The police get thirsty

This post comes to you from Chimoio, where the lack of anything for a quiet lone female to do in the evenings means that I can at last write up the big story from the beginning of April.

I thought it was some nationalistic sub-editor's tasteless idea of an April Fool's Day joke when I first read about the police raid on Mundo's, one of Maputo's most popular restaurants. Then I noticed the detail that both locals and foreigners were obliged to leave their tables and show their national ID card or proof of residency. Yes - this was no civilised matter of placing a couple of officers at each door to catch dodgers while others go from table to table with a polite refrain of Good evening ladies and gentlemen, just a routine check, may we see your documents? The police entered carrying their AK47s, blocked off the exits, ordered all patrons to leave their tables and sent men to one side of the room, women to the other. ("You might as well throw your cellphone and car keys in the middle," as a friend of mine said when that was explained to him.) They then proceeded, in the words of one local newspaper, to "negociar soluções" with those caught without documents and "maltratar e humilhar as mulheres moçambicanas". (Mulheres are women, but the rest I'm obliged to leave discreetly untranslated. My Portuguese always deserts me when the police are involved - in much the same way, I suspect, as some locals caught in the raid had "ataques de nervos", according to another newspaper.)

I don't really eat at Mundo's any more; it's outgrown its service staff, so you wait an hour for your meal and another hour for your bill, and it tends to be full of South African consultants watching football on the widescreens. But it's also popular with locals, most of them out for a rare treat. The newspaper report quoted above features an interview with an aggrieved local lady (source of the line complaining of maltreatment and humiliation) whose birthday celebration had been spoiled.

Nonetheless, the night after the raid, I did get my own brush with the law - well, it wore grey uniforms and carried AK47s, so what else could it be? Three of them surrounded me as I walked home from my own dinner with friends. After the ritual examination of my residency permit, we had the following exchange. (This is an edited version; please imagine that everything the police said was repeated at least three times, as I failed to understand the first or second attempts.)

Police officer: Where is your house?
AB: [pointing] Over there.
Police officer: We want to go to your house for a cup of coffee.
AB: I have no coffee.
Police officer: We want to go to your house for a cold drink.
AB: I have no cold drinks.

I could have stood there all night, politely refusing, but fortunately the police recognised a skilled practicioner of stubbornness, and went in search of easier prey.

Residents of Mozambique reading this should note that the above exchange contains two mistakes on my part. The correct response to any police officer wanting a drink at your house is, "You need a warrant (mandato) for that."