When Elephants Fight

Once again, the political situation has flared up. Over the past few days, we've been hearing rumors about more attacks and skirmishes in the Gorongosa region of Sofala province between the Mozambican military (controlled by the Frelimo-led government) and Renamo 'rebels' in their bush camp. These types of rumblings have become commonplace since the political unrest earlier this year and I didn't think too much about it -- that is, until I spoke with my next door neighbor, Texeira.

Texeira is a very calm, collected man. Unlike many other Mozambican men that I know, Texeira doesn't drink, doesn't have more than one wife, and doesn't skip work for no reason. He's very responsible, very down-to-earth, not one to exaggerate. So naturally, I wasn't worried about the political situation until I asked Texeira what his family's plans for Christmas were and he responded "It depends on the war. If it's not too bad, we'll go visit Páscoa's family in Sena. If it's too violent, we might just hide out in Tete City."

A lot about the current situation is not clear yet. We do know that as of yesterday, Renamo abandoned the 1992 peace accord that ended the 16-year Mozambican civil war. This in itself is not a declaration of war, but it certainly is a step in that direction. A big step. And this just over two weeks after celebrating the Day of Peace on 4 October, marking the signing of said peace accord.

"I guess that's one less public holiday we'll have next year," joked my neighbor Fanilio. "More work for us!"

Fanilio's not the only one joking around. Everyone's making wisecracks. They're all concerned about the situation, but war was ever-present in Mozambique for decades before the 21-year peace. I imagine that joking about it is their way of dealing with the knowledge that the devastation of war might come back all too soon.

"Well, it's been twenty years of peace," said my friend Morais, "We Mozambicans just can't deal with that much peace. We need to blow some stuff up every once in a while."

While he meant this as a tongue in cheek remark, this attitude is something I've noticed a lot in Mozambicans, and it makes me very sad. Mozambique ranks 185th out of 187 on the Human Development Index, and its citizens know it. Many of them have very little pride in their country, and in themselves. Mozambique is a mess and Mozambicans point the finger of blame at themselves.

"You see how we are?" one teacher confided in me after I told him of my frustration with people asking me for money all the time, "Mozambicans are greedy and insolent. They only want money. No wonder our country is a mess."

And yet, while certainly Mozambique has a lot to answer for as far as corruption and human rights are concerned, if we're going to play the Blame Game, there are plenty of other players involved. After decades of foreign powers meddling in the politics of Mozambique, after millions of dollars in ill-spent "aid", and after countless reports condemning the way things are done here without really understanding why they are done that way, Mozambicans are certainly not alone in shouldering the responsibility for the country's past and present situation.

Where we go from here remains to be seen. I am holding out for the possibility that somehow, things will get resolved. I'm hoping against hope that Mozambique is able to rise above its past, come to an agreement, and continue improving itself daily. The leaders of both parties are saying they want peace.

And yet, I've grown weary of Mozambicans telling me what I want to hear instead of what they really think. So when I hear a big-shot politician saying "Let's work for Peace!" on the TV, I want to reach in there, grab them by the shoulders and give them a good shake, shouting "Actions speak louder than words!"

I was walking by the river yesterday with my friend Páscoa. She pointed at an old pile of stones. "See that? That's where the original bridge over the Mavudzi river was. That's the bridge that gave our town its name, Mavudzi-Ponte ('Mavudzi Bridge')."

I looked at the old pile of bricks and tried to imagine the bridge as it once was. "What happened to the bridge?" I asked.

"They blew it up during the war," said Páscoa sadly. "Along with most everything else around here."

Later that day, I was sitting on my front porch, watching the sun go down, when my friend Arleti came over and sat with me. Arleti is the very smart, outspoken young niece of Texeira. She graduates high school in a few weeks and wants to be a nurse.

"Teacher Helena, if it comes to war, what will you do? Will you leave us?"

"I hope not!" I said, smiling, trying to keep the conversation light. "I love living here. Besides, what would I do with my cat?"

"Professora, I'm serious. What's going to happen?"

I looked at her, and all I could say was "Ndidziwalini." I don't know.

Arleti sighed. It was heartbreaking -- I felt like I could see her hopes and dreams evaporating into the sunset.

"Quando os elefantes lutam, é o capím que sofre," she said quietly, glumly resting her head on her folded hands.

When the elephants fight, it's the grass that suffers.