What a small world.

Lately we have been living ever more in a digital world, with all the social media and the growing internet access through out the globe, the place no longer feels small.

We create these internet personas and try hard to reflect our life the best we can in that digital canvas. We communicate with people we never met, we make good friends online, share tastes, dilemmas, sometimes we even fall in love.
It's astonishing what we can do through this portal, the things we can see and do without even leaving our chair.

I love this power and what it enables me to do. From meeting someone amazing, that I only know through my computer screen, to discovering a new band that otherwise I would probably never ear.

It enables me to travel everywhere and never lose communication with all of my friends, it makes my life easier because I now have access to all I ever wanted to know, right in the palm of my hand.

For instance I met someone through a chat application from a country I never visited, and yesterday we spent 4 hours talking over Skype. This week also I stumbled upon a great band from Australia on twitter, and because nowadays we have access to so much i could enjoy their new album in seconds with just a few clicks on my mouse.

It really is funny how small the world is now a days and how this power shortens even the smallest distances. And I'm really hoping that by making the world small we can forget our differences and start behaving more like a group.

And by the way in case your wondering if I was involved in illegal activities to get that album.


The band has their latest album available for free on their page, so check out The Sunpilots follow them on Twitter, they're touring over Europe now so if you like good music download their album and buy a ticket for their show, they're really good.

Another chapter

I'm different...

No one told me but I can feel it...

The way I move, the way I talk, the way I live, it changed somewhere in Africa.
I'm no longer the same person I was before, no longer bent by life. It's like I was reborn after all I saw and felt.

I feel confident, clear minded and above all Africa taught me how to make do, taught me how to adapt quickly, how to gather information to prepare myself for all the challenges. Africa made me a modern day Macgyver.
And I don't feel heavy anymore, I feel light, like I'm swiftly passing through all the barriers I encounter in my way.

I'm happy... happier than I have ever been. Finally I found the thing that truly makes me smile. that warms my heart and makes everything seem easy.

I've been courting lady luck for so long and she finally smiled back.

This chapter is starting so great, and Murphy can kiss my ass, because this time nothing will take my mood away.

My new home came as a big surprise, friendly people all around, maybe I attract them now I don't know, found an amazing place to live, close to everything and already made some friends around town.

Of course having money for all of this helps, but I don't know things just feel different, I don't feel nervous, I don't feel afraid, I feel at home already and this is only my third day here.

My mind is more at ease than ever, a nirvana state of mind, following my mind where ever she takes me and loving every second of it.

Sou Português

Sou Português…

Mas comunico em Inglês, virei as costas ao meu país, abandonei a areia banhada pelo Atlântico para rumar a um destino incerto.

Deixei para trás a família, os amigos, os amores e os dissabores desta lusitana que me viu crescer. Fui a procura de algo mais.

Fui em busca de novos horizontes, criando ligações, travando amizades, vendo algo nosso a cada esquina.

Sou Português, mas não um traidor, tenho orgulho no meu país, nas suas tradições e costumes, nesta gente bem-disposta que vive do lamento. Tenho orgulho no fado, no vinho e na saudade.

Abandonei o meu país, não pela sombra que o envolve do Algarve ao Minho, mas porque carrego em mim o espirito de outrora. Ouço os gritos de ontem que me lançam o desafio, os antepassados que me empurram para fora, que criam em mim o fascínio pelo desconhecido. Impulsionam-me para longe, para descobrir o que já outros conhecem mas para mim é novo.

Sou Português e falo em Inglês, porque sei que não a é a língua que nos define, mas sim o espirito, a coragem, o sofrimento, a alegria.

Vou correr o mundo, espalhar a saudade que é tão nossa, sacrificar-me pela vontade de viver. Vou com um sorriso no rosto, mas a lagrima escondida.

Vou para longe, perder-me nos encantos do mundo, mas mesmo sem bússola hei sempre de encontrar o caminho de regresso.

Porque sou Português, e por mais que corra, a saudade sempre aperta.

