Whopsie-Daisy!

So last week I posted something about the government ordering the closure of the UN's Office of the High Commission on Human Rights.

Today, AngoNoticias reports on this important clarification:
"Nunca existiu um escritorio do Alto Comissariado da ONU para os direitos humanos."
"There never was an Office of the High Commission on Human Rights [in Angola]."

That pretty much sums up Angolan journalism, right there.

Apparently there was a section for human rights in the old observing UN mission, but the government denies that it sent a memo asking it to close.

We have a winner

According to CNN, Augusta Urica has won Miss Landmine 2008! Parabens! Her picture can be found here. There's also a nice slideshow there.

As the winner, she received her crown from the First Lady, Ana Paola. She wins a new artifical limb (which, from what I have seen, are prety rare here) and US$2,500.

Now, I tried to go on the website and see which province she represents, but she's not listed as a contestant. Odd. After some Googling, I found out that she is from Luanda. No offense to Miss Urica, but Luanda always wins everything! It would have been nice for someone from a province to win, like Huambo, Benguela or Bie, since those are the provinces most affected by landmines (I believe).

Also, I was mistaken when I said that this event took place last year. This apparently is the first yearo f the contest, although I could have sworn I read something about this last year. Oh well.

"Governmet orders closure of UN's human rights office"

... as reported by Radio Ecclesia.

In spite of being elected to the UN’s Human Rights Council in May 2007, the Angolan government has apparently asked the UN’s Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) to close its office and leave Angola.

This article is in Portuguese and doesn’t give too much information as to why exactly they have been asked to leave. It’s interesting because in its letter presenting its candidacy for the Human Rights Council seat, the government lists its continued collaboration and dialogue with the OHCHR as part of its plan for human rights in Angola. Hmmm.

The outgoing representative, Vergard Bye, says the following about human rights and Angola:

A violação mais importante aqui em Angola e em geral em África é a violação dos
direitos sócio-económicos e sobre tudo o facto de Angola ser o país com maior
cresimento económico do mundo. Isto contrasta com alguns dado como por exemplo
de Angola ser o segundo país do mundo em mortalidade infantil.

My rough translation: The important violation in Angola, and in Africa in general,
is the violation of socio-economic rights, above all the fact that Angola is the
country with the biggest economic growth in the work. This contrasts with
data that, for example, shows Angola ranks as the second country in the world in infant mortality. (Emphasis mine.)

And the winner is?

Bocoio, 2007

Well, I'm sorry to say that I have no idea who won Miss Landmine Angola 2008. The pagaent was last night, but it wasn't broadcast on TPA (1 or 2) and I haven't heard any updates on the radio. Apparently there were more important things to put on TPA last night, like a Portuguese league futebol game and a Mexican telenovela.

Perhaps it was just a big deal in the Western media, not Angolan media. I'll ask some colleagues if they have heard anything. From the various articles and blog posts I've read, people either love or hate this idea.

I'm one of the people who love this idea. Not having seen the pagaent, I can't judge it completely, but from what I've seen on the website and in media reports, it's a positive event made to bring awareness to the cause of landmines in Angola and to give attention to these women who, otherwise, would be completely ignored by society. These women are typical Angolan women: largely single mothers, out of work and selling qualquer coisa (anything) just to make some money to feed their children. The pagaent won't likely change any of that, but I'm not sure that's the purpose. If a few hours in a fancy hotel and fancy clothes can make them feel better about themselves, then I'm all for it.

Some have made the argument that the $80,000 spent on this event would have been better spent on an NGO or on activities. Well, guess what? There are several NGOs dedicated to landmine destruction/removal in Angola. (The Halo Trust, Mine Action Group and UMCOR are a few.) They've all been here for a number of years and do wonderful work. But I argue that this one event has brought more attention to people who had never heard of Angola or this problem than donating $80,000 to an NGO.

People outside of Angola may not believe this, but $80,000 doesn't go very far here. Let me give a bit of perspective. I mentioned earlier that my organization is in the middle of developing a response to the flooding in Cunene province. We've been calling some of the embassies in Luanda to see if they have funds available, etc. One embassy offered us $50,000 or so for food and blanket distribtuion. The people assigned to the project went to some of the warehouses here to get prices. The price of ONE BLANKET is $100. So if we spent that $50,000 on nothing but blankets, we could only provide 500 blankets. So I'm actually pretty impressed that the organizers were able to put this event together for $80,000 in a city where a run-down apartment rents for $10,000 per month.

Miss Landmine 2008: Now it's CNN's turn...

CNN has a more descriptive write-up of the Miss Landmine Angola pagaent. (For once, CNN beat the BBC in terms of accuracy and detail!) The event seems to be getting a lot of press, which is nice because that means that the issue of landmines is getting more attention world-wide (and hopefully more money).

The pagaent is tonight. I'll try and catch it on TPA, although they often don't broadcast these things live. Poor Miss Moxico- according to the website, she is in last place in terms of internet votes.

Better late than never

Not a copihue

I love Chile. I spent a total of a year and a half there, between my university year abroad and just traveling. Perhaps it's because it was my first time experiencing a different culture and living abraod, but I look back at my time there as some of the best of my life.



Now that I have lived in other countries, my appreciation for Chile has grown. The carabineros (police) are trustworthy! The politicians aren't corrupt! You can drink the water! And, as it turns out, they deliver the mail!



The last time I visited Chile was in December 2003. As always, I sent out a batch of postcards to friends and family. I was living in New York at the time, and when I got back after my 3 week trip, no one had gotten my postcards. By January and February, I assured my family and friends that I had indeed thought of them, but that Correos de Chile screwed up.



Fast forward to March 31, 2008. I get an email from my father saying that he and my mother got a postcard from me. In his words, he thought, "That sneaky devil, flying off to Chile for a vacation!" until he read that I was reluctant to go back to the NYC winter.



Yes folks, 5 years and 3 months later, the postcards were delivered! My sister also got a postcard from the same batch, postmarked 2003 (the one my parents got didn't have a postmark). Most of the other people I sent them to have moved in the last five years, so who knows if they will turn up.



Viva Chile!

More tala stories

Earlier I wrote about the tala and the trouble it can cause. My friend Dominga confirmed its existence. Her own father fell victim to the tala!

Her father, who passed away not long ago, was a carpenter. During the war he had a lot of work replacing furniture that had been destroyed during fighting. People became very jealous of him, because as their lives were getting worse, his seemed to be improving. So someone put the tala on him out of envy. His leg became covered in boils and swelled to a large size.

He was a devout Catholic, so he refused to believe that he had fallen victim to witchcraft and, even worse, that his cure lied in witchcraft. Finally, his sister brought the curandeiro (traditional healer) to the house and the two of them were able to convince him to take the cure. The curandeiro made several small cuts on her father's leg and rubbed the herbs in.

The next day he was fine.

Benguela Railroad

Here it comes...

The president of Zambia was in Lobito recently on a diplomatic mission, checking on, among other things, the progress of the reconstruction of the Caminho de Ferro de Benguela (Benguela Railway) that will go from the port of Lobito and west to Zambia. This used to be a major transport route to Zambia, bringing Zambian cooper to Angola and beyond. (There are some interesting pictures and history here.)

The war detroyed much of the rails beyond Cubal, and the government of Angola has given the contract to reconstruct the railway to a Chinese company. (Who else?!) The train does run from Lobito to Cubal a few times a week, but the train is mostly used as a "commuter" train between Lobito and Benguela.

I've been meaning to take a picture of the train for a long time, and last week got stopped by its crossing and was finally able to take these pictures. Those smudges are from the windhsield.

It's not actually crowded on the train cars. These guys are just train "surfers" and adventure-seekers who grab on and ride a bit without paying.

