Kalandula

In the period following the independence Luanda was a real oasis. Of course we had a curfew, which, truth be told, we conveniently “forgot” everytime we wanted to go to night clubs or parties, and I don’t know anyone who regrets not to comply. To venture out of the capital was quite a bit more dangerous. My friends and I went every Sunday to Santiago beach – a few kms North of Luanda. Unfortunately today it’s a ship graveyard. It was a beautiful beach and completely deserted – like having our own private beach (some of the images in the slideshow are from Santiago). Sometimes we went to Palmeirinhas, South of Luanda and we went a couple of times to Cabo Ledo to have some barbequed lobsters – it was possible to get them if we went at the right time and knew the fishermen. I was working for Schlumberger at the time. The Angolan staff talked a lot about Kalandula and all the foreigners wanted to go there, but the situation was terribly dangerous and the fact that we would have to go by car made the trip impossible! The road to Malange was partially destroyed (as much as we knew, as no one dared to go there by car) and there was the real danger of ambushes and even worse, land mines. However, the engineers pestered us so much, doubting the beauty of the waterfall, in fact we were probably afraid they would start comparing it unfavourably to more beautiful waterfalls in Africa and the rest of the world, with the result that we, IDIOTS, decided to prove them wrong. And we went! We left Luanda at 4 AM on a lovely day in 83 and we went to Kalandula. There were 2 cars, full of petrol cans as there was absolutely no gas station in the way, 2 british, 1 Nigerian, 1 Portuguese, 1 French and 2 dumb Angolans! I remember clearly the way there: the French guy smoking calmly in the back seat saying that it was perhaps a bad idea to smoke inside a car full of petrol cans, but………. Otherwise, without a problem. Once there, we took plenty of photos – as we had to prove we had been there! - and as quickly as possible we got on the road again. By then we knew for sure the roads were barely passable and the trip would be long. Thanks to 2 flat tires and the fact that the return trip was mostly done at night time, it took even longer to get back. We arrived at 3AM the next day, nearly 24 hours after we had left. My parents were in a panic - although I had not told them where I was going, they had heard it from a “friend” of mine. Even my father who is normally a very calm person was frantic, as a friend of his had been murdered just outside of Luanda for his car. I have daughters today and can understand my parents’ worry, but at the time it was just a great adventure! The only problem resulting from that trip is the fact that Mike (my husband) wanted to go there too, but he was on holiday at the time – he has not yet forgiven me that we didn’t wait for his return.

It's not possible "to pass through" Angola

I’ve “passed through” and even “stayed” in many countries, many towns. Today I live in England, a place my husband and daughters consider “home”. What about me? For 17 years I’ve been trying to convince myself that I’ll get used to it - and I have, no doubt. However, I can’t really call it “home”.
I love going to Portugal to visit my parents. I prefer the milder climate of Lisbon to the cold weather I get here. However, I can’t call Portugal “home” either – no surprises there, I never really lived in the country.
Sometimes I wonder whether I would feel “at home” if I went back to Luanda. The town has changed a lot since I left in 84 and it will go on changing thanks to the amazing economical growth it’s going through. If I went back, would Luanda be a stranger to me? Or would my heart recognize it as one would recognize a first love after many years despite the age and the wrinkles? After all, it was not the political regime I loved, or the buildings and monuments, but the land, the people. The land is terribly scarred by all the spilt blood but it’s still the same land. What about the people? Has all the suffering changed them?
I didn’t “pass through” Angola. And when I had to leave, a piece of me remained behind, and I brought a piece of her in my heart. It’s not enough, but it helps to keep me sane.