Hot day in Malanga

Those who aren't familiar with the usual face of Avenida 24 de Julho outside our office in Bairro de Malanga - crowded with traffic, shoppers and the street vendors' neatly arranged second-hand shoes - may not fully appreciate this photo. Valentin took it from the office window ledge on Tuesday, when the price of a chapa ride increased from five meticais to seven and a half.

I could thrill you all with tales of the rubber bullets I dodged, but in fact I spent most of the day at home in bed with a fever and stomach cramps. I crept out for a malaria test around 9.00, when all looked normal in my middle-class part of town. In the clinic's waiting room the local TV news showed interviews with commuters angry about the price increase, but that was to be expected. I received my negative result and crept home.

Around midday Carminda rang to say that if I was thinking of coming in, I should forget it. By that time small mobs had upended rubbish skips and burned tyres to block off main roads, and were throwing stones at any vehicle that defied the blockade. Ambulances weren't exempt, as Valentin shows us.

The stone-throwers weren't just the young underemployed men that one might expect. Wesley reported seeing a car speed into the mob's section of the street when a woman threw the first stone, and a group of children followed suit. The news reports I've read mention groups of schoolchildren, unable to attend classes due to chapas being off the roads, joining in the free-for-all.

I saw nothing of this in peaceful, prosperous Bairro de Polana. It felt like a public holiday, with no racket of public transport coming up from the street.

Carminda walked home around 16.30 - it seemed safer than driving, at that stage, and indeed she did make it home without incident, for all the uproar around her. She reports that some true believers in her part of town were stopping vehicles at their makeshift barricades and then allowing them to move on if they paid cash.

The police made a very late appearance on our section of 24 de Julho, and it didn't improve matters. By that time, the crowds seemed to have dispersed, and those of my colleages still at the office judged it safe enough to drive home in a convoy. (The stone-throwers had ignored the cars parked in front of the office. Only moving vehicles drew their ire.) They all went down to the street together, when a truck full of police appeared, apparently with orders to fire rubber bullets at anyone still on the streets. "Grenade-sized" rubber bullets, as Wesley described them, and he has an impressive dent in his car to prove it.

Everyone dived behind the parked cars. Thank God for the presence of mind of a passing motorist who jumped on his brakes so that a group of local children who had ventured out to play could shelter behind his car. After the police truck swerved off to the other end of the street, Trudi took advantage of the lull to shepherd all the children inside the bank building, where they huddled on the stairs and listened to Trudi's Portuguese reassurance while the police returned and swept the pavement with rubber bullets again.

So. The powers that be repealed the price increase - a contentious move, as chapeiras simply don't make a profit at that price (it has remained the same for three years). At the next attempt to raise the price everyone will know how to bring it back down again. From Wednesday onwards, things have been calm, though there have been few chapas on the streets this week - why should there be, if it's not economic for the chapeiras to send them out there? But some arrangement has been arrived at, and today the Maputo streets are their usual crowded, crazy selves.

I suspect this issue may provide more material later. I promise to skip any heroics if stone-throwing women or rubber bullets come anywhere near me. (For now, I am feeling much better, thank you.)