The train crossing is a bit strange. Only one lane of the street has a barrier that comes down, and it is manually operated. This guy with a red flag comes out and puts it down about 5 seconds before the train is about to cross or even as it is crossing. Needless to say, I always go very slowly when I approach the tracks.

It's a bit dark, but that's the guy with the red flag in his hand...

The guy in blue was hanging on the outside and had just jumped off.

Miss Landmine Angola in the BBC

Today on the BBC website there is an article about the Miss Landmine Angola 2008 pagaent.

I wrote about this before. All in all, I think its a good way to raise awareness about landmines in Angola. I admit it; I'm a traitor to my province. I voted for Miss Moxico.

On Easter Sunday, a Brazilian friend and a friend of his went bike riding up where they are slated to build the new Lobito refinery. Someone had told him there were landmines up there, so he started to worry when they happened upon boxes of old ammunition. His friend went around exploring and luckily didn't get blown up.

The bridge leading to Cubal from the road to Benguela. Destroyed during the war, never rebuilt. Rumor has it that it will be rebuilt by the Chinese. Of course!

Because Angola’s civil war lasted so long (30 years or so), many (if not most) adult men over the age of 30 or so served some time in the military. For the most part, people don’t really talk about it. I’m not sure if it’s because of bad memories/trauma, fear of repercussion or because the fighting never hit Lobito as hard as it did in the interior, but it’s not something people talk about every day- at least not to me. Having said that, if someone was affiliated with one side- MPLA (the government/ruling party) or UNITA (the rebels)- everyone knows it.

It’s really strange for me to think about. The people I see every day in the office have seen the worst of humanity, and in some cases, actively participated in it. I’m not judging anyone- I fully appreciate the luxury of not having lived in a war-torn country. It’s just a little mind-boggling to think that my friends and colleague have suffered so much and seen things that I can never imagine.

My organization doesn’t hire based on political party affiliation (something that unfortunately is not as common as it should be here), so we have people from both sides working here. We have rules about official politcking in the workplace, but even without them I don't think it would be an issue. I normally don’t give it a second thought, but every so often I have these moments when I realize that many of my coworkers could have easily killed each other at some point during the war.

This morning I had a strange interaction with two other people who happen to have fought on opposing sides in the war. These two guys were not just every-day soldiers- apparently the fofoca (gossip) is that they were both loyal to their sides and fought for a long time.

One, whom I’ll call Party-Hack Pedro (clearly not his real name) is older and was a young man in the new army when the MPLA took over newly independent Angola. He traveled all over the country and saw heavy fighting along the border of Namibia. This morning, we happened to walk in the office at the same time. We were chit-chatting about our holiday weekends and what we had done, when we happened upon RPG Roberto (also not his real name).

RPG Roberto fought for UNITA manning, what else, RPGs (rocket-propelled grenades). Apparently he was so good at it that he became famous and whenever they really needed someone who could launch an RPG spot-on, he was the one they called. (Note: I have never heard this directly from him, just from ex-pat coworkers, so it could all be a gross exaggeration.)

As Party-hack Pedro and I approached RPG Roberto, Party-Hack Pedro suddenly changed the conversation and said in a very loud voice, “Yes, this weekend I went to Biópio to visit the hydro-electric dam there. I defended it AND my homeland in the 70s. I wanted to go back and visit my old friends who didn't betray us back then!” RPG Roberto, who is one of the nicest people I have met here, just smiled like it was nothing. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like an awfully weird thing to say, considering I have never, ever talked with Party-Hack Pedro about the war, other than to say he was a soldier. I suddenly felt really awkward, convinced that I was a pawn in a game of war-time one-upmanship. I pointed to my bag and said, “Okay, time for work!” and took off.

It was all in my imagination, though. As I got my morning cup of coffee, the two of them were out there laughing. Probably at me.

Oh, the hilarity...

I wish this article was in English. The title is "'TAAG Shouldn't Even Be on the Black List,' Laments Luís Brandão [Minister of Transportation]"

Em entrevista quarta-feira ultima a Radio Nacional de Angola (RNA) Luís Brandão disse que “a última palavra é dos europeos. Para nós, a TAAG nem deve estar na lista negra.”

Rough translation: In an interview with Radio Nacional de Angola last Wednesday Luis Brandao says that "the final word [whether TAAG is allowed to fly in EU airspace] lies with the Europeans. According to us, TAAG shouldn't even be on the black list."

...Em Julho passado, Bruxelas anunciou a inclusào da TAAG na lista negra da UE por motivos de falta de segurança, depois do Comité de Segurança Aéreo, uma semana antes, ter aprovado por unanimidade uma decisão neste sentido.

...Last July, Brussels announced the inclusion of TAAG on the black list of the EU due to lack of security after the Air Security Agency, one week earlier, had approved unanimously this decision. [Emphasis mine]

Hee! Really, it's quite funny. Maybe Mr. Brandão should remind the EU that it's the carry-on bags that are causing the problem, not so-called "security problems." And come one, what do these "experts" on these EU "Air Security Agencies" really know that TAAG doesn't?

When it rains, it pours

Last Wednesday heavy rains fell in Lobito. The main street, recently paved, was fine, but the side streets were an absolute mess. This is the street in front of my colleague Elizabeth's house. She lives one block from the office. She had to get her son to carry her piggy-back style, to work on Thursday morning. It hasn't rained heavily since, and most of the water has dried up. However, there are still standing pools and lots and lots of mud.

The Price of Living Forever

As we crossed into Benguela province, Manuel (my favorite driver) started telling some stories about the area. I always enjoy driving with Manuel because he's open about the war and his political ideas.

He talked about the heavy fight that went on in one particular area. We crossed a bridge and he said, "The South Africans never made it past this bridge. They killed every last one of them."

Then he started telling stories about the brutality of one particular commander who was especially cruel. Apparently this one commander would kill any person who slighted him in the least, so the population of the area lived in fear. As we passed a roadside market and a hill with a lone hut on top. He pointed to it and said, "A man lives in that house, and no one can ever take his picture." I assumed he meant that he was wanted for a crime or wary of technology, but Manuel quickly corrected me. "No, Leslie. There is not a camera on earth that will take his picture."

He explained that this man was so fearful of losing his life to the cruel commander or to the violence surrounding the area that he went to a feticeiro (witch doctor) and requested a spell that would make him live forever. The side effect of this spell is that he literally cannot have his picture taken. People have tried to take his picture, but it never comes out. All of his offical documents- identity card, voter registration card- are missing the picture. Not only that, but his name cannot be writen by any machine- no typewriter, no computer will spell out his name.

As a result, no one wants to be near him, so he is doomed to spend the rest of his life all alone.

Cunene Floods

One house flooded. Note the proximity of the water to the side of the road. Normally this road is raised by at least 5 feet.

In addition to slipping across the border to renew my 90-day visa, I went to Cunene to gather information about the devastating flooding going on in the southern province that borders with Namibia.

It has rained much more than usual- in fact Cunene was suffering from a drought before the rains came. Estimates are that 40,000 families have been affected in some way.

The director of our local partner agency and I tried to meet with some government officials to get numbers but it was short notice and I’m not important enough, so no one would meet with us. On the radio they said 23,000 people in Ondjiva (the capital city of Cunene province) had been displaced (read- homeless).

An IDP tent in one of the camps

The situation in Ondjiva alone was shocking. We visited two IDP (internally displaced persons) camps that had been set up by the government. The tents are crammed with people- we heard of one tent that was housing 4 families- and all the belongings they could grab before their houses were flooded. I saw no more than 3 makeshift latrines for each camp which, by the looks of it, house approximately 2,000 families (which would be around 10,000 to 15,000 people). Not a pleasant or sanitary set-up, to say the least.