My path

The path I've chosen
Seems like a fairytail
Sometimes it leaves me broken
But in the end I always prevail.

Words cannot explain,
they get lost in the sound of my scream.
Mixed in with the tears, the blood and the pain.

They get trapped in my smile
Chained in my chest, caught in the limelight.

My head keeps spinning,
my spirit changing,
and even though i'm grinning
my tears keep fading.

I kept my hope,
held her tight against my chest,
until the past became just a simple note.
Locked away with the rest.

It wasn't easy, fighting everyday,
But I kept smiling long past the final play.

And after all the moments
After all the good and bad
I still feel the good omens,
Hanging around in the air

The thrill of the challenge
still keeps me awake at night
dreaming of the next adventure,
Still strong with my path in sight.

My heroes

My heroes, the ones that inspire me, those that touch my life without even knowing. I see them everywhere, I see them on T.V, on my computer screen, on the pages of the book I'm reading, even while I'm living my life.

They are the ones who took the clay, shaped it, breathed in courage, inspiration and determination and molded me into what I am.

My thirst, that thirst that makes me forget everything and try and quench it, it's because of them. I hear them speaking with me everyday, whispering in my ear while my music player composes a masterpiece, song after song.

I found hope in them, I envisioned for me what I saw in them, dissecting all the aspects and gluing everything together as it felt natural to me.

My heroes, are faceless, a mix of personalities that reflect what I want to believe, what i feel makes sense.

My heroes are to many to tell, they come and go, new ones arriving old ones fading away in my mind but never leaving.

My heroes are the ones who believe, not in the supernatural, its about faith but not in fairy-tails.

It's about those who face reality, challenge the rules, those that can't be broken, those that don't comply.

You see them to, the ones that are odd, that you sometimes can't quite understand, that puzzle your mind with their presence. But deep down you know, you wanted to follow them to, they are my heroes but they can be yours to.

Let them inspire you, mold you like they did me, you're path is surely different from mine, but its never about the finish, it's always about the journey, and in the end, if you listen, you will realize that the thing that scared you at first, was nothing more than dim light in an empty room.

Shine no matter how far you are.

I lay awake to watch the stars, casually wondering what they are.
The night feels lonely, it's silent, cold and dark. But the stars are there, shinning, very far away but still shinning.
I'm excited for what's to come, a new beginning, a new stage, seems like my life is full of those. I stopped counting, but with each move I become a little bit bolder.
I wanted to travel and see the world, constantly changing, meeting new people, making new friends. Perhaps I'm running, for responsibility, from the prison cell that hold me back home. Perhaps that was what made me leave, but somehow the purpose has changed along the way.

It's lonely... Always moving, always running, no matter how many people I meet I always end up leaving them, going on a new adventure leaving the past behind, not completely but in some sense it's never the same again.

The first time I moved I didn't do it alone, I had someone with me to share the burden and the sadness. We helped each other to surpass the difficulties of our choice. But in time, we changed, our goals were to different, we set apart and I did what I though was right, I moved away again...

That time I did it alone, but everything was taken care off, a nice job, a room in a house full of people that could help me with any trouble I might have. And for a time it was nice, but as much as someone can feel at home in a place like this, I knew from the beginning I didn't wanted to stay, I wanted more...

So I left, found a new job and I'm preparing for the change. This time I will be truly alone, in a place I know little about. But that doesn't scare me, as much as I fear loneliness I also love the challenge, the opportunity to get to call home a completely new place.

Ill meet new people, make new friends but Ill never forget the old ones, they are like my anchor, my rock. Because I know they're there I can leave, travel, see the world and come back to visit them anytime I feel lonely or sad.

The sky is filled with stars, each one of them unique, just like my friends, and no matter how far apart we are I know they will continue to shine even on the nights I can't see them.

So here alone I stare the sky, looking, wondering, feeling lonely but happy, knowing that no matter how far I am there is always a light shining.

To hell and back.

