Letter from Mozambique: A deep trench where Alberto and Laura's house used to be

Mennonite Central Committee
Friday, 3 March 2000

MAPUTO, Mozambique — The place where Alberto and Laura's house used to stand looks as though God dragged his heel through the earth. A deep trench cuts the "bairro" (neighborhood) in two after a weekend of heavy rain, leaving hundreds of families without homes. This bairro, called "Ferroviária," is one among countless others greatly affected by heavy rains and flooding in Maputo, Mozambique's capital.

Alberto is an elderly man we see every day sitting under the tree in front of the Anglican Church on Avenue 24 of July. While my wife, Michelle, and I regularly hand him a piece of bread or a few coins, it does little to alleviate the helplessness we feel. Alberto has a speech impediment, making him difficult to understand, and he gets around slowly with crutches. In his prime he was a mechanic in South Africa, but now, being elderly and disabled, he does not have an easy life. Mozambique is only beginning to grow economically after many years of violence and civil strife.

We learned to know Alberto better and from then on when we passed him on the street, it was like passing a friend or a friend's grandfather. And then came the rain.

After many days of heavy rain, Maputo has become a city besieged by the deluge of water that must find its way to sea. A few days ago, while passing Alberto under his tree, we noticed that his long, bearded face expressed more worry than normal. He uttered something that sounded like he had lost his house, and also something about a large hole. We acknowledged what little we understood and he motioned that he would explain in writing. The next day we received, on a piece of cardboard, the following note:

"Alberto Maciácua. Bairro Ferroviária. Quarterão 44. Casa #112. 'I lost everything that I had.' B. I. 713437. Signed, Alberto Maciácua."

We took the note home and began to think. Michelle and I decided to go and see for ourselves. We explained our intentions to Alberto, whose eyes lit up. We parked close to where he sits every day and Alberto was able to manoeuvre himself into the car. Until then we hadn't realized how tall he was; his long legs were a tough fit for the back seat of our Toyota 4x4. He directed us to his bairro, but the first road we tried was under water for as far as we could see. We tried another.

On the way we passed the school where homeless flood victims were staying and met Alberto's wife, Laura. She directed us the rest of the way. Navigating this way and that through the narrow streets, we were completely lost when we finally came to a stop. We had to walk the rest of the way.

Laura seemed happy to guide us through the neighbourhood. Even when her sandal strap broke, leaving her with only one functional piece of footwear, she reacted with a smile. She walked ahead of us with grace and purpose. We passed a couple of men who made a comment in the local dialect. A friend translated: "Our neighborhood must be developing — there's white folks walking through it."

We were joined by many other interested neighbors who probably wanted to see the looks on our faces when we caught sight of the canyon where Alberto and Laura's house used to be. It was not a matter of finding something to say. We were there to see the place and to feel the impression left by such powerful water. We took photos and made appropriate remarks, but in the end we had nothing left to do but walk back to the car where Alberto was waiting. We left Laura with a bit of money for some new sandals.

We drove back to the school where Alberto, Laura and others had found shelter. We told the administrator that we might be able to come back with a food delivery through the Christian Counsel of Mozambique since we had been making deliveries all over the city. It seemed like a gift to be able to return later that same afternoon with a truckload of urgently needed food.

First thing when I jumped off the truck, I saw Laura's smiling face, and we greeted each other as though she were my aunt and I her nephew. She smiled and pointed to a new pair of sandals she had purchased.

As far as we know, these now homeless people — among thousands of other Mozambican families — are still waiting for a place to live.

For more information, or to contact Mennonite Central Committee, see their website at: www.mcc.org