Waka Waka

In late afternoon I was sitting on a wall, above the beach, facing the Indian Ocean. Three boys, around ten years old, gathered around and hung out, seemingly wanting to talk. Mainly about football and whether I’d be watching the Sporting (Lisboa) vs Benfica match on TV tonight. No, but I played along to carry on the conversation. When they found out I was English they listed all the English clubs they could, which consisted of Manchester United, Newcastle United and Wolverhampton (Wanderers eluded them). At one point a group of teenage lads came over and the first group hastily buried a coconut they’d been carrying so it wouldn’t be commandeered by the newcomers. It formed a conspicuous lump in the sand so didn’t remain hidden for long.

There haven’t been any of these interactions on Ilha that have not ended (or begun, more typically) with some sort of request. It has always provided a dilemma when children plead that they are hungry and haven’t eaten, or need school materials to be able to start the rapidly approaching new school term. There is always disappointment when you don’t give anything, and it feels terrible, but I also don’t enjoy the times I’ve cracked and been hounded, because it creates a scene and perpetuates the damaging stereotype of the benevolent foreigner. I also really dislike the idea of blanking someone who is approaching me in a friendly way. I’m hardly an inexperienced traveller but the most appropriate way of handling the requests here has been bothering me.

I asked a waitress at a restaurant for advice and she was very helpful. She confirmed that certainly there is a perception that foreigners will part with money when asked, but that there is more hustling and strategising happening than I’d realised with these kids. Schools do accept students without a complete set of materials. There aren’t homeless children on Ilha so the ones crying hunger probably are hungry if they’ve been out walking all day on the hustle, but they could go home and get food from their families.

Poverty is real in all areas of Mozambique but there is always more than meets the eye to anyone’s story. I doubt I’ll stop discreetly buying food for a kid who has latched on whilst I walk past the market, but I needn’t feel guilty for the many times when it’s not practical or sensible to help.

Karaoke has made an unwelcome return to the guesthouse, which is an old higgledy-piggledy building where windows are porous and sounds carry. Waka Waka by Shakira was one of tonight’s torturous offerings.