Global Poverty Monitor

The bus arrived soon after, and we started the journey to the day hospital – the Central Hospital of Maputo. Looking back, I’m not really sure what I expected, since its always hard to remember expectations after you have seen the real thing. I think I expected large rooms with lots of beds, maybe 20 to a ward, bur brightly coloured and with people of all ages in the beds. I had an image of us walking around and talking to the patients (somehow overcoming the language barriers), some of which would be old and some young, and making them happy by giving out our gifts. But I did not expect to see bed after bed of tiny babies, each ‘bed’ just a frame with a mattress, sometimes one blanket, sometimes nothing at all, with a single chair next to each bed, usually seating the mother of the baby, and in one case, the father. These babies all looked so young, like newborns and tiny infants, but we learned that most of the babies were around 11 months to a year and a half.

These babies were badly malnourished, and were desperately below the healthy weight of a child of their age. One baby was 11 months old, and weighed a tiny 3kg. Looking at this baby, wearing a cloth nappy that looked enormous on its tiny body, and arms and legs the width and strength of twigs, I knew that there was no way this baby would survive. Indeed, we were told that 90% of the children in the hospital were HIV positive, and would either die of malaria, diahorrea, malnutrition, or pulmonary disease. Basically the HIV virus has weakened their tiny immune systems, as is the nature of the disease, and they will die of whatever illness reaches them first. The nurse who was showing us around (one of the only white people we have met or even seen since arriving in Mozambique) showed us one baby that was suffering from malnutrition. He was frail and weak looking, but his poor little stomach was round and protruding – just like the children often shown in magazines and World Vision pamphlets. The malnutrition has caused the child to have an enlarged liver and spleen, causing the rounding of the belly. Another baby was suffering from a skin disorder, and the mother obliged in taking off the baby’s nappy (a plastic bag) and showing us the baby’s skin around his rear and legs. He has large white patches all over his dark skin in those areas, and the nurse explained that this is caused by the mother carrying her baby on the back, leaving the legs exposed to the sunlight.

I felt so sympathetic towards the mothers, more so than the children. While a normal, healthy child of 12 or 18 months would have an idea of what is happening to them, and would feel pain, suffering or fright, these children were too far gone to have those emotions. Some cried a weak half-cry, most made no noise. The mothers sat in their chairs with such a distant, removed look in their eyes. Most did not touch their babies, just sat next to the beds staring. The nurse told us that they actually teach the mothers to play with their babies, as it is not a common practice in their culture to do so. Some of the others in the group found this hard to believe, and thought that surely it must be in a mother’s nature to play with their baby – but [I suppose] Western parents only play with their babies because we are accustomed to doing so, in that we see other parents doing so, and in our culture it is more than accepted, it is expected that babies will be played with. But in some cultures, including the Mozambicans, the idea of playing with children is foreign. Mothers will struggle to provide food for their child, and will protect it against everything their possibly can, but playing is not in their culture. Westerners see playing with a child as essential to the child’s development, and as such, the staff at the day hospital teach the mothers that it is important to play with their children.

After the markets we got back in the bus, and went for a long drive to the Mozal aluminum smelting plant. We found out that it was owned in part by South African and Australian companies, and someone asked Fillemina what the Mozambicans thought of the plant. She told us that, in general, the Mozambicans were afraid that the plant may cause high levels of pollution. She also said that having the plant there did not increase local employment rates as one might expect – because there is a high level of training required. We also heard that Mozal supported and funded a nearby high school called the Nelson Mandela school. That was only up the road, so we drove there and had a look at the school briefly. Then we went to have lunch, at a place suggested by Cardoza since he knew we were interested in trying traditional Mozambique food. The restaurant put on a banquet for us, with all different traditional foods, including crabs, prawns, calamari, curry, steamed rice, a porridge and a vegetable dish.

After lunch we drove back into the centre of Maputo city and started a tour of the slums. There were people everywhere, mainly men, with a few children and women. There were so many stalls and makeshift shops set up, that it seemed like every person was trying to sell something. Leanne had brought some tennis balls with her, and gave them out the window to some children, along with some lollypops. The smiles on the kids’ faces were amazing – their faces just lit up when they saw this thing that was brand new, clean, bright, and all theirs. I started to really look forward to tomorrow when we get to visit the day hospital and two schools, and I can give out some of the presents I’ve brought with me.