Sometimes life has a funny way to express itself. One day she will give us a heart-warming punch in the face and on the next day a gentle caress that shreds us to pieces..
This year my life took a turn for the worst, unemployed with the promise of a chance across the ocean, completely broke and falling into even more debt. Well a year has almost gone by and knowing what I know now I had no reason to worry. I ended up in a place were civilization barely exists, with a big pay-check but frozen in time, watching the lives of my friends unfold on my computer screen. Well at least I was making money now.

Yes i had money now, but I was still despaired, I couldn't take this place like this for to long. It's funny how, on the day when I finally was obliged to sever ties to a past that gets ever so further from the present, my future unfolded right in front of my eyes.

Like a ray of bright light my path open up finally, and it matters not what choice I take from this moment, my life will get better either way.

Of course I wasn't just waiting for this to happen, I was trying with all I had, constantly searching, constantly fighting for a solution, well turns out all of my hard work paid off finally, and I'm one step closer to finally reach the goal i set myself up to two years ago.

Another stepping stone has gone by and I'm looking forward for the new challenges and people Ill meet during my adventure.

So, if I'm allowed a piece of advice, grab the controls of this game, and try to do what makes you happy, you may not get there soon, but if you truly keep trying you will reach your destination instead of fading away on a couch in front of the T.V screen.

A past life...

There are some things I need to learn to let go.

The past is a strange entity, that haunts me when I feel safe. when it seems like everything is behind me something comes and brings it back again.
A dream, a talk, a thought...

I clench my fist when i wake up after reliving the past, it hurts remembering things that were lost knowing very well they will never come back. Even if they did it would never be the same, it would simply be a shell of it's former self.

But somethings keep you going, when new things appear they tend to help get rid of those memories that insist in holding on.

Sometimes all it takes is an opportunity to make you think of the future instead of dwelling constantly in the past.

I know I am probably not making any sens with this post, it's just that sometimes I need to let this things out, to empty my soul in order to be able to look to the future.

Waking from a trip to memory lane can leave you feeling lonely, and filled with sadness, but remember, there are always new days ahead, and with each new day comes new opportunities. New laughs, new hopes, new adventures.

Who knows what we will go through next, as long as I'm alive I can keep hoping.

Hoping that something new, exciting, is right around the corner. Just there for me to embrace and find happiness again.

It's never to late to dream, just pick up the pieces and star again, you never know what you're going to find next.

Fotos

Um almoço Angolano.

Desenganem-se aqueles que clamam que o mundo não é pequeno.

Nos recônditos de Angola, numa pequena cidade a norte de nome Cabinda fui encontrar alguém que fez formação no mesmo sítio onde trabalhei e foi aluno de colegas meus de trabalho. Quando Membar Mayala passou por Portugal em 2005 não lhe passava pela cabeça que em 2014 iria trabalhar com alguém que lhe traria ao de cima memórias tão boas dessa altura.

Ainda bem que assim foi porque este ínfimo pormenor quebrou o gelo entre nós e depressa nos tornamos amigos. Este sábado tive o prazer de ser recebido em sua casa, por ele e pela família fantástica que me disse vezes sem conta, "Pai esta casa é tua, está a vontade."

Convidou-me para almoçar, combinamos encontrarmo-nos a 1h30 e 40 minutos depois da hora marcada, como manda o bom costume Angolano, lá apareceu para me vir buscar.

Membar mora no bairro 1º de Maio zona A, numa vivenda enfiada por entre ruelas de terra batida e lixo, e acompanhada pela rotina de quem é seu vizinho. Mas ele pode se considerar um privilegiado, inteligente e com gosto pelo estudo, insistiu em estudar apesar de a agora mulher dele ter engravidado com apenas 14 anos. A família dela ficou muito brava comigo, contou-me enquanto aguardávamos o almoço, mas eu assumi e insisti em continuar a estudar. Foi esses estudos que hoje lhe permitem ter um ordenado mais de 6 vezes superior ao da média e poder relaxar no espaço isolado de toda a pobreza que lhe rodeia a casa.