What’s interesting about the Ondjiva flooding is that it doesn’t come from a river- it is simply accumulated water and all over the city. This poses an intense public health risk- I witnessed countless children playing in the water as if it was a giant swimming pool, adults with giant nets fishing inside the sewage gates which were gushing with water and dozens of people living right next to the stagnant water.

Note how close this house is to the water.

It’s harder to gauge what is happening in the interior of the province. It can only be worse. Unlike communities in Benguela province which are relatively close to one another, communities in Cunene are very spread out. Your closest neighbor may be a few miles away, so it’s difficult to know who has been displaced or killed. There weren’t any roads to speak of in the first place, so whatever was there has been washed out, making rescue and relief efforts difficult.

We will be bringing in an internal consultant to do a proper assessment and response proposal. Our partner plans to focus on the rural areas where response has been minimal. Sadly, it will only get worse as March is the peak of the rainy season.

Awesome, in the truest sense of the word

Sunset, Saturday March 8, 2008 in Restinga, Lobito.

The visa saga continues...

(Part 1 of 3)

Two weeks ago I sat down and counted out the days left on my visa- I had fewer days left than I thought I did so I had to get out of the country within two weeks. It didn’t make sense to pay a lot of money to go to South Africa or Zambia, so my supervisor and I decided it made the most sense for me to go visit our programming partner in Cunene and run across the border to Namibia for a few hours.

I got on the direct flight from Benguela to Ondjiva (the capital of Cunene province). The flight was scheduled to leave from the smaller airport in Catumbela, which is 30 minutes away from Lobito. For some reason that’s not clear to me (like so many things here), you must check in and go through immigration control at the Benguela airport (1 hr from Lobito), then drive to the Catumbela airport to wait.

You might remember my visa fiasco from the last time I flew out of the Benguela airport. (Quick recap: Angola has immigration checks on all domestic flights. Two Benguela immigration officials are convinced, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, that I am in gross violation of my visa.) Immediately after that run-in, Elisabeth, the head of our HR department, called some provincial government big-wigs, all of whom agreed that I was correct. The provincial people assured us that it would not be a problem in the future. We should have known better.

Just my luck, the exact same two officials who tried to arrest me last December were the ones on duty last Wednesday as I was leaving for Cunene. Great. Sure enough, they recognized me and my visa and once again threatened to arrest me and, in a new twist, fine me. Their supervisor happened to be there, so the called him over and explained their side of the story. This was frustrating because I have a feeling that had he looked at the visa on its own, he would have come to a different conclusion, just like every other immigration agent I’ve encountered in this country. Now that the three of them were against me, I plead my case, telling them in a polite way that Elisabeth called the provincial government officials and had the situation resolved. They didn’t believe me (!!!) so I called Elisabeth and gave the phone to the supervisor to talk to her.

The supervisor was reasonable enough, but not enough to be fully reasonable. He explained to Elisabeth that she had called the wrong people (even though they were the people they told us to call the last time). The three people then began to argue about what to do; the two original ones wanted to take me in, but the supervisor luckily won out and I felw out to Cunene because we showed evidence that we were trying to resolve the problem. “But you’ll have a serious problem when you try to come back in the country! Vai ver! You’ll see!” (Ha! They didn’t give my visa a second look at the border checkpoint.)

The bad news is that they DID make it very clear that if I showed up again without a written declaration from the people they indicated to us, I would be arrested and fined, no exceptions. That means that this latest trip to Cunene might have been my last, unless we can get this letter. It also means that I will have to drive to and from Luanda, which takes about 6 – 7 hours.
So, if I can’t fly in and out of Benguela, then how did I get back home from Cunene? A trip from hell, as evidenced in the following post.

TAAG - Mystery of the EU Ban Solved

(Part 2 of 3)

Because there are two immigration agents in the Benguela airport out to get me, I was unable to make the trip from Cunene to Benguela via air. There is major flooding in Cunene and the roads leading to the north, which were in horrible condition in the first place, are now totally inaccessible. My only option, therefore, was to fly to Luanda and then drive back to Lobito: meaning that a trip that usually takes 1 hour by air would take two full days.

The only available flight to Luanda the Friday I was scheduled to leave was on TAAG. You might know TAAG as the nationalized airline that crashed a plane in Mbanza Congo on they same day that they were put on the black list and banned from flying in the European Union. (A twist of fate that could only happen in Angola.) Needless to say, I was not excited, but the only way to avoid TAAG was to wait until Wednesday. I just had to suck it up and hope for the best.

Check-in was to begin at 6:30 for a 9:30 flight, so I got there at 7 am. Checked in without a problem, especially since I didn’t have any bags to check. 9:30 came and went. 11:00 came and went. Finally around noon, I went to the TAAG window and asked for information about the flight. “Has it left Luanda?” “Oh yes, it has.” “Really? When did it leave? When will it arrive?” “Oh, I don’t know. Soon.” Helpful.

Finally, around 3:30, the plane arrived from Luanda. There was a mad rush to the door and out we went onto the tarmac. There was a hold-up getting on to the plane; the airline people weren’t allowing anyone on board with their carry-on bags. For some reason they didn’t say anything to me, and I managed to get to the stairs. A baggage handler ran over and stopped me from getting on. “You can’t get on with any bags!” I asked for an explanation and was told that the crew in Luanda and second city on the route hadn’t complied with the carry-on restrictions, so they weren’t letting any people carry things on in Cunene. I said as calmly as I could, “TAAG has made me wait for six hours. I refuse to have to wait any more because of a mistake you made.” He still insisted- no apology, of course- and grabbed my carry-on. Assuming it was finished, I started to go up the stairs to the plane. “No, I need the other one too!” He was referring to my purse! Pretty ridiculous, if you ask me. I explained that I had my camera, wallet, passport, and money in there- if he was willing to sign a paper listing every single item with its value and be held responsible, then I would give him the bag. Finally succumbing to reason, he let me on the plane with my purse.

The flight attendant was not as “helpful.” Sure enough, all the overhead bins were in use, so I put the purse underneath the seat in front of me. For some reason, the flight attendants wouldn’t let anyone have anything underneath the seats, so she said she would put my purse in the back of the plane. I refused because, as I said, I had my camera, passport, etc and didn’t want it out of my sight. “Senhora. It’s because of these carry-on bags on the floor that we got citations and were put on the black lists in Europe!” I looked at her and just laughed. Oh, it’s the CARRY-ON bags that banned TAAG from the EU!? Mystery solved!

Her solution was as inane as her comment. He asked the man sitting across the aisle to get out of his seat and move to another one. She put my purse in the empty seat and strapped it in with the seat belt. The woman sitting next to me said, “You won’t let her put in under the seat so you put it on top of the seat?!” Glad to know I wasn’t the only one astounded by the whole thing.

Finally, on to Lobito

One way to try and get a big 18-wheeler out of a pit of mud...

(Part 3 0f 3)

My colleagues and I left for Luanda around 8 am on Saturday. I’ve give a lot of credit to the Chinese- the road to Luanda is paved and smooth as a baby’s bottom, making it a pleasant trip- at least until the turnoff to Lobito. They haven’t finished paving the road so cars are forced to take a secondary dirt road. That wouldn’t be too comfortable during the dry season, so you can imagine what it would be like during the rainy season.

We got stuck for about an hour as all confusão broke loose. There was a major traffic jam thanks to some big trucks, taxis and buses that got stuck in the mud. When the one taxi that was causing the major delay came loose, there was a bigger problem with the jerks who had decided that everyone else just didn’t know how to drive and had tried to circumvent the wait by driving in the on-coming lane of traffic. So although there was no longer a taxi stuck in the mud, there were 4 other cars blocking its passage. It didn’t help that the drivers of these four cars were no where to be seen. When they finally reappeared, they got into a shouting match with the other drivers. They refused to go back to the end of the line of cars because they didn’t want to wait. Finally, the mob of people that quickly formed around the four cars was enough to convince them to back up and let everyone go about their way. I finally got home around 4 pm. Phew.

