Angolan Road Trip - Part 4

Muxima

A few weeks ago, my friends and I decided to get out of the city for the day and head down to a little town on the Kwanza River. Muxima (Moo-she-ma) is home to a 16th century Catholic church built by the Portuguese. The Church of Our Lady of Conception is the site of an annual pilgrimage that has occurred every September since 1883. Families flock to the site and camp out on the banks of the river to get a chance to pray to the statue of Mary or "Mama Muxima." Women are especially attracted to this sacred site because Mama Muxima is said to bring fertility to those who pray to her. Judging by the fact that every woman in this country has a baby strapped to her back, I don't think fertility is an issue here, but what do I know?

The mass held outside of the church. There were too many people to fit inside the small, colonial church. 

We arrived to the church just in time to catch the end of the outdoor mass, which featured lively music and lots of enthusiastic pilgrims. The priest walked through the crowd spraying holy water on the congregation as those in the back fought to get closer so that they could feel a drop on their heads. When they did, they turned around and made way for others, a look of absolute joy on their faces as they sang the hymns at the top of their lungs. Growing up in the Catholic church, these rituals were not new to me, but I have never seen people so genuinely excited about holy water.
Angola is a fairly religious country, but I haven't quite figured it out yet. 47% of Angolans practice indigenous beliefs, 38% are Roman Catholic, and 15% Protestant. The Portuguese built churches while they ruled the country, but that was pretty much the extent of the Catholic influence. After independence, Protestant missionaries flooded the country. It seems to me that many Angolans have a adopted a sort of hybrid religion that combines indigenous beliefs with fundamentalist Christianity. When I ask students what they did over the weekend, they say things like "I was spreading the good word." or "I was in the church." The whole weekend?
One time, a student told me that some people are racist because they think that black people came from monkeys. I responded, "Well that doesn't make any sense because all people came from monkeys." Big mistake. "No teacher! People came from God!" The class began to stir and I realized that most of them did not believe in evolution and they were probably thinking that there teacher was a heathen. "So let's talk about  the present perfect!"

Mama Muxima statue

After mass, we set up a little tailgate in the church parking lot. Three women approached us and asked us if they could have a ride to a town that was on the way back to Luanda. Sure! Why not? All the female pilgrims, including our new hitch hiker friends were wearing wrap skirts with either the Virgin Mary or Jesus on them and T-shirts that had a picture of the statue and the words "Mama Muxima" on the back. A pilgrim uniform of sorts. Not wanting to feel left out, we asked them where one could buy such items. They led us to an area by the river and we were immediately surrounded by Mama Muxima merchandise - key chains, necklaces, shirts, hats, you name it. Like a rock concert, but for the Virgin Mary. We bought a few items that the ladies picked out for us and they insisted that we don them immediately. They were kind of enough to wrap Derek (above) in a beautiful Mama Muxima frock. I rocked my Mary concert T for the rest of the day and got several compliments. 

We all hopped in the car and headed back to the city. Our three new friends in the backseat. One of the women asked if we had any soda so I directed her to the cooler in the back. When she opened it she said, "Ooooh cerveja (beer)!" Hey, go for it. So there we were - driving down the road with three beer-chugging pilgrims. Weirdest Sunday funday ever.

Cabo Ledo

Not a bad scene to wake up to

Two hours south of the city lies a beautiful, pristine beach called Cabo Ledo. One the way down there last weekend, we stopped in a little fishing village to pick up some lobsters. After negotiating a price, a man swam out to the traps to collect our dinner. It doesn't get any fresher than that. I felt like Anthony Bourdain. After we set up camp, we threw those suckers on the fire. I ripped the head off with my hands and dipped the tail in melted butter. It was deliciously primal.

Even though I slept on the ground and mistakenly used a tent cover as a sleeping bag (maybe had one too many cervejas), it was the best sleep I've had in weeks. No incessant hum from the generators or club music thumping and rattling my window. I woke up not to the slamming of doors and yelling of the house staff but to the soft crash of waves and a warm breeze. It was the perfect way to start the day and re-energize for yet another week in the concrete jungle. 

The Meltdown

I could feel it coming. I started pacing around my room as my head became flooded with anxiety and frustration. The stress of many weeks piling up inside until there was no more room and it had to come out. I could feel my face becoming warm and flush, and then…the meltdown.

It was a Thursday night. I had just waited outside the embassy for the driver for 40 minutes. Each time I called him he was “5 minutes away.” If he wasn’t such a pathological liar I would have gone back inside so that I could avoid the local guards gawking at me in my gym attire. While standing on that sidewalk, I realized that I probably spend at least half of my time here in car, waiting for a car, or on the phone trying to get a car.
I finally arrived home to a house that had no electricity or water for the second day in a row. The new security guard, who I am almost certain is blind, told me that he had to call someone to get permission to turn the generator on. I watched an episode of Curb of Your Enthusiasm. There’s nothing like the extreme neurosis of others to bring you back down to earth. The power had come back on during the show, but still no water. Having not taken a shower that morning and working out that evening, the need for bathing was becoming imminent.

I decided I would cook, which is a relaxing activity for me. I walked downstairs to find that one of my housemates had completely taken over the kitchen. “Jim,” who has a wife and 4 young daughters at home in the UK was whipping up a meal while his Angolan girlfriend was perched on a stool watching him. Isn’t that cute?

“Hi Brigid,” she said. “Oh hey, (home wrecker).”

I hate cooking with other people in the kitchen and especially despise being in the company of these two so I pretended to grab something out of the fridge and headed back upstairs. I called the maintenance guy to ask about the water situation, and he informed me that the tanks would not be filled until the following day. Luckily, there is another staff house down the street so I threw my shampoo, conditioner, and soap in a plastic bag, grabbed a towel and headed outside. The street was exceptionally dark since the power was out and I needed the guard to escort me. Of course, he was nowhere to be found. The guard at the restaurant next door must have sensed my helplessness and offered assistance. I enjoyed a hot shower and walked back to my house in my pajamas and a towel on my head. I mean at this point, who do I have to impress?

I arrived home to find the formerly missing guard slumped over in a chair sleeping. He was wearing 1 boot and 1 flip flop. I can rest easy tonight knowing this man is responsible for my personal safety.  The adulterer and his mistress were still occupying the kitchen. It was getting close to 8:00 and I still had not eaten dinner so I was famished, but that was still better than having to share space with this couple. You know what I need? I thought. A beer. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. And then I remembered that I had some potato chips in the cupboard in my room. Ok, so beer and potato chips for dinner it is. I sat on my bed, mediocre Angolan lager in one hand and the other one deep in the bag of chips. It felt amazing for about 5 minutes but then reality set in. Oh dear, is this really happening? I called my boyfriend on Skype and just started crying and saying “I want to go home” as I licked the crumbs off my greasy fingers.  He stared back at me, trying to make sense of the scene before him, but had no idea what to say. He now thinks I am completely crazy.

Sometimes you just have one of those days when everything seems to go wrong and you snap. It can happen to anyone at anytime, but here, that could pretty much happen every day. No one wants to be that person who is constantly complaining, so you have to be patient and let a lot of stuff go and figure out a way to cope and stay positive. Apparently, my way of coping is bottling everything up for 7 months until I erupt.