After the slums we went to the Maputo fish markets. This was much more interesting than I had expected. One of the men who worked in the restaurant behind the market showed us around, and we gave him a tip at the end because he had been so nice and helpful, even though we weren’t buying anything. The seafood was amazing – the prawns and crabs were the biggest I have even seen. Dad would have been drooling – except possibly for the smell, which was quite bad to begin with, but which I got used to quite quickly.

It was straight on to the markets after that. As we got nearer to the markets, I saw that there were Mozambican people (mainly men) standing around in what looked to be a parking lot, holding goods that they were trying to sell. I though that actually was the ‘market place’, until I realized that there was a large building directly behind. Inside that building was the real markets – the people outside were merely street vendors who were preying on the people who wanted to come to the markets. The first stall I saw was a fish stand, which smelt awful. The fish weren’t even on ice, so I wonder how long they had been sitting there and just how safe they would be to eat. I can’t imagine people throwing away good, saleable fish just because it was caught a few days earlier.

Most of the stalls inside the markets were traditional African items – especially wooden items, carvings and paintings. One thing I noticed was that the people selling outside the markets were mainly selling Western items – sunglasses, CDs, plastic toys, whereas inside there were mainly tradition African items along with some fresh food and other packaged food. I suppose the reason might be that the people inside would have to pay rent for their stall, and so would need to have a more stable business to be able to guarantee that they can make rent. On the other hand, the people selling Western goods did not seem to have a large supply, and so probably picked them up cheaply from somewhere, and tomorrow may be selling or doing something completely different.

The markets were definitely an experience – it was quite daunting, and the salespeople were very pushy. By the time we left I felt that I was used to the money, which will be handy for the rest of the time here.

Our guide for today was a lady named Fillemina, who works at World Vision in the child sponsorship area of the Maputo office. She was very nice and really helpful, and was happy to answer questions from us all through the day. Our driver was named Cardozo, and he did not speak English so only spoke to Fillemina throughout the day.

Our first stop was a small shopping center where we could exchange our money. We got there at 8:30 but found it did not open until 9am, so we went to a coffee shop across the road. This was my first real experience of life in Maputo city. Our waiter did not speak English, so without Fillemina there we would have had a lot of trouble communicating. Also, the menu was not as Western as we have been used to on the trip so far. Half of us had ‘cheese toast’, which turned out to be a toasted cheese sandwich, and the rest of us, myself included, had ‘butter toast’, which was just that – buttered toast. We got a large bottle of water each, and I couldn’t help but feel very suspicious of it. I made myself get over it though – if I don’t at least trust the bottled water then I wont have anything to drink for the next 10 days! After our snack/breakfast we went back across the roads to exchange our money. It was a bit scary – we were only allowed in the office one at a time, and I had to trust that I was not going to be ripped off, as I don’t fully understand the exchange rate yet, especially since I was converting from South African Rand to Meticais.

We got back on the bus then, and headed off towards the markets. On the way we stopped at a place called the Fortress, which was a very historical place with statutes, signs and artifacts. Fillemina narrated as we looked around the Fortress, but I still found it all a little confusing. One of the statues was of the man who was the first Governor of Maputo, back when Maputo had its original name.

When we got to the Holiday Inn Maputo, the change was obvious as soon as we entered the driveway. We were back to having porters carrying our bags, and everyone being extremely friendly and helpful, unlike most of the staff at the airport. This is where the rich tourists come, including ourselves, and so this is where there is money to be made.

A few of the girls remarked that they felt guilty staying here after what we had seen on the drive, and that it felt wrong. Everyone agreed, including myself, but I wonder how we really would go staying in the slums. Especially since our driver told us that what we had seen were not the real slums, just some of the poorer areas. We all like to think that we could, or that we should want to if we are to work with World Vision. Do we have to give up material possessions in order to truly understand poverty? I really don’t know. Sometimes I think that I can’t help anyone unless I have the ability to do so, meaning that I can support myself comfortably and have money to spare. But then I wonder just how noble it really is to give only what we can spare, after first satisfying our own needs and wants and of course leaving some extra ‘just in case’. Does anyone really give only to deprive themselves at the same time? During the big Tsunami Telethon, every time I heard a large donation by a company, I always thought that the amount they donated reflected the excess money that they made. Of course it was great that they donated the money, they certainly didn’t have to and it is for a most deserving cause, but I never considered that the companies might give to the appeal and in doing so, leave themselves short.

[Arriving in Mozambique]

When we got off the plane the first thing I saw was the huge writing on the side of the airport which said Aeroporto Internacional De Maputo, which of course in English means ‘Airport International of Maputo’.

