Yes, I said I'd reform, but I'm having a final fling.
Banco de Moçambique placed a full-page advertisement in yesterday's Notícias to inform us all that exactly thirty-two years had passed since its foundation. I feel like I've been waiting a lot longer than that. The advertisement would have looked much better had it included the line "We just approved the first ever [CENSORED] in Mozambique". I suggest that they could appropriately celebrate their thirty-second birthday with some thirty-second approvals.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Short break for high living
Last weekend I bowed to that law of Mozambican middle-class life which periodically compels you to go from wherever you are to wherever the shopping is better. You must do this at intervals to retain your middle-class credentials. If you live in the backblocks of Zambézia, you exert all your efforts to get to Mocuba or Gurué; if you are in Mocuba or Gurué, you do your utmost to get to Quelimane; if you are in Quelimane, you strive for Maputo; and if you are in Maputo, you run the gauntlet of the choked border crossing at Ressano Garcia and the assorted hazards of the N4 (speed traps, bandidos, South African drivers) to get to Nelspruit.
I'm on the edges of respectability, unable as I am to bother with cars or televisions, so particular gusto was called for. I did my best, guzzling delicacies like mushrooms and inch-thick steak (the Portuguese-style steak of Mozambique is paper-thin) and lingering too long beneath the extravagant hotel shower. I fear I failed the most important test, however, by restricting my purchases to goods not for sale in Maputo - things like herbal medicine, cotton underwear and English-language books (eight of them, the tallest stack I could carry to the counter at Exclusive Books whilst encumbered by my other purchases). I felt humbled at the border on the return crossing, waiting with the local matrons in their gold earrings and stylish sandals, among their sacks of rice and towers of egg cartons.
Taking the theme of consumption to another level, Nelspruit is one of the locations where games of the 2010 World Cup will be played. I understand (from various word-of-mouth reports) that a complete community - a black neighbourhood, naturally, including two schools - was relocated to make way for a new 20,000-seat stadium. My informants were mostly concerned about what would happen to the stadium after the World Cup, given that Nelspruit doesn't support any sports teams that could draw a crowd that strong - would anyone at all be interested in its long-term upkeep?
Other plans are afoot to build five big hotels with a total of over 2,000 rooms. I assume those hotels will be easily folded up and stored until the next big event, because there's seldom any trouble getting a room in Nelspruit's present complement of hotels and guest houses. Trudi says she won't be returning to South Africa until after the World Cup, as there should be plenty of cheap property on the market then.
The South African papers were full of photos of long queues outside government offices. It seems that the old motor vehicle licensing system has been upgraded to a high-tech centralised system, which crashes whenever more than one province comes online, and with a do-it-yourself interface, which bewilders that majority of South Africans who aren't familiar with personal computers. According to Mpumalanga newspaper, "For as many as four consecutive days, people have gone home with empty hands, sore feet and bloody tempers". I'll assume, perhaps charitably, that political forces overruled the cautions of the geeks involved, extend them my sympathies, and pray that I never end up in a similar situation.
(I detect a certain sameness of theme creeping into these posts. Lack of intelligence in government institutions is dominating my life at the moment, but I shouldn't turn it into a morbid fascination. I will try to be more positive in future.)
I'm on the edges of respectability, unable as I am to bother with cars or televisions, so particular gusto was called for. I did my best, guzzling delicacies like mushrooms and inch-thick steak (the Portuguese-style steak of Mozambique is paper-thin) and lingering too long beneath the extravagant hotel shower. I fear I failed the most important test, however, by restricting my purchases to goods not for sale in Maputo - things like herbal medicine, cotton underwear and English-language books (eight of them, the tallest stack I could carry to the counter at Exclusive Books whilst encumbered by my other purchases). I felt humbled at the border on the return crossing, waiting with the local matrons in their gold earrings and stylish sandals, among their sacks of rice and towers of egg cartons.
Taking the theme of consumption to another level, Nelspruit is one of the locations where games of the 2010 World Cup will be played. I understand (from various word-of-mouth reports) that a complete community - a black neighbourhood, naturally, including two schools - was relocated to make way for a new 20,000-seat stadium. My informants were mostly concerned about what would happen to the stadium after the World Cup, given that Nelspruit doesn't support any sports teams that could draw a crowd that strong - would anyone at all be interested in its long-term upkeep?
Other plans are afoot to build five big hotels with a total of over 2,000 rooms. I assume those hotels will be easily folded up and stored until the next big event, because there's seldom any trouble getting a room in Nelspruit's present complement of hotels and guest houses. Trudi says she won't be returning to South Africa until after the World Cup, as there should be plenty of cheap property on the market then.
The South African papers were full of photos of long queues outside government offices. It seems that the old motor vehicle licensing system has been upgraded to a high-tech centralised system, which crashes whenever more than one province comes online, and with a do-it-yourself interface, which bewilders that majority of South Africans who aren't familiar with personal computers. According to Mpumalanga newspaper, "For as many as four consecutive days, people have gone home with empty hands, sore feet and bloody tempers". I'll assume, perhaps charitably, that political forces overruled the cautions of the geeks involved, extend them my sympathies, and pray that I never end up in a similar situation.
(I detect a certain sameness of theme creeping into these posts. Lack of intelligence in government institutions is dominating my life at the moment, but I shouldn't turn it into a morbid fascination. I will try to be more positive in future.)
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Vanishing bureaucrats
Yes, the dates of my proposed travel to Chimoio are indeed creeping further and further into the future. Now I wait in suspense for project approval from the Banco de Moçambique. "Any sufficiently advanced bureaucracy is indistinguishable from molasses" (Anonymous).
Last week, as I drummed my nails down to their beds and generally drove Nilza insane with my tetchiness (she took three days off to recover), I ran across the inspiring news that President Guebuza had made a speech calling on public servants to actually serve the public. '[Some] people even kept a count of the number of people whose requests they turn down, "and they're very pleased about it", said the President' (Agência Informação de Moçambique).
Such people are at least at their desks and sure of their duties. When Guebuza and his new team assumed government in early 2005, some of the ministers took to dropping in unannounced on their department offices. News agencies reported that they found armies of empty desks, or people who couldn't explain what their jobs were. We gobbled up the reports, gleeful and hopeful, but nothing seemed to come of it all.
Until now, perhaps, if we're lucky. In today's national daily, Notícias (essentially a government information sheet), we read that a census of government departments is under way, at a cost of US$1.7 million, which has discovered 34,000 people in "irregular situations" - that is, they draw a salary, but they aren't there.
Last week, as I drummed my nails down to their beds and generally drove Nilza insane with my tetchiness (she took three days off to recover), I ran across the inspiring news that President Guebuza had made a speech calling on public servants to actually serve the public. '[Some] people even kept a count of the number of people whose requests they turn down, "and they're very pleased about it", said the President' (Agência Informação de Moçambique).
Such people are at least at their desks and sure of their duties. When Guebuza and his new team assumed government in early 2005, some of the ministers took to dropping in unannounced on their department offices. News agencies reported that they found armies of empty desks, or people who couldn't explain what their jobs were. We gobbled up the reports, gleeful and hopeful, but nothing seemed to come of it all.
Until now, perhaps, if we're lucky. In today's national daily, Notícias (essentially a government information sheet), we read that a census of government departments is under way, at a cost of US$1.7 million, which has discovered 34,000 people in "irregular situations" - that is, they draw a salary, but they aren't there.
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