O almoço foi Moamba, prato que nunca tinha tido o prazer de degustar, acompanhado de banana fervida. Devo dizer que a galinha apesar de rija era saborosa, preparada pela esposa que permaneceu a maior parte do tempo na cozinha enquanto a filha nos servia a refeição. Nunca me vou conseguir habituar ao costume de os homens comerem a parte, o almoço foi servido só para mim e para ele e o resto da família almoçou na cozinha. E de nada valeu a minha insistência para que nos sentássemos todos a mesa, como costumam dizer, quando em Roma sê romano.

A filha de Membar tem 24 anos, estuda petroquímica coisa que por estas bandas lhe vai garantir um futuro mais desafogado, se bem que será difícil alguma vez chegar ao ordenado que o pai aufere hoje em dia., ou talvez eu me engane e espero mesmo que esteja longe da verdade neste assunto.

Depois do almoço fizemos uma sessão de fotografias, algumas já com destino a este meu canto digital e outras com destino a Portugal, para fazer recordar os que ainda restam na empresa de Membar Mayala, o homem que dentro das suas possibilidades têm vindo a manter os hospitais aqui desta terra em funcionamento, usando o engenho e as técnicas que aprendeu durante uns meses em Portugal.

Turning to stone.

How many times must a heart break before it gets turned to stone?

I feel like my heart is too soft for this reality I’m living now, and day by day it breaks a little. And it gets a little bit harder than before. And crack by crack, as it heals, it slowly starts to turn to stone, until it no longer breaks. And then, you become cold, and unaffected by what goes on around you. You become numb, tears no longer flow and close yourself in a shell, trying to by invincible to the despair the walks slowly down the street.

Africa is little by little turning me into something different, and I have to leave before it makes me to hard. 

The lack of compassion, the lack of morality, the lack of respect for the human condition, all those things are present in everyday life. Like the little girl that comes almost every day to the house where I work to make a red water that is later frozen and sold as ice-cream. She can't be more than 10. From the countless stories of man who take advantage of women simply because they need food, clothes or money to feed their kids. The poor healthcare for the people who can’t afford the “good” one. Every day I walk down the pediatric aisle the screams dig a little bit deeper in my head.

And the sharks, those business man, that swim around in these waters and devour whatever prey crosses their path, with no regard to the people that are a part of this land.

But there are good things here as well. Like everywhere, there are always small glances of hope around. In the eyes of those who believe that things can change, that try to make that change, limited only by the lack of tools.

On these days I feel powerless, wanting to help without knowing how to. I try, although weakly, to soften the blows to my heart, giving just a little. A different view, a different approach, a better chance. It maybe be little but it’s a start.

Ao lembrar-me de ti.

Adoro deitar-me na cama, fechar os olhos e imaginar-te. Sinto-me sereno, em paz, como se todos os meus problemas fossem levados pelo vento.

Vejo os teus cabelos castanhos, lisos, encostados nos ombros a adornar-te a face. Fico horas a imaginar que me perco no teu olhar, mergulhando dentro da tua alma, devagar, entrando ao de leve e deixando-me inundar por ti. Vejo a tez pálida da tua face, sinto a minha mão a percorrer-te o rosto, o teu perfume hipnotizando-me enquanto eu me deixo levar pelo meu imaginário.

As vezes regresso a noite em que parti, estou outra vez no frio, estou outra vez nos teus braços, sinto o teu corpo a tocar no meu e o meu coração a apertar por saber que é o ultimo momento, a ultima chance de te ter junto a mim. Aperto-te mais uma vez, beijo-te pela última vez, deixo a lagrima cair enquanto te vejo a caminhar para longe de mim.

Vou sonhando com os teus lábios vermelhos, num beijo doce que me dá um aperto no peito. Deixo-me invadir pelo pensamento, deixo-me invadir pela saudade de ti.