I took a photo of it, and then turned around to take one of the plane when a man who had been on the same flight ran up to me, tapped me on the shoulder and said ‘No photos’. I had read in a few different books and on the internet that you must be very careful when taking photos in Mozambique, and never to take photos of anything to do with the government or the military. I guess I just forgot in the excitement of finally landing in Mozambique. We went through customs easily, sped up by the fact that there were people from the Maputo World Vision office there to meet us on the other side. Our passports were taken from us in order for us to get our visas, which made me really nervous. I’m very aware that without my passport I’m not going home, or at least not in 11 days.

The drive through Mozambique to the Holiday Inn Maputo was mind blowing. It was just like something you would see in a movie. I ended up taking a few minutes of video footage just because I knew I would not be able to properly explain to anyone back home what it was like. Its very humid here, around 38 degrees when we got off the plane. The roads are normal bitumen roads, but the sides of the roads are red and dusty. There were kids literally everywhere, walking or running along the road, playing games in the hot sand. I saw a few women amongst the kids, and a lot of men walking alone or in groups with other men. There were a lot of small stalls set up, constructed out of a tarpaulin and four poles, or a few sheets of tin. All kinds of things were being sold – clothes, drinks, ornaments. A bus pulled out in front of us, and our driver noted with a laugh that in Australia something like that wouldn’t even be allowed on the roads. He was right – it was in such poor condition that you would only think to find it in the back of someone’s yard, no longer being used. But this was the public transport being relied upon to take people where they need to go.

[The flight from Perth to Johannesburg, South Africa]

The last two hours of the flight here went pretty smoothly, we had dinner (bacon ravioli, which was really nice) and I tried to read again for a while. By the time we started the descent I was feeling so tired, even though it was only 5pm Mozambique time, and would have been 11pm for me if I were still at home. We got off the plane onto South African soil, and it was a really weird feeling to know that you’re not in Australia anymore. I don’t think its hit me even now. After getting off the plane we found we were in the middle of the runway, and there was a small bus waiting to take us all to the main airport. When we got there we lined up and had to get our passports stamped again, then off to baggage claim. Luckily there were no problems there either. Going through customs was relatively straightforward – just lined up once again and handed in a form on our way through the gate.

Then we were outside with all our luggage, and there were South African porters everywhere, wanting to help us with our luggage. There had been repeated messages over the loudspeaker when we were inside to only use the official porters wearing the orange uniforms, and that the recommended rate is 5 rand per bag. It was quite confusing because the porters were all very distinguished looking men, in clean, expensive-looking uniforms, but we kept having to remind ourselves that without the small amount of money they get from tourists in return for carrying their bags, these men have no way to make a living. It was strange because when you think of poverty you think of obvious poverty, but this was far from it.

We used a porter who’s name was something similar to Hero. He was very pushy, asking to be in photos with us, and even writing down his address for us. He stayed with us longer than he needed to, and when our bus came, he offered to exchange money for Will. After seeing what went on with the porters today, it made me think about how much pride some people have. In essence, these men were asking tourists for money in exchange for a simple task – wheeling some bags outside. This is no different to someone on the streets who asks for money in exchange for a song or a shoe-shine, but these men were treating it as a very distinguished, important job.

In 2005 I was chosen as World Vision’s Youth Ambassador for Western Australia. As part of the ambassadorship, I travelled to Mozambique with the other ambassadors – one each from the Australian states. The six ambassadors, along with two chaperones, spent 11 days in Mozambique visiting various projects and putting a human face to poverty.

While I was away I kept a detailed journal and took many photos. Amongst the eight of us we collected over 2000 photos. For the next few days I’ll post some of the highlights from my travel journal. I hope you enjoy it!

NB: I’ve edited the journal and taken out the parts that aren’t relevant. Where possible, I’ve removed references to the other ambassadors and chaperones, but where it was absolutely necessary to refer to them, I’ve changed their names. I wish to tell my story without impacting on theirs. However, I have left the names of the African people unchanged. This is their story too.

Hello, and welcome to my blog! I’m Stacey, I’m 23 years old and I’ll be keeping you up to date with all the latest news on global poverty. I’ve been on two volunteer trips to Africa in the past few years, so I’ll also be posting some highlights from my travel journals. I’ve got 6 sponsored kids, so I’ll be writing about the personal aspects of child sponsorship as well. Please contact me if there is anything in particular you would like me to post about – I hope to be here for a long time and would love to get some long-term readers! Well I’d better get started - hope to see you back here soon!