Watch out for the tala!

I was in my supervisor’s office this afternoon, and he received a phone call from his daughter. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but it was a little hard. “It already burst? But now it’s growing back? Okay, but put the antibiotic on.” Sounded a little gross. He sighed and said, “Oh, Leslie. We Africans, we have such crazy ideas. Have you heard about the tala?” And then he proceeded to tell me about the tala.

The tala is some sort of witchcraft or curse that affects your foot. It will swell your foot and leg so much that you will not be able to put on shoes, walk. Even worse, you will eventually have to have it amputated! But how do you get the tala? The person who curses you with the tala will put it on a keyhole or something s/he knows you will touch. Not to worry, though, if you share a house with anyone- talas know their destination, and even if you tough the tainted object, it is not meant for you and it will ignore you.

Why would anyone put a tala on you? There’s your usual revenge- you are dating a jealous lover’s ex or you are suspected of hurting someone. But it can also be to show you your place- if you get a raise at work too soon after starting the job, or the boss openly compliments your work, then you are a target.

My supervisor said that his daughter was calling on behalf of her cousin. He woke up one morning with the tala, so he put aloe vera on it. It helped quite a bit, but then the blistered popped open, so they were concerned. My supervisor didn’t seem concerned for the cousin’s future.

I asked if the tala had a cure, either through traditional or modern medicine. “Leslie, this cannot be cured in any hospital!” He then proceeded to tell me the story of the wife of a mayor of one of the municipalities where my organization used to work. One day the woman woke up with the tala, although she didn’t know it was the tala. Over the course of two years, her foot swelled to such a size that she couldn’t wear any shoes and had great difficulty walking. She went to several doctors and hospitals, and no one could cure her. Finally a doctor in Benguela told her he would have to amputate her foot. She went to Luanda to get a second opinion, but the doctor told her the same thing.

She scheduled the surgery and bought the medicine (here you have to buy the medicine in advance), but the doctor cancelled at the last minute. After rescheduling the surgery for a few weeks in advance, she went back home to wait. Her maid begged her to go see her aunt, who was a traditional healer. She conceded, and visited the aunt. The aunt took one look and said, “This is very serious. You must go see this other healer.” So she went to see another, more elderly woman, an established healer.

The healer suspected that it was tala. She got a bottle of comproto, a locally produced alcohol, and rubbed it all over the foot. She then made a cut at the bottom of the foot, sucked some blood out and then spit it out on the wall. Looking at the results, she said, “You have tala. You will go home and be able to put on shoes and walk again. Tomorrow the person who put the tala on you will come and act happy for you, but secretly they will be angry.”

The woman went home and went for her shoes. Sure enough, she put them on without problems and began to walk. The next day, a neighbor with whom she had a minor squabble came by and said, “Oh, mana! How wonderful that you are cured!”

Coincidence?

MIss Landmine Angola 2008

My dear friend Cesar emailed me a link to a website. “Is this thing for real?” he asked. The website was for the Miss Landmine Angola 2008 beauty pageant. And yes, it is for real.

I heard a little about this last year and didn’t know what to think about it. On the one hand I was put off, as I usually am with beauty pageants. On the other hand, this was obviously different and the contestants are were your typical bimbos. After looking at the website, I think it’s an interesting way to bring awareness to the landmine issue.

This year the pageant will take place in April. The website has an option to vote for the candidates, each one representing a different province in Angola. Personally, I am torn between two candidates: Miss Benguela, my hometown candidate; and Miss Moxico, because she listed her ideal job as “boss”- obviously a woman who wants to be in charge!

(By the way, Angolans LOVE beauty pagaents! There's even a Mr. Angola pagaaent, which people take very seriously.)

Conversations I have had, Pt. 2

Scene: I share a direct line to my office with two other colleagues. Recently we all got fancy cordless phones. Mine has worked fine, but my colleague Ben was having trouble with his, so he called in two repair technicians to fix the problem. They tested the line in my office and it was fine; they determined the problem was with the actual phone. However, they pressed some button and the phone suddenly worked fine. They declared the problem solved and went away. Yesterday they reappeared.

Technician 1: Hi, we’re back to fix the phone.

Me: The phone has been working fine since you were last here. I just made a phone call a few minutes ago.

Technician 1: No, it’s still broken. You need to use the other one. (Referring to the fixed handset model I was using before.)

Technician 2: Yes, you see the computer is causing the problem.

Me: But there is no more problem. The phone works.

Technician 1: Yes, it’s the computer that’s causing the problem.

Me: How is the computer causing the problem?

Technician 1: Interference.

Me: But the phone works fine.

I turn the phone on speaker mode and dial my cell phone to show it works. The call is completed without problems.

Technician 1, to Technician 2: Well, I guess it works okay.

Technician 2: Yes, I guess they should just use their own telephones.

Technician 1: I suppose it’s okay. (Now to me) Okay, please sign this paper saying I fixed the phone again today.

I look at the paper. It is an invoice written by hand on a scrap of paper about 6”x6”.

Me: Well, I’m not the one who ordered your services, so I can’t sign it. Also, the phone was working just fine.

Technician 1: Yes, but you have to pay for our services today.

Me: You should probably see the person who called for your services. Who called you?

Technician 1: No one. We are just following up.

At this point I just send them to Ben down the hall.

Just another day at the office

Band of goats hanging out in our parking lot.

Bonus feature: Smoke from burning trash in empty lot next to school (out of range of picture). Said empty lot is rumored to be either: a) new compound for the Chinese workers who have been contracted to remodel the school next door; or b)storage space for all the materials the Chinese will use to remodel the school.

Suddenly, Texas Democrats matter!

Any article about Texas politics is bound to be interesting, but I especially like this one because it focuses on the role of women.


It talks about Sissy Farenthold, former member of the Texas House of Prepresentative. My senior year of high school, I won third place in an essay contest about reform of the United Nations. All three of us winners happened from the same high school and have the same teacher (the excellent Wendall Zartman), so we all went together to the dinner where we were awarded our scholarships (mine was $500).


As they presented us, they mentioned where we were planning on going to college. After the emcee mentioned that I would be going to Vassar, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A woman handed me a card with the name Sissy Farenthold and a phone number printed on it, with "Vassar Alumna" handwritten underneath it. "Call me if you need anything," she whispered.

I said thank you and went back to listening to the program. During the break, Mr Zartman rushed over to me and said, "Leslie, do you know who that was?!" Since the two years of Texas history I took in school ended somewhere around the turn of the 20th century, I didn't know who she was and that she was an important person to know. I took the card home and showed my parents. They encouraged me to call her up, but I was too afraid and didn't know what to say to her so I let it lie. Many years later I regret it.

Finally, there is this commentary in the NYT about the sudden importance of Texas Democrats. Here the author describes watching the New Hampshire contest:

Naturally, we were a little testy, staring at that all-white scenery, hearing state residents complain about too many town hall meetings, too much news coverage, too much attention from candidates. Enough of that. At least their votes counted. With March 4 a distant speck in the snowstorm, we knew our primary votes would never matter.

Glad to see she was wrong. But as a Texan living overseas, my vote still won't matter. I have yet to receive my early voting ballot. Oh well.

Land wrongs (not land rights)

At work this week we are having a team-building workshop. It's an interesting workshop, if nothing else because we have gotten the opportunity to get to know each other in a way that doesn't have anything to do with budget management or signing paperwork. In one get-to-know-you exercise, we had to talk about something in our past that has had influence in our present lives. I was really struck by the story of one colleague. I'll call him Carlos (not his real name).

Carlos has worked for us for about 10 years, rising through the ranks. He's about my age, around 32. He's about to get married and in preparation, last year he decided to buy some land to eventually build a house on.

