It's obvious what's not, but what is.

It was the usual route through Maputo to the Aero Porto on another early morning. The work van was hot from thick humid air. After a minute my clothes were already wet. The Embassy dwellings were first to go by. The street is rough here with deep holes that never heal from the rain. Guards were still sleeping in their sidewalk chairs under low hanging shade trees. This is nice Maputo. Bellevue Maputo. Within three minutes we drive through shanty Maputo. Everywhere are make shift fort like structures set at random angles, dirt, dust, unclothed kids sitting in questionable drainages with nowhere to go, some kids lying still, other kids throwing rocks, alleyways of corrugated metal, blue and yellow cement walls, and what seems like a thousand eyes looking at you from behind shady lean-tos. I drive by here everyday. My face is always pressed to the window mesmerized by the scene. I have no words to describe how I feel about seeing this.

On this morning, in the middle of shanty town, our van was stuck in traffic. Somewhere ahead a vehicle broke down. So there we sat. It had rained the night before and the street was slick with red mud. A sweet wood smoke from morning fires was drifting over the line of stalled cars. Out the right window, across a ditch, was a big pile of garbage. A woman with a rake, knee deep in trash, was slowly sifting through every piece, one by one scrutinizing each item for any value. Items that held some promise went into a brown sack attached to her hip. It wasn’t very full. As I watched her I began to see a rhythmic pattern to her movement. She would rake some, then bend down and use her hands then slowly return upright, wipe her wet forehead, turn her head as if looking for someone, and start over. I watched for what seemed like hours. Her motions were always the same.

The sun was now above the shack roofs. It was a good light, warm looking, the kind photographers like. It began to spread where the garbage was. It lit up the woman’s head wrap, brown, yellow, and red. It was beautiful. I hadn’t noticed it before. Things in the heap were taking on color from the sun. Green glass and red coke cans, paper and cartons, silver metal…everything just beamed with color as she raked in her rhythmic way. I just stared out the window, mouth open, trance like.

It kind of sounds beautiful, and for a few moments I thought it was. But then I looked back at the woman sifting through the debris and it wasn’t beautiful anymore.

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