Women and War

Abstract

We left Maputo early and drove out past the road block at the edge of town and into the countryside. Already people were busy working the rich, dark earth. Climbing a hill, we passed an abandoned sugar factory and after about an hour reached the district capital of Manhiça. The town has a beautiful setting on the escarpment that overlooks the River Incomati. From the edge of the escarpment you can look across the wide river valley to the hills opposite, their fertile farmland deserted because of the bandit activity. Now people have moved the safer, but humid and unhealthy, valley floor. Lina — writer, businesswoman, development worker and friend — has gone off to try and sort out the broken-down tractor on her farm and has left me with Feliziamo as guide. She comes from round here but left four years ago when one bullet went through her shoulder and another her wrist. We walked together through the almost empty market and on past the Registro Civil. From inside came the rich, strong sounds of many people singing. ‘Come’, said Feliziamo as she led me inside. The bride was dressed in white, as elaborate as in any English church wedding; the groom smart in his new suit. The room was packed with people, singing, dancing and clapping. My mind went back to one of the stories in Lina’s book, Dumba Nengue: Peasant Tales of Genocide in Mozambique. Here too were a young couple in Manhiça District, just married.