Buying land here is a very tricky, complicated process. To avoid any scams, he decided to buy the land through the municipal land office. He went with them to look at the property, signed all the necessary paperwork and gave them all the money. (Around $30,000.) A few weeks after buying the land, he went to check it out and start plotting out where he was going to build the house. To his surprise, he saw a construction crew there, laying cement. He asked what they were doing, and he discovered that the municipality had sold the land to someone else.

He went to the municipality to find out what had happened. It turns out that someone in the municipality had forgotten to file a piece of minor paperwork, so they put the property back on the market and sold it. Carlos was obviously upset, so he demanded to speak to the person's superior and get some answers. Apparently this was totally unreasonable, so they put him in jail. For 4 days.

Carlos's brother is a police officer, so he was able to influence a little and get Carlos out after the four days. After shelling out all that money for land (money which just disappeared) he couldn't afford to hire a lawyer. Luckily, he was able to find a public advocate who decided to take up his case.

The municipality refused to acknowledge the mistake and tried to put the blame on him. He asked for his money back and they refused to give it to him. Finally, the municipality offered to find him a similar plot of land and give it to him.

The story is pretty outrageous. But what impressed me the most was Carlos's reaction. Rather than be bitter about everything, he managed to put a positive spin on it. "Now maybe they will change their behavior, because word has gotten out about what happened. They won't be able to do it to others anymore"

Conversations I have had

Sometimes I'll be chatting with a friend from the States about about a conversation I've had here in Angola, and the friend will stop me and say, "WHAT?!' These are just some of those conversations that, to me, have become normal, but outside of Angola are bizarre.

Scene: Me walking to my boss' house on a Saturday for a day of work. Passing by an empty lot where a lot of poor families live.
Street kids: Amiga! Amiga!
Me: Amigos! Amigos!
Kids look at each other, shocked that I spoke to them.
One kid: Give me 50 Kwanza, amiga! (US$0.75)
Me: No, sorry. Nothing on me.
Same kid: But amiga, I'm hungry!
Me: I'm hungry too!
Kid: But you're so much fatter than we are!

Scene: An Angolan friend and I, talking.
Me: You know there is a new Chinese restaurant in Benguela. We should go.
Friend: Yeah, but you have to be careful, because if you eat too much Chinese food you could end up like this! (Make politically-incorrect Chinese eyes using his hands.)

Scene: At a party where the song "We Are the World" is playing
Me: Wow, I can't believe everyone knows this song. Do they know the story behind it?
Angolan Friend: Yeah, they made it to stop the famine in Ethiopia.
Pause
Angolan Friend: We got really excited when this song came out, because we thought after saving Ethiopia they would come, stop the war and save us. They never came.
(Background: This friend was forced to join the army right out of high school and fought in the war.)

Scene: Me coming into work after a late night of working. My colleague, Ben, knocks on my door.
Ben: Princess! Good morning. Is everything alright?
Me: Oh, I'm a little tired, but okay.
Ben: I can tell tell. Even from far away.
Me: Yes, I have a lot of work.
Ben: Even from far away you look very bad.
Me: Uh, thanks.
Ben: Really, really bad!

The instant Nescafe jar is a perfect touch...

Like just about every other Valentine’s Day I’ve had, this year’s was depressing. I absolutely recognize the commercial aspect of this invented holiday, but in general I feel pretty lonely in Angola so it just gets heightened on a day dedicated to love, even if it ain’t so genuine. It didn’t help that radio stations were playing cheesy love songs all day- there’s only so much Micahel Bolton I can handle.

There must have been a mood going around the office, because Elisabeth, our HR director, came by my office with these flowers. I wondered if I was giving off the sad vibe until I saw she had done the same for everyone in the office.

So it wasn’t such a bad day after all.

Basil Mania!

This is just ONE of my basil plants! You can also see a germanium hiding behind it all.

One frustrating thing about Lobito is the lack of spices and herbs available in the stores and markets. I’ve amassed a decent collection of spices from my trips to South Africa and the US. (You don’t know how much you need chili powder until you don’t have it!) Cilantro is available at certain times of the year, so I’ve taken to buying it in bulk when it’s available and putting it in the freezer. It works out pretty well, especially for soups.

When I was at home in September I decided to buy some herb seeds and grow fresh herbs at home. Apart from a Chia pet I had in college, I’ve never really grown anything. Feeling very smart, I got some dirt from my friend Mark and dumped about ½ the packet of basil seeds into the small pot. Within a few days they sprouted and I got very excited.

This all happened when my friend Mark and his girlfriend Dominga were staying with me for a bit. Mark used to run our agriculture projects, so I was eager to show off my new box-gardening skills. He looked at it and said, “So, how many of those did you put in there? How far apart did you space the seeds?” My enthusiasm gave way to panic as I realized I probably should have read the instructions before planting.

He explained that I would have to transplant the shoots into new pots, since the plant would kill each other if left them as they were. So I went out and bought even more pots. Mark was kind enough to give me more of his compost dirt. (Dirt is unbelievably hard to come by here.) Soon I had 6 pots of basil sprouting. Now the situation is somewhat out of control. I have more basil than I know what to do with! I’ve given one pot away to Bernie and Christina to lighten the load.

The great thing about Mark’s dirt is that it had all these other seeds in it. So now, besides basil, I have some germaniums and even tomato plants. I can’t wait to have tomatoes with basil from my own kitchen!

So, any other ideas of how I can use all this basil? I’m open to any suggestions that don’t involve fancy ingredients like parmesan. (Yes, I thought of pesto but there is no parmesan around, and all the recipes I’ve seen call for it.)

E para os que falam português, como é que se diz “basil”? Não faço idéia.

Oh, the saga of visas

This has nothing to do with this post, but it's a nice picture, isn't it? This is Willie's favorite spot to sit now.

Next week two of our colleagues from our regional office in Zambia are supposed to come and give us a training on project monitoring and evaluation. I should say, were supposed to, since it has since been canceled. Why? Visa problems, of course!



This training has been in the works for several months now. Our colleagues submitted their applications in early December and began the wait. Now, keep in mind that these are lowly, single-entry 30 day visas, not these crazy 2 year ones you get in the States, or even, God forbid, a work visa!!!



One of the guys leading the training used to work here in Angola and happened to befriend someone who used to work at the Angolan embassy in Zambia. This was great because he could help (by "help" I really mean help, not helpwink*wink*) in getting travel visas, usually just making sure they were at the top of the pile. Well, unfortunately they replaced the ambassador in Zambia, meaning that all old employees were transfered and the new ambassador installed ones that are probably his cousins.



The trainers were supposed to arrive in Luanda today (Friday). As early as two weeks ago, the staff were promising our colleagues that their visas were almost ready, just keep coming back. On Monday we all began to worry. On Wednesday, our colleague (the one who had worked in Angola) went to the embassy and was told that their passports were lost. Oops! Come back again the next day.



The next day he went back. This time the same guy was there, only stinking drunk. He said, "They're still lost! Come back tomorrow!" ("Tomorrow" meaning Friday, the day they were supposed to leave for Luanda.) My colleague stuck his head in the little window, pointed in the corner and said, "Are those two American passports right there ours?" Sure enough, they were. Except no work had been done on them at all since dropping them off in December. Ooops! It was too late at this point for anything to be done and the training was cancelled.

Another year...

On January 15 I turned 31. This was the second birthday I had in Angola and admitted was much better than the first. A few friends treated me to cake and drinks at a local bar. Best of all were the special cakes that Weni and Kadja made for me.

