I was born in the most fantastic continent, in a truly magical place, Africa! In the most beautiful city in the world, Luanda.
Better than my memory, my senses do not forget Angola. What I remember best are the smells. The perfume of ripe mangoes, maboques and palm fruit. The smell of low tide, of wet soil after the rains. The coffee and the dried fish in the Praia do Bispo.
Next come the colours. The blood red of the acacias in full bloom, the golden red of the sunset, the bright red of the soil, the perfect blue in the sky with no clouds, the silver green in the sea, the multicoloured cloths of the kitandeiras, the women selling foodstuffs from door to door.
In this never ending trip happening only in my memory, I can still hear the noises. The calemas in the sea during bad weather, the rain falling on a tin roof, the deafening thunderstorms. The cries in the market, the merengues, batucadas and kizombas in the night.
Then come the tastes. The sour and tangy cashew fruit, the velvety sweetness of the mangoes and pawpaws, the sharpness of the mucuas. The hot spicy chilies and the sweet lightness of kifufutila.
Last, but not least, I can still feel the fine sand in the beach escaping through my fingers, my feet running at the edge of the sea, licked by the waves, the lovely breeze of a warm evening in the ilha, the light kiss of the sun on my skin.
I miss Luanda loads. I miss the serene calm life I never found anywhere else. I miss all the friends I lost when they left in 75 and the ones I lost again when it was my turn to leave in 84. I miss Bairro Pop, Vila Alice, Ingombotas, Mutamba and especially, Mussulo. I miss the palm and coconut trees, the beach, the Avis, Miramar and Imperio. I miss the barrocas and marginal, Palmeirinhas, Santiago and Cabo Ledo. I miss the rains which left me completely soaking wet in a couple of minutes but never lasted longer that a couple of hours. I miss mainly a place I can call home and I can identify with. I didn’t just lose the place I lived in; I lost my roots, my cultural background, my sense of belonging.
I miss Africa. Terribly. And just like Alda Lara, I want one day to say: “I’ve come back”.

L'amitie

Ca fleurit comme une herbe sauvage
N'importe où, en prison, à l'école,
Tu la prends comme on prend la rougeole
Tu la prends comme on prend un virage
C'est plus fort que les liens de famille
Et c'est moins complique que l'amour
Et c'est là quand t'es rond comme une bille
Et c'est là quand tu cries au secours
C'est le seul carburant qu'on connaisse
Qui augmente à mesure qu'on l'emploie
Le vieillard y retrouve sa jeunesse
Et les jeunes en ont fait une loi.
C'est la banque de toutes les tendresses
C'est une arme pour tous les combats
Ca réchauffe et ca donne du courage
Et ça n'a qu'un slogan " on partage"
Au clair de l'amitiéLe ciel est si beau
Viens boire à l'amitié
Mon ami Pierrot
L'amitié c'est un autre langage
Un regard et tu as tout compris
Et c'est comme S.O.S. dépannage
Tu peux téléphoner jour et nuit.
L'amtitié c'est le faux témoignage
Qui te sauve dans un tribunal
C'est le gars qui te tourne les pages
Quand tu es seul dans un lit d'hopital
C'est la banque de toutes les tendresses
C'est une arme pour tous les combats
Ca rechauffe et ca donne du courage
Et ca n'a qu'un slogan : "on partage"

Herbert Pagani

I remember as if it was today – mid November 75, I was in the queue to enroll in the FAPLA (the glorious Angolan Army). I still keep the piece of paper that proves it, and my husband loves to show it to everyone!
Afterwards, I went straight to the queue at the university. The classes were starting soon at the Faculty of Economics and no way was I going to miss my place!
In the beginning we did some revision as the 74-75 school year had finished early and the teachers didn’t have the chance to cram everything in.
The 2 years I was at uni were memorable. I made loads of friends, they all were “tyre sandals” (made of car tyres, as there were no shoes to be found in the shops). We had great teachers but that didn’t last long! On red Saturdays we went to cut sugar cane to help the national economy and rebuilding the country. And you know what? We loved it! We used to go in groups, all with our own cutlass and it was fun!!! And what’s even more surprising, nobody ever got hurt! Nowadays, the safety rules would never allow it!With all its difficulties, Luanda was a real oasis! And the best of all is that everybody who decided to stay knew each other……….or if they didn’t, they knew the friend of a pal of a friend……….It was a tiny community!!!!!!!!!!!