Volto vezes sem conta aos momentos que passamos, as horas que passaram por nós sem darmos conta, as gargalhadas que soltamos juntos, aos segredos que partilhamos. Volto a ver-te naquela paragem de autocarro, estou outra vez a tua espera, ansioso pelo momento em que apareces naquela esquina.

Agora estou longe, mas dou comigo a imaginar, que te tenho aqui, só para mim, num capricho de criança. Adormeço a noite enquanto vagueias no meu inconsciente, sem consciência de que o fazes.

Dou por mim a pensar nos ses, e nos talvez. Dou por mim a amaldiçoar as certezas e as consequências da realidade. Dou por mim a gritar só por mais uns minutos, mais umas horas. Dou por mim a pedir aos céus mais um momento só nosso. Um momento que fica preso no tempo, aonde só tu importas, aonde só me vês a mim, mesmo que seja breve, mesmo que seja só mais um.

Recordo com prazer a tua maneira de falar, o teu jeito de mexer, o teu olhar confiante a superfície mas indeciso lá por trás. Recordo os teus sonhos, as tuas vitórias e derrotas, recordo-me das alegrias e das tristezas, lembro-me de como és.

Se estou apaixonado não o sei, sei apenas que o teu sorriso me aquece, que o teu corpo me acalma, que tu me completas. Deixo-me levar a loucura de não te ter, a loucura de ter deixado parte de mim contigo, a loucura de querer voltar e não poder.

Nós por cá.

Desde que cheguei a Cabinda tenho conhecido espécimes humanos que pensei já não existirem, e não digo isto com qualquer conotação negativa.
É verdade, pelo menos aqui, que burro velho não aprende línguas mas há coisas que me revoltam.
Uma das histórias já foi parar ao papel digital, outras ficam por contar, para mais tarde as imortalizar, ou assim espero, neste cantinho onde despejo o que me vai na alma.
Como já disse fui recebido pelo F.F., homem forte do norte, baixinho mas com garra, vinha com vontade de engolir Africa, mas desconfio que foi Africa que o engoliu. É daqueles que diz “semos” em vez de “somos” e “Cavinda” em vez de “Cabinda”, mas 5 estrelas, lá deve ter os seus defeitos mas eu pelo menos ainda não os vi. 
Nota-se a vontade de se afirmar, mesmo que seja por se sentir importante num sítio onde a importância não importa. Já tem família e desconfio que daqui já só sai deitado, isto claro, se alguma vez chegar a sair.

Eu sempre tenho a sorte de ver os dois mundos em ação, aquele dos bem formados em que o civismo ficou, se calhar no avião, e o daqueles em que a formação foi feita de balde na mão. É estranho ver tratar alguém assim, mas mudar isto seria como tentar pedir a uma parede que se mova. É preciso esperar pelas novas gerações, que vêm com novas ideias e outros valores. E, verdade seja dita, não é só aqui, por todo o mundo há pessoas que fixaram na mente que têm mais direito, por este motivo ou aquele, que o resto dos mortais. É estranho, pelo menos para mim, ver quem ordena que lhe descarreguem o carro, que lhe comprem a espuma de barbear ou então que lhe tragam o prato que nem a 3 metros de distância se encontra.

Eles dizem que o povo aqui é burro, mas eu acredito que o problema é outro. São outras realidades, vividas na base do desespero, numa terra onde nada funciona por mais que eles nos queiram convencer do contrário. A educação é uma anedota e a saúde é só para quem tem dinheiro. Tudo aqui é difícil, ver pessoas que têm de sobreviver com 250 dólares por mês quando um pacote de leite custa 3 dólares. Até tenho vergonha de dizer quanto recebo, não que seja demais para o que estou a fazer e viver, mas pela disparidade com a do resto dos naturais da cidade.

Coisa que estes emigrantes precisam, como de água para respirar, é de mulheres, e aqui é fácil para quem quiser andar nessas andanças, ter o tom de pele mais clara sem olhos em bico significa uma carteira mais abastada, regra geral, e elas sabem-no. Das 5 pessoas com quem partilho o espaço habitacional não há uma que não tenha alguém que lhe aqueça a cama, mais à conta da carteira que dos seus lindos olhos.