Kadja

Weni

If I haven't been posting much, it's because of new internet restrictions at work. I rely on work almost exclusively for internet access. In the past it wasn't a problem but some of my colleagues have taken to downloading movies and, um, "graphic" materials, so Admin had to put a stop to it. Unfortunately that also put a stop to just about everything else, so I have either come in on the weekends, when the restrictions are lifted, or try from home with my very slow dial-up connection. (For the record, I do posting after I'm done for the day and it does violate any policies.) That and I've been very busy with work lately!

Sailing in Lobito Bay

I'd been bothering my friend Rui to take me sailing for quite some time, and on Sunday he finally obliged. Being surrounded by water, I'm surprised that it took over a year to get me on some sort of watercraft.

Rui has a small catamaran, a Hobie Cat. It was so nice to be on the water and see Lobito from another side. Honestly, it was one of the best days I've had here. Here are some of the highlights.

The Captain

We got up close and personal to some of the big container ships.

You'd never know that across the bay was a large city. Sadly, they are going to build an oil refinery on this side. Surely it will change the character and environment of the bay.

A rough life, I know...

Here’s a link to an article (in Portuguese) regarding plans to build the largest building in Angola. If all goes according to plans, it will be 70 stories tall (325 m) and cost US$800 MILLION. Apparently it will be in the shape of an “A” with a 400-room luxury hotel on one side and malls, restaurants, and luxury apartments on the other.

Even in this land of oil industry-propelled excesses, $800 million for a building seems a tad distasteful.

It will be called the Tower of Babel. Whoops! I mean Tower of Angola.

Angolan National Women's Team Wins African Handball Championship

Thursday night the Angolan national team won the African Handball Tournament. (Link in Portuguese. Link in English.) There wasn’t as much celebration as when the men’s national basketball team won the AfroBasket Tournament, but the cars of Lobito did come out honking to celebrate the women’s team.

This morning I heard interviews with some of the women on the team, and I was truly impressed. In addition to playing on the national team, one woman worked full time and up until the tournament, was studying at night. She said she was retiring from the sport to continue her studies. Another woman had given birth only 8 months ago and dedicated the win to her new son. I guess that’s why I was a little miffed to later see the women were referred to as meninas- girls- in the papers. It just sort of seems to undermine their accomplishments both on and off the court. But I know better than to get worked up over something like that!

As usual, whenever Angola wins anything, the President of the Rupublic of Angola José Eduardo dos Santos (who is never called anything but “the President of the Rupublic of Angola José Eduardo dos Santos”; not President dos Santos, and certainly not Mr. dos Santos) issued a statement congratulating them. What was interesting was that the MPLA, dos Santos’ party and the ruling part of Angola since independence, also issued a statement congratulating the team. I suspect this is the beginning of a propaganda campaign by the MPLA to put its name in the media as much as possible in preparation for parliamentary elections in September. If opposing parties like UNITA or FNLA issued similar statements, they sure didn’t make it onto the radio.

Identify this vegetable

I found these veggies at the market. I have no idea what they are called in English. Anyone have any ideas?

Inside it looks like an eggplant. They're only about 2.5" tall.

Unfortunately they sat in the sun too long and by the time I got home, they were already spoiled. But they still look good!

Awesome Structures in Angola: Part 4

After hitting the market we stopped for ice cream. There is a restaurant in Catuembela that makes good ice cream. Unfortunately, the day we went they only had two flavors, coconut and vanilla (which had artificial dried fruit in it). The two people who hadn’t tried it before were a little disappointed, but I’ve been here long enough that even Let Down Ice Cream is better than No Ice Cream. (Besides, as a Texan I know that there is not much better in life than Blue Bell, so I know not to have high expectations for anything made outside of Brenham.)

On the way back we passed this house. It’s located next to a roundabout, so I’m not entirely sure it was ever a house: perhaps a government building or something. Either way, it’s someone’s house now, as evidenced by the laundry hanging on the left-hand-side porch. I really like the metalwork on the large windows, but especially like the metalwork on the roof.

By the stream of the Catumbela market

On Saturday, my friends I went to the market in Catumbela which is about 20 mintues from Lobito. It has a better selection of fruits and vegetables and in general is much calmer and tranqüilo than the markets in Lobito. You don’t want to look too closely at things, though. My friend Deborah almost bought a cow hoof for soup until she saw that the butcher would chop it on a tarpaulin sheet placed directly on the muddy floor. I was buying some veggies and looked up behind the woman and saw this lovely green stream covered in flies. Not sure the emerald green colors comes across well enough in this picture, but it was truly unlike anything I’ve seen. If it weren’t so hazardous to the health of myself and the entire population of Catumbela, I’d even say it was pretty.

In the background you can see the charcoal section of the market. The production of charcoal as a livelihood was a new thing to me when I came to Angola. Basically, people set trees on fire so that they can harvest the remains as charcoal. A lot of Angolans can’t afford electricity (assuming it’s even available where they live, which is a big assumption) or even gas canisters to fuel gas stoves, so they must rely on charcoal for cooking. It’s cheap, but as you can imagine, not produced by the most environmentally friendly methods. A little over a year ago, when I was doing the Listening Project conversations, the people living in the most miserable of conditions all had one thing in common: charcoal. It provided practically nothing, but it was all they had. As a result of those conversations, I’ve always thought of charcoal as the work of the very poor and marginal of society. I guess their location next to the stream of emerald green water confirms this.

Info on Luanda shooting

A while ago I posted a link to a one sentence item from the NYT and how decidely uninformative it was. BBC to the rescue!

Shoot to kill

Film director Radical Ribeiro said he was filming in the crime-ridden Sambizanga area of the capital when an elite unit roared up in a pick-up truck and opened fire without warning.

Mr Ribeiro said he thought the police might have mistaken the actors, who were carrying unloaded firearms, for real armed robbers. "They went on shooting until I shouted out: 'Please don't shoot, this is a movie,'" he told the BBC's Portuguese Service.

He said the officers then stopped firing and raced off, without attending to the
fatally wounded actors.

The incident happened as the interior minister was chairing an extended committee to discuss the escalating crime-rate in Luanda.

Correspondents say Angola's disparate police forces are perceived as a law
unto themselves.

This is why I avoid police as much as possible.

Angolan Customer Service

As an American, I forget how good we have it in terms of customer service when I am at home. Two experiences this week have reminded me that Angola has a way to go in terms of good business practices.

Changing money: I get my salary in US dollars, so I often have to change money at stores. I have my preferred money changing place, but I often have to change money at ShopRite because I invariably spend way more there than I want to. ShopRite has a money changing booth, which I think doubles as a manager’s office. Tuesday I went there to change money and waited for the guy to see me standing there. He was counting out money; he finished his one stack, put it down, looked me in the eye, then turned to pick up another stack to count. Although there is only one reason I would be standing there, I thought he might not have understood that I wanted to change money. So I said, “Boa tarde, good afternoon.” He turned around, looked at me in the eye and went back to counting money. I was getting angry, so I said again, louder, “BOA TARDE.” He rolled his eyes and finally put down the money to change my dollars. I said to him, “Não me ouviou? You didn't hear me?” He looked at me as if I was crazy, changed the money and went back to what he was doing.

At Zulu: Zulu is supposedly the best restaurant in town. It definitely has the best location- right on the beach- but the food is average. I will give Zulu credit because of all the restaurants in town, it has the most professional and courteous waitstaff. But they still do some things that make you want to bang your head on that beachside table. I went for an after-work drink with my friend Anne and her two kids. I ordered a rum and Coke, which they pour right at your table. I guess it seems fancier that way. The waiter came over and poured the rum. As he did, a bunch of black junk that was not supposed to be there came floating up. I pointed it out to the waiter, who prompty used his ice tongs to try and fish out whatever it was. I told the waiter that the glass was dirt and as such, the rum was now dirty, so would he please bring me a new glass? He happily obliged and came back with a new glass. He then proceeded to pour the contents of the old glass- junk and all- into the new glass! I pointed out to him that the rum was still dirty and said, specifically this time, “Please pour me some new rum.” He then said he couldn’t, because the rum had already been poured and if he poured another shot, I would be charged for a double. I tried to explain to him that the rum was not consumable so it was his responsibility to bring me another one. He looked at me blankly and I said, “If you’re not sure I suggest you go ask your manager what to do.” He came back and said, “Okay, this time we won’t charge you for the second shot.” Gee, thanks!

