Seattle to Mozambique

Mozambique is not Brazil—have I said that already? There is no dancing on every street corner in this city. But there is dancing—you just have to make more of an effort to go out and find it—or make it--for instance, dancing the aforementioned jig. The other day we also went to this cocktail lounge called ABC for Art Bar Café. I loved it. It is a cocktail lounge straight out of New York in the heart of Beira. But it wasn’t for this that I loved it. I loved it for the music. Great, funky music that got my tired butt dancing like the dancing queen I would love to be. The bar was also filled with black and white photos of life in Central Mozambique. My absolute favorite (close your eyes and imagine—oh wait—only close your eyes after you read the description) was taken in a concrete driveway. In the middle of the picture is a basin (I began to say that the basin was bright orange but the photos was black and white--hmmm) with a small dark Mozambican boy naked ready for a bath. The boy is clutching his little white dolly and his face is scrunched up in fear of a cat that is walking by. It was so beautiful this photograph. I think I might go back and see how much it would be.

There is also a giant nightclub called Monte Verde. It is a little outside of town—down that beautiful road that I described earlier. It has a strange mix of music, at times Mozambican, at times Elvis, and sometimes music so cheesy I have never heard it before. The club doesn’t start to get jumping until about 1am so you have to be well rested and ready to loose the next day in sleep. The times that I have gone we have nearly always seen the sun come up before we’ve left. The dance floor is small, the space to sit is large and it is always filled with strange bugs that must be attracted to the pulsing light. I usually sit and chat, jumping up to dance at some songs. My friend Bruno reminds me of a politician—he grooves in and around the whole complex greeting everyone. He knows them all and works the room like a master--makes me jealous. I love to do that!! Perhaps I’ll have enough time here. Perhaps I should be a politician. But the dancing is what is most important. Sliding around, wiggling my hips, letting the stress poor out of my body. Then there is a dance called “passada” that you danced squished up to another warm body and let yourself be pushed and pulled around the floor (that is—if you are a woman). I love this dance. So so nice. Why don’t we have more dances like that in the US????