Mas desenganem-se aqueles que pensam que malvados são estes emigrantes, porque por muito que eles queiram afirmar que têm a situação controlada, o dinheiro teima em sair da carteira como se esta tivesse um furo por onde ele escorre como se de água se tratasse. E assim continuam, na maioria todos com família em Portugal, mas verdade seja dita ainda não conheci um que não tivesse ajudado financeiramente os filhos a serem homens e mulheres de vida feita.

Quanto mais tempo passo aqui mais certeza tenho, que preciso de sair daqui antes que Africa me engula ou enfeitice como aos demais, todos dizem que o que os prende é o dinheiro, mas não, é a vida que levam aqui, que nem em Portugal nem em outro país civilizado conseguiam alguma vez levar.

Mas tenho esperança que isto mude, ou se calhar sou só mais um louco que espera o que tarda em chegar.

Fotos and more photos =)

A strange land.

It was past 21h00 when I landed. Taking out the initial shock and the tiredness from the trip I didn't felt that bad. I felt lost in a land where the rules and behaviors with which I was raised aren't the norm, where good manners are a rare thing and patience completely alien.
After a few bumps to reach my luggage I finally managed to leave the airport.

Waiting for me was F.F. man of the north with a strong accent, joyful and demanding in the art of proper welcoming’s. As I entered the car I noticed that the windshield was broken, at the time I thought it was bad luck but in time I realized that out of the ordinary is to have it in one piece.

As soon as I reached my new home dinner was already waiting for me, octopus in a size I had never seen and a cold beer to wash it down, afterwards I went to my room, and although F.F. assured me it had been clean thoroughly by the maid, fell short of my expectations, luckily I came prepared and before I went to sleep I gave it a quick fix to make me feel more relaxed.

Cabinda is a strange land, you can easily see traces of wealth and poverty as far as the eye can reach, but it’s a strange poverty, like someone told me here “they prefer to have a top of the line car or an iPhone than a bathroom”.
In the days that followed I had the chance to of doing a bit of sightseeing. I seen houses that multiplied like mice, accommodating people that travelled here to try and earn a bit to eat. I seen new buildings that belong to the government or to governmental institutions, people bathing in rivers with more garbage than water and luxury hotels where the clientele has a lighter shade of skin.

Speaking with the locals is a real challenge, being for what goes in their head or from the slang they use but so far I can’t complain, I feel well received although I know I’ll always be a foreigner to them.
The supermarkets still have a few things, I seen some Nespresso machine, Plasma Tv and lcds as well as tablets. All very expensive I must had but nothing shocked me more than the price of the internet, 200 dollars for what I find acceptable, I guess I have to reevaluate my priorities.

The weather is hot, even now that we’re in the beginning of winter, but the beach isn’t that tempting. We just have to look into the horizon to see the rigs that extract the black gold, leaving some of it spread in the waters that bathe the coast.

I must say the experience is being pleasant but there are things that hurt the soul.

On my first day here they told me the story of a coworker that runed over a little girl that end up dying do to the lack of medical attention, they told me how lucky he is to be alive because in a situation like that if you stop you risk being killed by the surrounding crowd.

I also heard one of the construction managers tell that some of his local workers were taking advantage of a little girl that shouldn’t be more than 13 and the only thing he told them was to “at least clean it with the hose”.
I felt the hair in the back of my neck rise, my fist clenching the fork and I saw myself forced to bury deep down the urge to punch him, bury it down in a black corner of my being.

To live here a part of us has to fall asleep, become numb to the misery and despair that haunts this people, to me Is to leave my mind behind, trying to convince myself that I’m in a movie and nothing of this is real. It’s either that or become crushed by the weight of my own remorse and conscience.

Starlight

There is a reason why I stare into the night, there is a reason why I linger in the stars.

Every time I look above I see them shining on me from afar. But I see the past, the light that reaches me has traveled through the emptiness, breaking that invisible barrier of time and space in an effort to reach my eyes.