Driving is a dangerous thing...

Today I'm the office finishing up two accident reports that occurred within 5 days of each other. Before you go thinking I've adapted to the Angolan driving style, neither of them were my fault!

Accident #1: Two friends and I were sitting in my living room at 10:15 on a Sunday night. We heard a large crash and the sound of breaking glass. We rush to the balcony to see two drunk guys on a motorcycle, somehow attached to the back of my car. (Reminder: I live on what I like to call the Most Dangerous Block in Lobito, right in front of an outdoor bar.) Now, there is a security guard posted to my building that is supposed to intervene in situations just like this- he was totally absent, of course. The three of us quickly ran downstairs to see if there was any damage. We tried to make it down there before the bandidos got away, but as we were exiting the stairwell they fled. I passed the guard, who was standing in the carport the whole time, why the heck he didn't stop the guys, and he slurred, "Oh no, they hit it and ran away!" Yep, dude was drunk. Now, we had time to hear the accident, run to my balcony AND make it down the stairs before the two guys left, so the guard had plenty of time to at least go over and stop the guys from leaving. Luckily there was little damage- just a broken license plate light. Oh yeah, there were about 30 witnesses at the bar and no one did anythign either.

Accident #2: Not five days later, the SAME two friends and I were coming back from another exciting trip to ShopRite. The set-up is so difficult to explain, so I will just say that there was some road construction going on, and a traffic cop was directing traffic down a side street. I knew there was a way to get to the street I wanted as long as I continued straight. Many of the other cars that had been diverted were making U-turns down a second side street. One of these cars making a U-turn was in front of me. I could tell right away that he was going to make a U-turn without looking behind him- and not see me coming. I honked to get his attention but it was too late and he slammed into the side of my car, right between the two passenger-side doors. Luckily, no one was hurt in either car.

I pulled over immediately and was pissed off. However, I saw that the other driver was wearing a blue uniform. "PLEASE let that be a security guard," I thought. Sure enough, with my luck, it was a senior police officer. I haven't had good experience with police officers, so I was a little worried. I quickly checked to make sure that I had my passport(s), NY driver license and international driver license- luckily I did. "BE NICE, it's a cop!" I hissed to my friends.

Luckily for us, the officer was very nice and immediately assumed responsibility for the accident. There was no need to call the police so we were able to take care of things right there.

Accident #3: We had to wait for our org's fleet manager to show up so that he could coordinate the repair work with the officer. It was taking a while, and the officer started to get antsy. I was trying to keep the guy calm because everything had been going well up until this point. As we were waiting, I see a taxi van totally sideswipe a motorcycle. the guy on the motorcycle fell right down. It was really scary because it looked like he was hurt. However, the guy jumped up- he was actually wearing a helmet!- and started cursing. To the motorcyclist's luck, there happened to be a cop- the guy who had hit me!- at the scene already. The taxi driver pulled over, surprisingly, and they worked out whatever needed to be done.

Legislative elections, finally?

As the NYT reports, the government has finally scheduled legislative elections for September of 2008. This is a huge deal here. The last elections in Angola were in 1992. When the opposition party/rebels UNITA lost, they plunged the country back into war, a period that ended up being the most devestating.

People here are wary of elections. They associate elections with war and I've heard some people say they'd just rather not have elections. A few months ago, while in the interior, I spoke with some internally displaced people who were from the Huambo area. I asked why they hadn't returned to Huambo after the war ended, and the guy said, "Well, they keep saying they're going to have elections. Why should I go back, because the war will start again with elections?"

There's no real danger for the war to start again, from what I understand. There might be minor conflicts in UNITA strongholds, but the ruling party (MPLA) will likely sweep the elections. The real, interesting election will be the preseidential one in 2009.

If they actually have elections, that it. The government has been promising free and fair elections every year since the war ended. My boss has a calendar from 2004 still that says, "2204: The Year of Elections!"

Return of the Dreaded Boas Festas

Around this time last year I wrote about the boas festas phenomenon. Boas festas means happy holidays; this time of year is generally when employers give out holiday pay. The expectations are not limited to employers- anyone who looks like they have any sort of money will be asked for money. It works like this: the requesting party will say "Boas Festas!" and then hold out his or her hand.

I should be used to it by now, but I'm always a little astounded when it happens. Here are this year's boas festas highlights:

1. In the ShopRite parking lot, a teenage girl tried to sell me some dish rags. (Note to vendors: the Angolan equivalent of Wal-mart is NOT the best place to be selling things.) When I said no, she then said, "Amiga, boas festas!" Oh, well- I didn't want to five you money in exhcange something of value, so let me just give it to you for free!
2. There is a mad rush on food and beverages during the holiday season, so I went to the last shop in town that was selling reasonably priced cases of beer. (Reasonable price = US$20 for a 12 pack as opposed to US$30.) At this particular shop, you tell the clerk what you want, pay for it, and get a receipt to take to the dispatch in the back. They then wheel the goods out to your car. When the guy finished loading the beer, he held out his hand and said "Boas festas!" Annoyed, I said, "Okay, obrigada e boas festas para ti tambem!" (Okay, thanks and happy holidays to you also!") He looked confused, like he wanted to tell me that I was supposed to give him money, but he caught on and prefered to them mock with his friends. They might have thoguht it was funny, but who had the money?
3. And this year's audcity winner goes to the young kids who live near my coworker Bernie. Christmas Day he heard a knock on his door and opened it to find a group of kids standing there. They held out their hands and in unison said, "Boas festas!" a la trick-or-treating. Bernie, who had no idea who the kids were, just laughed and shut the door.

Oh, really?

Here is an... article? press brief? in its entirety from the NYT:

Angola: Actors Mistaken for Robbers

Two actors were shot dead while filming a crime drama on the streets of a crime-ridden suburb of the capital, Luanda, when the police mistook them for armed robbers, their director said.

That's it. I can't decide which is more perplexing: the fact that the actors were mistaken for robbers or that the NYT was so desperate for news from Africa that they were willing to post a one sentence item that pretty much says nothing. (Which crime-ridden subrub? Movie actors? Shot by whom? Etc., etc.)

A Tale of Two Visas

I’m currently in Zambia, assisting the country program here on a large, multi-million dollar proposal they are writing for USAID. (More on that later.) It’s always interesting to get out of Angola and do a little bit of comparing between it and other African countries. What sticks out the most right now is the way the two countries handled tourist/ordinary visas.

The visa I have now for Angola is a multiple entry visa that is good for 2 years, with stays of up to 90 days. In other words, until I get my work visa I must leave every 90 days and am technically a “consultant” according to my employer in Angola. (Consultants are allowed to perform work in Angola on an ordinary visa because they are technically not residents.) This is how it must be done until I get my work visa. Work visas are even slower to process than other visas, so it’s sort of an open secret in Angola that many foreigners- NGO employees, oil workers, whoever- use these ordinary visas in the meantime. The ordinary visa differs from country to country- the one I have is specific to the US, apparently. My visa expires in July, so I hope to get my work visa before then. If not… who knows what will happen!

I’ve entered and left Angola several times on this visa. Each time the immigration official looks at each and every entry and exit date, sees that I am in compliance and lets me go through. I’ve never had a problem… until Thursday.

