A conversation with the little guy (majority):
Why?
Why do countries declare war?
Why do these countries feel that they are right?
Why are these countries so insular?
Why are these countries so rich?
Why are they making money off of the rest of the world?
Why is the rest of the world producing things cheaply and buying things expensively?
Why don't they have a choice?
Why do countries declare war?
I went to the "clube" to see if I could FINALLY get involved in the theater group here in town. On my way, I was stopped by an older man who had been partying just a little too much and wanted some more company. He already had a couple dozen friends and family, but he saw the opportunity to make friends with the new guy. I had to pass on the suspicious-looking alcoholic drink sitting in a coffee tin on the ground, as tempting as it was.
I continued on, arriving at the "clube" about 5 minutes late. I went around to the left side of a fairly large building that seems to have been a performance/recreational hall at some point, but has fallen into rapid disrepair. The entrance was marked with the word "Biblioteca" (library) on the side, and I entered with some trepidation as this was a fairly strange empty place with who knows who inside.
I was greeted by a woman who looked to be living there - food and clothing were strewn about, and her receding hair line and badly burnt legs revealed alienation from the community of some sort. She had an air about her I had not seen in Mozambique just yet - resignation.
I asked her if the people who come to rehearse had arrived and she said that they hadn't.
I went around to the front to poke around a bit and found an open door. Inside, all the earmarks of a living, breathing theatre were present, but the ghosts of 25 years hung heavy. Tiles were not surprisingly missing from the floor and walls, doors were absent and graffiti decorated the remaining white walls.
Still, it was in usable shape and I had heard around town that events go on every so often at the "clube".
I stepped back outside, meaning to wait for everyone else. Not finding necessary shade on the front step, I sat under a nearby tree. Soon, some neighborhood kids I know came over to chat and show me their fishing rod. Little by little, I accumulated about a dozen kids, about 12 years old at most.
They spoke mainly Changana, so I got a very fun and spirited 45-minute lesson. We traded silly walks, exercises, wall-climbing techniques and language. All in all, I've never laughed so hard in my life around pre-teens.
After I realized the rehearsal was not to be, I headed back not disappointed but feeling rather fulfilled.
Peace
John
