Criminal, guilty of sketching, said the police.

Maputo, great city, great people.
Just one major glitch -apart from the traffic jams and go-slows- one can be arrested for sketching crime (banged up abroad with 50gr of watercolours, for immoral behaviour).
I was in Maputo for a job last week and, jumping on the opportunity that my last meeting for the day had been cancelled, I decided to draw one of the landmark of the Mozambican capital.
A modern-style church made like an origami. Very interesting thing.
I checked the place around, made sure that I was not getting in the way of passers-by, nor facing any governmental buildings and started my lines, ink and watercolours.
I was just doing my thing, in the afternoon, just chilled.

There stopped a black and white single cab full of cinzentos, the beloved police in charge of order and security.
Four conflict-resolution experts jumped off, and the car went. Tightly holding their AKs in an unobtrusive and comfortable way, nozzles facing me, they came to give me the comfort a lonely man need and surrounded me.
I was so happy to meet art-loving policemen, and- who knows- possible fellow sketchers!
Damn I was so wrong.
"Papers!", "Where is your authorization? ", "what you do is illegal!", "What are you doing here?", "You have to come to the esquadra for a fine", "It is going to be very expensive", "you are going to prison", "Don't you know you cannot take picture and make movies here?",  "It is illegal!", "Do you plan to put a bomb!",
bla bla bla. The bomb thing was way over the top. Never heard anybody saying I sketch so I bomb. Unless they mean photo bomb or spray cans. But the police officer was not open to semantics. 

They just wanted to chat and ask questions, talking shit, making you feel shit and unease, and playing the bully. They sure know how to do it.

So, I kept on sketching, told them that it was my hobby and the conversation went around these lines:
- No-one needs a despacho to do their hobby 
-you don't need an authorization for drinking beer in a bar, not even from your wife

-hahaha-

and that my drawings were surely not good enough to cause any harm, etc.  Just the usual chit-chat, testing limits and trying your luck.
It took a good half an hour to have them off me and get the "authorization" to finish the sketch. We exchanged numbers, promised to go and visit each-others and hugged.
It is easy to lose your temper in such situation. Then they win. Keep calm and treat police with the most unnatural respect, whether a US immigration officer, a French gendarme or a Mozambican cinzento, they all play the same game, the same way, with different tools.
They need to feel that you are afraid, that they are right. After all, it's their job to respond to extra-ordinary behaviours as a sure threat, because people acting different are, indeed, trouble makers. So if you look different, contest rules, disagree, stop when people walk, draw in the street, or whatever... if you are outside the ideal mould, you will meet men in uniforms more than once. And you’ll have amazing philosophical discussion in ethology and social behaviours. Generally police officers around here are always ready to talk and understand your perspective. It does not happen that way everywhere.


To be fair, I have to admit that I knew there are warnings in taking pictures in Mozambique. One cannot take a picture or movie of a strategic public buildings (police stations, army barracks, airports, ministries, etc.). But the extend of "strategic building" is up to interpretation. And so, it seems, the interpretation of a picture/ movie.  A friend of mine had a similar nonsense taking a picture of a monument celebrating the freedom fighters (http://africafarandwide.wordpress.com/)

That's the story of how I escaped years in prison and absolute impoverishment to finish the sketch of Polana’s church. Good that I escaped prison, it's never nice to have a criminal record whilst hunting for work. 
Had I known, I would have chosen a subject a bit more flamboyant and controversial than a church… something really revolutionary, illegal or socially involved. 
Anyway, apart from that police incident (and another one involving a friend of mine a couple of days later), it was really cool to go to Maputo and stay with good friends there, see their kids growing, drink a respectable amount of 2M, meet theirs mates, really nice.

And work went fine as well. I did an evaluation of a project that measured and worked on the discrimination and stigma people living with HIV/AIDS are faced with (http://www.stigmaindex.org). Really interesting, and I had the incredible opportunity to meet activists that are giving all their energy for their cause. Always inspiring.

Beira's Bars

Leaving Harare for Beira tomorrow and going back to spending a good amount of time in bars and restaurants, patiently waiting for my orders to eventually be ready.
The following sketches were made last time I travelled there. Mira Mar, disgusting food, peculiar and mixed clientèle, is a great place to sketch, there is always something to catch, people having a drink, the ballet of friendly girls, the band,... Unfortunately now the beach front has been blocked by large canvas, so it's not possible anymore to sit and sip whilst looking at the sea, the sellers and courageous joggers. Will try to get it next time, from beira bar then.  
 

These two next sketches were made @ bambu bar, recently opened by Fidelina. Its unfortunately difficult to find for it is hidden in a back alley of the Ponta Gea market and there is absolutely no indication about it on the door... which stays closed because of the aircon running. Then again, one feels like a guest there, sharing the secret of a shadowy place.
 

 A quick face caught at the Esplanada bar. I don't even know its name, its on a type of mirrador in front of the central hospital of Beira. Was having a small beer with Martin there, who seems to be a frequent customer there for as soon as he parks his jeep, the waiter opens a small 2M, prepare an ashtray and trains his smile. That day, Sheila was enjoying the hospitality of the Hospital Central of Beira, giving birth to a big boy. Because Martin was not welcome in the delivery room, we had to stay at bay, close enough to be able to hear the screaming and smell the iodine, but at a reasonable distance not to be seen with a beer and samusas. Women in labour have little sense of empathy. 

 

 This one was done at Solange, although the coffee and pastel de nata were taken the next day at So bolos.
Moz imports a lot of things from Portugal, and Delta Coffee seems to be a must for all coffee places in town. I don't want to disrespect the delta corporation nor the great portuguese industry behind it (or Sagres beer), but there are other alternatives, and Zimbabwe is producing great beans. 

Speaking of Sagres, it is sold in 20cl beer bottles. How ridiculous, looks like one of those you will receive in a plane. So sitting next to the natives of the algarve, full of saudade of their home country, sipping minuscule droplets of Sagres, you will find any other connoisseur  with common sense, going for the local cervejas that not only taste good but as well is made for the climate in 33 or 66 cl.
I recently discovered that in the one dry restaurant (Churasqueira on the independence place with the Samora Machel statue), they started selling the 20cl Sagres. To me its either because they think it is a joke, because they appreciate the effort of putting so much package for such a small contents or because they see it as halaal. In any case, when a dry place serves Sagres, water and juice, there is something fishy.  

Another good spot, the 9to9 bar. Good food, good drinks, good prices.
And here he was, in front of me, El Père Noël in person, sipping a draft, talking business, in a blue overall.
I always found the HoHo-man a bit too much: Who in his right state of mind would be pretending to have a healthy relationship with deers and gnomes, only wears red fluffy coat and trousers, speaks with a US-accent and above all lives in the pole and drinks coke instead of the aquavit (that is the only way to keep blood from freezing). It did not look anything else but fake and every christmas, I have to lie, and lie and lie  and lie to my children. It's a torture.
Now I know better, he pretends to do that, probably for adverts reason, but in real life, he lives on the beach in Beira, does not drink Sagres, specializes in radiators and even speaks australian. Now I've got something with substance to tell my kids when I lie to them about who is piling presents under the Christmas tree, it will make me feel less bad.
I hope I'll see the Easter bunny in one of Beira's bar next month.