If there was any doubt that Angola used to be a Soviet-backed state, then the internal immigration controls should erase it. Every time I or any other foreigner flies domestically, we must present our passport and visa. It’s a pain, but not such a big deal. Thursday I flew from Benguela to Luanda. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m currently using my expired passport containing my valid Angola visa, attached (via paper clips) to my current, valid passport. When the immigration folks took a bit longer than usual to authorize me to fly, I assumed it was because of the passports. The female official began to ask me how many times I’ve entered and left Angola. I answered honestly, that it has been several times, but that the last entry was on 25 Oct so I was in compliance

Then all confusão broke loose! The woman explained to me that I have been in Angola for more than 90 days. According to her, the visa that I have is valid for ONE 90-day stay in Angola, to be used between the dates printed on the visa (between 17 July 2006 and 17 July 2007), and during those 90 days, I could come and go as I pleased. Let's say I came to Angola for one week then went back to the US- according to her logic, I would only have 83 more days to come back to Angola. According to her, since I had clearly been in Angola for a grand total of more than 90 days, I was breaking the law.

I pointed out to her that the date on the visa was for 2 years, and that it was for multiple entries of 90 days each. She wouldn’t budge, however, and called her colleagues over to confirm. She explained her position to them, and they all nodded their heads in agreement.

At this point, I was completely dumbfounded. Either my employer, the Angolan Consulate in Houston and immigration officials in Cunene and Luanda are ALL completely wrong, or this band of paper-pushers in Benguela who are paid to know these visas simply do not know the visas. This is a common problem in Angola. People who are paid to enforce the laws- police, bureaucrats, state lawyers- don’t usually know the laws of the country. Luckily I’ve avoided any real problems associated with this ignorance up until now.

I was getting very upset and angry. One moment I was taking deep breaths to not burst out into tears and the next moment I was trying my hardest to stop rolling my eyes and not say anything to insult them. (How do you tell someone they don’t know how to do their job? It ain’t easy!) I supposed it’s possible that they are right- but how would I have slipped by so many other officials for over a year? Unlike other countries I’ve been in, Angola is very serious about who they let in their country and how they monitor them. (My employer must send a copy of my passport, visa, and entry stamps to a local immigration office every month.)

Luckily, my favorite driver, Manuel, was with me. Manuel has helped me out with visa problems at the Benguela airport before. He knows all the people and has a very nice, calm way of not taking crap from anyone. I decided to follow his cue and simply stop talking and crossing my arms. It seemed to work. They backed down on their threat to take me into custody (my second threat of being taken into custody in this country!) and let me go. As they stamped my ticket, they said that I had to call their immigration headquarters in Luanda and get an explanation. Yes folks, if they don’t know the law, it’s YOUR responsibility to call THEIR supervisors and get an explanation.

I was very upset about this. I like Angola but sometimes the hassles overwhelm you and you just want to scream. That, coupled with a 4 am wake-up call in order to make check-in at the airport in Luanda, put me in bad mood on my way to Zambia. Zambia requires US citizens to buy a $100 visa, available upon entry to the country. During my last visit in July, I bought one that was good for 3 years. However, that was in my old, expired passport, so I assumed that I would have to buy a new visa.

When I presented my new passport to the immigration officer, he asked if I had ever been to Zambia before. When I said that I had, he asked about my old passport with the visa. I had it with me, so I presented it to him. He said, “Well, you shouldn’t have to pay for a new one. Let me just transfer it to your new passport. Is that okay?” I was floored by his flexibility and shocked at his politeness! It certainly restored my faith in bureaucrats. At least Zambian bureaucrats.

UPDATE: I wrote this last Sunday. In the meantime, my collegaues in Luanda and Benguela have visited the immigration supervisors in their respective cities and, indeed, have confirmed that the Benguela immigration officials' interpretation of my visa is incorrect. We'll see what happens next...

"Misadventures" in Angola

My friend Lynette forwarded me this article from Newsweek about China’s presence in Africa. To my surprise, the article started with a Chinese work camp in Catumbela, home of the best ice cream in Benguela province. Unfortunately, the journalist said that Catumbela was in the central highlands, several kilometers from Lobito. Wrong! Catumbela is about 15 km from Lobito, right on the water. I just drove through there this morning. Perhaps he meant Alto Catumbela, which is on the way to Huambo, but that’s like confusing Columbia, South Carolina and New Columbia, Pennsylvania. Similar name, completely different place and context.

That wasn’t the only thing that made me scratch my head and say, “What?” For example,

Even China's success in Angola is creating headaches for its businessmen. The
handful of business hotels in Luanda are booked months in advance. Good luck
finding a cab—the city has only one official taxi service—or renting a car,
which can go for as much as $12,000 a month. Rents for houses in Lobito are double that.

Really? Rents here are outrageous, but the highest rent I’ve heard of is US$12,000 for a 2nd story, full floor apartment, outfitted with WiFi and brand new American-style appliances. I believe the US$24,000 for a place in Luanda, but even in Lobito it seems a bit much.

The rest of the article seems to mesh with what I’ve heard and read. Now I know where they get those rice noodles for the new Chinese restaurant in Benguela:

State-owned Chinese companies prohibit any type of fraternization between their employees and Angolans. If a worker becomes romantically or sexually involved with a local, he's quickly hustled back to China. "Africans and Chinese think differently," says Xia Yi Hua, a regional director for China Jiang Su, a massive construction conglomerate with offices across Angola. Xia has been in the country for four years, and his company still sends him shrink-wrapped packets of Chinese food from back home, along with regular sets of chopsticks. Everything in his office comes from China. One coffee table is made of Angolan wood, he admits, but he flew in a Chinese carpenter to fashion the table.

Willie's Gender Crisis

I'm no vet. (Surprise.) I'm not familiar with the feline anatomy and I've only ever had female cats.

I have some friends staying with me while they are in between apartments. It's nice to have the company around. My friend Mark asked if my cat was a boy or a girl. I said, "I'm pretty sure she's a girl." And with perfect comic timing, he replied, "We'll, I'm pretty sure those are gonads. She's a boy."

Sure enough, I looked a little closer, and Willie is indeed a boy cat! I feel a bit dumb, and now really glad that I gave her/him a masculine name.

Here he is doing is latest trick. When he's crazy and biting, I put him out on my veranda and shut the door. He really hates it so it usually calms him down. During Thanksgiving preparations I got tired of him nipping at my feet so I put him out there and went back into the kitchen. 20 seconds later he strolls in like nothing happened. Then I discovered that he can now use his claws and climb through the (formerly) slight gap between the mosquito screens on my veranda doors.

A Different Chinese Invasion...

Today I was all excited to write a post about the Chinese in Angola that had nothing to do with shady government contracts, building stadiums and providing cheap goods. Then I came across this slideshow on the BBC website that I thought I should post. (There's even a Benguela railroad pic in there!) So post is not entirely different from all the others.

HOWEVER, yesterday I had the most exciting China-in-Angola experience to date: I ate in Benguela's first Chinese restaurant! Bernie, the new Fellow, and I went to Benguela for a partner meeting. We ran into Nancy the English teacher who confirmed that the restaurant was finally opened.

It was completely deserted when we walked in, but they were indeed open. It is one of the nicer restaurants I've been in in Angola (not hard considering that most restaurants in Lobito are open-air and on the beach, meaning lots of sand and cats running around), at least in terms of decor. The employees were both Chinese and Angolan and Chinese music was playing in the background.

We were both excited to see rice noodles on the menu, since that is a luxury not found outside the Chinese worker camps. When we ordered, the waiter asked if we really wanted to order the same dish, "You see," he explained, "You're not supposed to order Chinese food like that." We former-NYC residents and frequent visitors to Chinatown were miffed by that remark.

The simple noodles took over 45 minutes to arrive, but they weren't bad. I'd put them on the same level as a local Chinese take-out joint in Washington Heights. For Angola, it's great but mainly because it's our only option.