For I am a fool for thinking its for me they shine.

But still I look, far, in each attempt I try to bring them closer but the distance never closes.

So I look above remembering what I once was, just like the stars once shined.

Not that I dwell in those memories not wanting to let them go, It's more that I need them in order to know myself. For from my memories is my future decided, for all those moments that reach me in the present can I look steady to the future.

So the light keeps shinning, just like the stars, and when one is gone quickly another takes it's place. It will be like this until I can see no more, but for now, I keep that light close to my heart, where I can feel it guiding and comforting me in my darkest hours.  Just like the starlight keeps me company during those lonely nights.

Twinkle twinkle little star, I know truly what you are, a memory gone afar, always shining, always travelling, always reaching for my heart.

Fotos

Uma terra estranha.

Já passava das 21h00 quando aterrei. Descontando o choque inicial e o cansaço, nem me sentia mal. Sentia-me perdido numa terra onde os costumes com que cresci não imperam, onde a cordialidade é matéria rara e saber esperar é extraterrestre.
Depois de ter levado uns quantos encontrões lá consegui apanhar a mala e sair do aeroporto.
A minha espera estava o F.F., homem do norte com sotaque carregado, bem-disposto e exigente na arte de bem receber. Entrei no carro e vi o vidro da frente partido, pensei que tinha tido azar mas afinal fora do normal é ter o vidro inteiro aqui por estas bandas.
Mal cheguei ao meu novo poleiro já o jantar estava na mesa, polvo, de um tamanho que nunca antes me passara pelo paladar e uma fresquinha para ajudar a desembuchar, depois fui até ao quarto que, apesar de o F.F. me ter garantido ter sido limpo cuidadosamente pela empregada, deixava muito a desejar no campo da higiene. Felizmente vim preparado e mesmo antes de dormir lá lhe dei a volta para me sentir mais descansado.

Cabinda é uma terra estranha: tão depressa se vêm laivos de riqueza como pobreza a perder de vista, mas é uma pobreza estranha, como me disseram por aqui, “esta malta prefere ter um carro xpto ou um Iphone do que casa de banho”. Nos dias que se seguiram à minha chegada tive oportunidade de passear um pouco. Ver casas que se multiplicam como ratos pelas encostas, de malta que vem de outras províncias a procura do ganha-pão. Vi edifícios novos que pertencem ao governo ou a instituições governamentais, pessoas a tomar banho em rios que albergam mais lixo que água e hotéis de luxo cuja clientela tem um tom de pele um pouco mais clara.

Falar com os locais é uma aventura, seja pelo que lhes vai na cabeça ou pelo crioulo que lhes passa pela língua mas até agora não tenho motivo de queixa, sinto-me bem recebido pelos que me são apresentados e pelos que vou conhecendo embora saiba que serei sempre um estrangeiro.

Os supermercados até vão tendo alguma coisa, já vi a venda máquinas Nespresso, plasmas, lcd’s e tablet’s, tudo com um custo altíssimo mas nada me chocou mais que o preço da internet, cerca de 200 dolares pelo que eu acho aceitável… Realmente tenho que reavaliar as minhas prioridades.

O tempo é quente, mesmo agora que estamos no inverno mas a praia de Cabinda não é apelativa. Basta olhar o horizonte para observar as plataformas que extraem o ouro negro da terra e que vão deixando algum dele espalhado pelas águas que banham a costa.

Devo dizer que a experiencia está a ser agradável mas há coisas que doem na alma.

Assim que cheguei contaram-me a historia do homem que atropelou uma criança que acabou por morrer devido a falta de cuidados médicos, da sorte que teve por não ter sido morto pela população enraivecida pelo acidente e o conselho de que numa situação idêntica não se deve parar, é continuar e procurar o posto da policia mais próximo.

