A city at Olympic minimums. In recent weeks, Maputo has reminded us of the pandemic: industry paralyzed, businesses closed, a deep sense of a state of emergency. There was no desire to even be on the street. And, in the midst of fears and rumors, the hypothesis arose, slowly and silently, that the government would even decree a state of emergency, imposing a mandatory curfew, prolonging the mandate of the current President of the Republic. So far this has not happened, which does not mean that embassies and other organizations have stopped advising against meetings.
I landed in Maputo the day after two murders that, after the elections, triggered everything that was to come. Elvino Dias, lawyer and defender of Venâncio Mondlane, the supposedly defeated presidential candidate, and Paulo Guambe, Podemos communication strategist, were shot on October 19. Already under accusations of electoral fraud – the veracity of which is practically agreed upon – Mozambique erupted, with announcements of strikes and demonstrations. Filipe Nyusi, acting president, faced with a country on fire – and literally on fire – took refuge in silence. With amazement, while the entire country lived under a state of alert, and there were even those who feared the outbreak of a civil war, the President of the Republic pretended that it had nothing to do with him. In Mozambique there was only one issue: the protests, the direction they would take. At this, Nyusi emerged from the shadows to express her “highest respect and personal esteem” for Trump, counting the American votes.
In power for 50 years, spanning the entire period after Mozambique’s independence, Frelimo today has an angry people at its head. And an angry people, especially those in the world’s fifth most fragile economy, easily fall into the hands of anyone who promises a change of course. Venâncio Mondlane was that promise, and this figure, coming from southern Africa, is in no way different from the figures who galvanized and gained popular support in the West – be it Europe or the United States – by abusing populist strategies and rhetoric. Finally, once the strike was called, Maputo emptied. For days, no one knew exactly what the next day would be like, and miles-long avenues stretched with no one – or almost no one – left. Those who lived there, on the street itself, were still there, and for kilometers at a time there was not a soul other than the one trying to survive next to the garbage containers. Uncertainty reigned everywhere: since no one knew what would happen the next day, there were those who ran to the banks to withdraw cash (from time to time, breaking reserves) and those who ran to the supermarkets to stock up on provisions.
Soon the threats began to spread through digital media: there would be a lack of food, there would be a gas outage, there would be a lack of water. She also kept bottles and powdered milk for babies, as well as one or two other things that could feed adults. Digital media themselves also faced a boycott. Out of nowhere, mobile data on cell phones stopped working. As the date of November 7, for which a large demonstration was planned, approached, even the Wi-Fi began to have problems, with social networks and WhatsApp blocked. When WhatsApp was back up and running, it was impossible to exchange audio or multimedia files. All of this, which served to contain, was aggravating, and there were those who suggested applications to install a VPN network to be able to bypass these blocks.
On the day of the demonstration, people took to the streets because a leader did not show up. Through his digital channels, he announced in mid-afternoon that he was canceling his visit. The day before he confirmed that he would be in Maputo early in the morning. Anyway, it was planned. The rest was simply not predicted well, as no one really knew what was going to happen in Mozambique. At the entrances to the city, tires were burned and barricades were erected against armed people, who used their means to prevent the demonstration from taking place in its entirety. At the border with South Africa, trucks were stopped to prevent life from returning to normal. Threats had already circulated before: open establishments would be vandalized and cars in circulation would be burned. Fear came from everywhere, radical protesters and police instigated different fears. With this, the air in Maputo smoked, as did the land.
On one of the city’s main avenues, the crowd gathered but was quickly dispersed by rubber bullets and tear gas. And, from time to time, by real bullets. A few minutes later, the public formed again, in a fight that they were unable to win. Mondlane had asked people to flood the streets of Maputo, including 24 de Julio and Julius Nyerere, which remained deserted, ghostly, throughout the day. Social networks were already announcing the imminence of the coup d’état, the furious people guaranteed that it was “today or never”, the fury served to embrace hope and the screams from one side of Maputo could not reach the other side. That was what I wanted to fall and conquer. In the midst of the confusion, stores were vandalized (including by the police), gunshots were heard, shots were fired, gas was thrown, there was blood and deaths. From my window on the 19th floor, where 24 de Julio and Julius Nyerere intersect, I could see Maputo burning everywhere.
The day of the demonstration passed and the following Friday dawned calm. There was open commerce, but not everything, and Maputo had the air of a depressed city. Mobile data – marvel at the nerve – was already working again. With many services still closed, it was clear that no one knew exactly what would happen, now that D-Day had ended without any conclusion. That same day, Venâncio Mondlane announced that he would announce (no joke) the following Monday the last and “most painful” phase of the protests. The weekend has arrived, however, Maputo continues like a shadow breathing asthma. Some people go out into the street, and there are some terraces full, but there is a feeling of waiting without knowing exactly what.
At the same time, there is fear of a depressed economy. In a Yango I took today, a kind of Uber, the driver complained about everything, without giving any direction: he challenged the fraud (“they stole our votes”), he counted people on the street (“if everyone complained, it is because they did not vote for them”), he feared the security of the President of the Republic by the Rwandan military, although the news was not confirmed by any credible source (“they will not leave later”) and, in addition, he was afraid of protests (“Monday is coming, but this is a problem for the economy, companies will want to leave here, no one will bet on Mozambique”).
In supermarkets, no one really knows what hours they will have from now on, as was the case in the past. Consumers, not knowing what will happen in the near future, have to refuel and take precautions. The book fair has been postponed and perhaps even canceled. I never heard of new dates again. Foundations and other cultural organizations have suspended their agenda, but they do not know for how long, and they reschedule things without knowing if they will have to reschedule them. The circulation of products suffered a shock. The services went into cataclysm. Tasks accumulate, so do people. The country lives in suspense, waiting, in an uncertainty that tastes like a cataclysm. Traffic is slow, everything is indolence. And, above us and the Indian Ocean, the sky closes, bringing a dense gray to limbo.
It seems that no one knows where they are going, and Maputo is the portrait of a city without direction. On social networks, the people wait for the instructions of a messiah, who gives orders from top to bottom, without counting on the popular organization, but with their blind obedience. Tens of thousands say they will follow orders, not yet knowing what will happen. Everything is a surprise and that is why the future is so uncertain, and also because everything tastes like improvisation. We know that next week there will be and will bring something, but no one seems to know what it is, not even who will carry out the action and who will face the muscular and armed arm of the State – and which, we know, has little complacency.
And with this we fear everything: we fear the blood that will inevitably come, we fear the lives whose days may be numbered, we fear the asphyxiation created by the gas, we fear the property destroyed by the uncontrolled impulse of violence and despair. , we fear insufficient and overcrowded hospitals, we fear attacks on ambulances, we fear that the roads will be opened to vandalism, we fear the destruction of property, we fear burning houses, we fear that man, in the background, advancing in an armored vehicle, with five or six They like it, they fear the decline of the industry, they fear foreign disinvestment, they fear that the economy, which was already a quagmire, will have rubble in its wake. And, above all, it is feared not only that all this will be of no use, but that it will be much worse.
Ana Bárbara Pedrosa traveled to Maputo to participate in a literary residency funded by the Camões Institute and the Lisbon City Council. The author writes according to the old spelling agreement.
Source: Observadora
