Dog Days of Summer

As a kid, summer was my all time favorite time of year, not just because my birthday falls during the summer, or that I could spend my days being a geeky band camper, but because I got to go to the beach. Some of my first memories of family holidays are those spent at Coney Island, and later when we moved to Long Island, Jones Beach. My older brother liked to call us the Gaddafi bandwagon because when we traveled we traveled all together, this was particularly so when we made a beach trip. My parents, my brothers, my grandparents and any other relative that was staying with us at the time and of course moi would wake up at the crack of dawn and head to the beach.

We would pile into our 1970 something, puke green Volkswagon and because food at the beach was absolutely off limits, we would load up our huge red cooler and other beach bags with what you could probably feed an army with: chicken, hotdogs, hamburgers, potato chips, potato salad, macaroni salad, assorted sandwiches, Pathmark brand crème and pineapple sodas, Kool Aid fruit punch, fruit, water and of course, the grown-ups had beer. We had a small, round grill that stood on a tripod that my parents probably bought when they first got off the boat and we still had until my mother sold her house in 2001---like I said in my post Waste Not, Want Not, immigrant folks don’t throw anything away until JC himself tells them that the item has exhausted its utility. We would usually get there around 8 or 9 am and then not leave until well after the sun had set.

We spent our days building sand castles, jumping waves, throwing sand at each other and what I now know, driving my parents up the wall---but I’m sure the beer helped dull the nerves that we were constantly hanging on. Now that I am an adult, not that much has changed about my trips to the beach. I still carry my food rather than buy anything at the beach and I still love jumping waves. So I was pretty excited when we moved to Maputo, and to find out that we were only a 15-30 minute bus ride from the city beach, Costa de Sol. Most times we do take the chapa, but once in awhile, we get up early and we strap on our backpacks filled with a bottle of ice water, UNO playing cards, and French fries and egg omelette sandwiches to run the 5-6 miles it takes to get there.

I have visited my fair share of beaches and I have to say that Costa de Sol has been one of the more unique ones that I have been to. Back in the day, under the pretty authoritarian leadership of Machel Samora, the beach area and swimming was prohibited. In fact, policemen were posted there to stop people from swimming but also to monitor any illegal activity, such as drinking alcoholic beverages. One positive effect, as B describes it, was that the beach was a pristine white sand paradise with crystal clear blue-green water. Much has changed since those days and the beach is more on par with Coney Island during the 1980s, sans the hypodermic needles.

Today, there is much beer drinking at the beach as evidenced by the amount of broken beer bottles and their jagged pieces buried into the sand: on the beach and on the ocean floor. Needless to say one must tread lightly when walking. People also leave their garbage behind which leads to it being swept in and out to sea. Sadly, some years back, an oilrig sunk and its contents transformed that crystal, clear blue-green water, to a swimming area that is clean, and swimmable, but is murky and very much lost to what it once was.

When you arrive to the beach there are many food vendors with huge barbecue pits made out of large metal garbage cans that are cut into half and outfitted with grills. They sell either fish or chicken served with French fries or chima. There are of course many vendors selling beer and other refreshments. Women and small children walk the beach selling roasted peanuts, the seasonal fruit, cookies and at times, ice cream. While other people are selling their crafts: jewelry and home items made out of shells. And there is always the random vendor selling DVDs, q-tips and soap.

The time of day that you visit the beach brings in a tide of distinct groups. When we go in the morning, we are met with the street children and other homeless people who sleep at the beach at night. This time of the day can actually be the most dangerous in terms of theft as you may think that the beach is pretty deserted and secure and it being so early, that your things will be safely waiting for you after a dip in the water. But in fact, this is actually when your stuff will most likely get stolen—so B and I usually take turns cooling off after our run. At this time of day you are also most likely to see fishermen going out to cast their nets and market women with large baskets who will sit for them to come back in order to get the best picks of the fishermen’s catch.

The morning also brings the healers and members of the Zion church. The ocean’s waters and salt are deemed to be cleansing properties and are very holy to both the traditional healers and the Zionists. Recently, we saw a woman who, according to B, had an evil spirit that needed to be expelled. The healer tied a chicken to a small shrub and then he started a small fire close by. Thereafter, he passed a stick he was holding over the woman that had some sort of animal hair tied to the end. After saying some prayers with this stick, he accompanied her to the sea and sat her in the water, and then continued reciting prayers while passing the stick over her body. The evil spirit was being transferred from her body to the chicken. And the water was cleansing her soul to be reborn new again. When I saw them leave I saw that they left the chicken and asked B why they weren’t taking it with them. “They have to leave it so the spirit that is now in the chicken does not find her again. The thieves hanging about here will catch it and eat it.” “Well won’t the spirit pass into them?” “Chickens don’t have a soul for an evil spirit to corrupt.” “How do you know, are you a chicken?! Maybe it will be an evil chicken, pecking people all the time, because the evil spirit is trying to get out or something.” “Ok. We are not going to have this conversation. The street kids eat it and then they continue doing the bad things they are already doing but worse because the evil spirit is in them now.” “Ok. Thanks.”

The Zionists also conduct their services on the beach during early morning hours. There are usually several groups of 4-6 people—although they are of the same religion they all attend “different” churches. The fact that they deem each church different form the other is a bit confusing to me because their church services are on the beach and held literally in the water with only about 5-10 feet between each “church.” It would be nice to know what each group is doing differently from the other. When they enter the water, they make a circle holding hands, and at least one member is in the middle. The middle person usually has a spirit in them of someone who has passed on and the spirit is using him or her as a vessel to send a message. There is usually a lot of screaming and thrashing in the water. It all looks very scary and violent. Many are known to speak in tongues during one of these possessions and thereafter not have a clue of what they said or did.

The late morning to early afternoon brings families with their young kids: there are lots of coolers, beach toys and kids getting on their parents nerves---and sometimes on mine as well. Some beach goers play soccer, some are parasailing while others pretend they know how to play capoeira by doing some turn like kick motions, beating on a drum and plucking at the berimbau. But I’ve been to enough play sessions to know the real thing from the “I want to impress you so I can snog you later on under a starry night” kind of capoeira.

The late afternoon moving into the evening brings couples, partiers and the police to catch the couples and the partiers who will most likely hook up on the beach. The police are not there to control such illicit sexual behavior---but to catch people in the act so that the couple will pay them something for not issuing a fine. Long gone are the days of Samora’s police force: in some ways that is good but in others, not so much.

We only have a few more weeks before our summer is over as the strong winds have arrived and mornings have gotten quite chilly, with the sun rising later and later each day---sure signs that winter is coming. We can still go to the beach and swim, as the water is always warm to hot—but when you get out is when you will freeze your butt off, as the temperature does drop quite low here in Southern Africa. I have to re-program my mind to look forward to winter days where we can just sit and watch the tide as the sun sets, play some UNO and if the police are not out and about, make a small bonfire to warm ourselves up. One thing I do know, there will always be something interesting happening to keep me entertained.