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”.