all come back when they see me, clearly happy to see someone new. I tell them I am gonna come back to see them, and they open a big bright smile. When I come back to the car, they are all shaking their little hands saying goodbye, and that happens all the way back with other kids we pass by. They get so happy when you say a simple "hi" that it gets impossible to stop doing it.

Attention, in the picture, to two things: the girl in the green shirt carrying two plastic containers and the three kids on the right side. The kids are pushing their friend on the weelchair, what I imagine it must be really hard to do in this sandy soil. The yellow containers the girl is carrying are for water, the comunity makes a long queue to get it, each person with one container.

This is Africa.

The very end

I was passing through an area where a ceramic company is gonna be built, and saw this cemetery. Above one of the graves, a crutch. Above another, plastic flowers. All of them with no identification, but I am sure the people from the little comunity besides there knows who is buried in each grave, and each history buried as well.
For the ones as concerned as I was, don't worry: the industry is gonna respect the area of the village and the cemetery, and each tree in the field.

Lifestyle

This is an everyday scene, a woman carrying the baby using this kind of fabric. They say that in the beggining the child cries a lot because it's not confortable, but they get used to it after a short time. I guess this is the human condition, getting used quickly when sometimes we just shouldn't.

Viewpoint of the moon

Viewpoint of the moon, "miradouro da lua" as they say. This was my first stop in my way from Luanda, the capital of Angola, to Benguela, the city I'm gonna live the next two months.

My father drives, and during the 9-hour journey I just observe. We pass through a local market, and he stops so I can leave the car with my mother to see it. I feel unconfortable, I am the only white person and the feeling is that I am invading their territory, that I shouldn't dare to enter it. My mother says it's ok, so I trust and go.

There is a "cabritê" just before the market, but I couldn't take any picture of it or of the market itself - they don't like it and if a policeman sees you taking pictures, you can get into serious trouble. First, let me explain what a cabritê is: pieces of goat, in an adapted grill, with the head in one of the corners so to people identify what the man is selling. The image is a bit shocking, as I suppose it is shoking to see monkey's heads in some countries or as it is for an Indian to see a Brazilian barbecue.

In the market they sell crafts like paintings, jade bracelets, sculptures made of elephant horn and witchcrafts. Their paitings are amazing, they are very colorfull and show the women with their babies or the Imbundeiro, the most typical tree. I was enchanted by a sculpture of a saint, made of a black and shinny wood. It was of a suavity, a delicacy that I think I had never seen. A black saint, of course, and she was beautiful.

I am actually not the only white person in the market, there is a chinese couple negotiating ivory bracelets. They don't speak any Portuguese, but they understand each other with gesture, the universal language - specially for trading. We go walking and they recognize my mother, saying "madam, madam, never more?". She used to go there a lot as a part of her last job, and they were confused why she never went back again.

We continue our journey, there's still much more road to go through. While passing, I see villages where they live and the houses mix themselves with the mountain, that is sand-coloured. They make the bricks for the houses with the sand of the mountains, that is why is looks all the same view. They put bricks over the ceiling, so it won`t fly away - there`s no cement or nail to stick it. The look of it is just unique.

We arrive in Benguela already in the night, so I don't see much. I am also tired from so many new things, different scenes, thoughts about being here in a place I had never imagined, facing a reality I had never seen before. I am still quite confused about the population and their way of life.

There is no power in the street, and we will turn the generator off as we have to do every single night. Because of that, I end here my first writing about life in Angola.