Ouvi também um dos encarregados contar que os trabalhadores estavam de “volta” de uma miúda de treze anos e a única coisa que ele disse foi “ ao menos lava isso com a mangueira”.
Os pelos do pescoço eriçaram-se, o punho apertou-se a volta do garfo e fui forçado enterrar a vontade de o esmurrar com todas as minhas forças num canto escuro e sombrio do meu ser.

Acho que para viver aqui uma parte de nós tem de adormecer, ficar impávido as desgraças e situações que assolam este povo, para mim é deixar corpo e mente dormentes, fazer de conta que estou num filme e que nada disto é real. É isso ou deixar-me esmagar pelo peso dos remorsos e da consciência.

Still in shock

It has been four days since I arrived in Angola and although I never thought about it, as soon as I stepped in African soil I knew this was one adventure I had to live.

Chaos, confusion, pollution, poverty and wealth, a lot of wealth…

There were 3 guys waiting for me and immediately I felt important, one picked up my suitcase, the other went to pay the parking and the third one was there just in case something else was needed.
I entered in Sousa’s car, my driver, and responsible to accompany me during the day. As soon as I entered the car they gave me two tickets, one for Cabinda and one to return to Lisbon, a ticket I’m not going to use, just a formality to enter the country and a package with money for the day. It’s weird that in the first 30 minutes of my stay in this country somebody gave me a third of the Portuguese minimum wage, no questions asked, the only thing I had to do was sign a receipt so the people in charge rest assured I received the money and that the boy didn’t keep it for himself.

After that I went to the Hotel, not sure if I can call it that but anyway, where I found the first of my new collection of amazing stories. I arrived in the room that had a filthy bed, in the bathroom a greasy soap bar that I wasn’t sure was still soap and the cherry on top of the cake, a pack of condoms in my nightstand drawer. Some people prefer the Bible, but oh well. I still think it’s a nice idea, but I prefer to use mine instead of putting my tool in unknown rubber.

I had lunch in a Portuguese restaurant that, like Sousa said, is where you find good food. Well for 30 dollars a plate it better be damn good.

Luanda is a mix of wealth and poverty only, the middle class are either travelers or people like me, working for the rich people. Some other amazing stories are of course a Portugal favorite, the famous wall that says “It’s forbidden to piss here” and the second one was reaching the only shopping center in the city, for the rich people full of luxury and custom brands.
Business man from the real estate industry, work at the coffee table, while in Portugal they would be out of work here their briefcases are full of profitable business.

After a quick lunch at Burger King, a first for me believe it or not, I headed to Luanda’s office.
I consider myself lucky, due to my life experience I feel comfortable in the midst of poverty or wealth, but here, the words from my previous boss and friend echoes in my mind. “You’re going to feel important there and receive a treatment that you would never get in Portugal.” Words of wisdom that I didn’t paid much attention at the time but now I understand.

While at my new boss office, I was introduced to the Engineers and a few Doctor’s and had a nice Nespresso. I also helped to fix a problem in the new, top of the line, Mac that was sitting at the table, belonging to someone that doesn’t even knew what the refresh button did.

And of I went to the airport, after stopping at 4 security posts to check my papers I boarded the plane, tired, sleepy, and uncomfortable and with a sudden urge to rip my nose of finally it was time to take off.
My arm rest belonged to the old man sitting by my side, and part of my seat to, it didn’t even crossed my mind to complain, and on the other side a tanned Chinese man that moved like he had thumbtacks in his seat.
Boarding a national flight here is a risk, between flights that are ridiculously late, baggage that gets lost and the lack of hygiene in the plane we still have to deal with the cheerful commentary of the rest of the passengers. Like the lady that received a call when we were taking of, the man that got up, took her phone and turned it off and the flight attendant screaming for him to sit down and put his seat back.
The snacks were served in a rush, working like a production line and followed by a little episode of Mr Bean to keep us company. In a flight that only took 50 minutes I was happy to reach solid ground, with a smile on my face because there is no point in complaining or to be pissed, it changes nothing.

Finally at 21h30 I arrived at the Cabinda’s airport and stepped for the first time on my new home.

Primeiras fotos.