Meatday

I was invited by my friend Gisela to her family’s farm (fazenda) across Maputo Bay in the sprawling (and rapidly developing, thanks to the new bridge) rural community of Catembe. Several decades ago Gisela’s grandfather immigrated from Portugal as a priest and acquired this land. When he fell in love with a local Mozambican woman he had to downgrade (or whatever word would be used in ecclesiastical circles) himself to preacher. He started Gisela’s large extended family and turned his attention to farming, which was successful.

Mozambicans and Portuguese love meat. The BBQ produced an endless supply all afternoon. Veganism and even vegetarianism are rare to encounter here, ‘except in foreigners’, someone said today. The fazenda was such a relaxing place to hang out all afternoon, strolling in the orange grove (laranjal), picking fresh lemons for gin and tonics under the tree, and making new friends. The lady pictured supervising the meat grilling is a university professor and entomologist, and an excellent contact to have made as we may need such skills in some of our projects. You never know who you’ll bump into as you chow on a chicken leg.

As I was waiting in the sun for Gisela to pick me up, I caught the attention of a police vehicle, no doubt hoping I’d be without my documentation to have an excuse to fine me for a misdemeanour. Usually I’ve only been stopped by two police officers on foot, so this was a little more intimidating with at least five of them armed and bearing down from a vehicle cab and observation bench in the bed of the truck. Using some classic banter about worshipping the sun because I’m British and that we take all opportunities to do so, they lost interest. But police checks on the street remain the most irritating aspect of life here.