How I spent earth hour

This year I took part in Earth Hour, it fell on the 31^st of March during my 10 day study break. For those that don’t know Earth Hour is a worldwide event organised by the World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF) and held on the last Saturday of March annually, encouraging households and businesses to turn off their non-essential lights to raise awareness about the need to take action on climate change.

Before Earth Hour I charged my phone, in order to use the flashlight when I switched off the lights. I heated my dinner in the microwave. Then the alarm went off, it was time. I updated my WhatsApp status to Earth Hour. At 8pm I switched off the television, the lights, I unplugged the radio and my phone. The microwave emitted the only light left within my room like a furnace in an eerie basement. It soon went off too and I was in darkness. Albeit not in total darkness, looking into the courtyard outside my window I saw that nobody else was taking part in Earth hour in my complex.  In my corridor, all the lights were still on. One other room was in darkness, that person could have either been taking part in the cause or just left for the break. I laid out my yoga matt and did 150 sit ups in the dark. I’ve been doing them consistently since the start of the year, but I have to say it is a mission to get those perfect abs. In just about every media source that features a dude with ripped abs chances are he is flexing them, look closer they never breathe. I usually do them in two varied sets, after 60 straight push ups I feel the pain but I push further to 75+, focusing on my breathing rather than the pain. After mini-workout I looked into the mirror with the flashlight projecting from my phone, maybe it was the contrast in lighting but I could see some defined contours on my abs. Progress. 

Then I took the food out of the microwave and ate. Pork chops with gravy, rice and vegetables on the side.  While eating I wondered what was on TV, we’re so dependent on technology that when removed from it we become fish out of water with our gills still flapping for it. During Earth Hour I ate my meal rather slowly, I literally took my time. Afer taking the last bite, in the spur of the moment I made hand shadows, projected by my cell phone light towards the wall. Sitting there alone I chuckled at my momentary return to innocence. I made a bird, a duck, a dog and a rabbit, I had not done this in years. We are so caught up in our day to day activities that we forget the trivial things that once brought so much joy to us. It was 8:45, I had work to do so I got to it with my flashlight.

I read an article on the March 2012 issue of “New African”, the article entitled “Is Africa there for the taking?” was a reading into former president Thabo Mbeki’s thought-provoking address at a conference organised by the Makerere University of Social Research, in Kampala, Uganda. It spoke of how since postcolonial independence the dominant superpowers, the capitalist US and the socialist Soviet Union, intervened in Africa to keep the continent under its sphere of influence. Even with the end of the Cold War that neo-colonialist system continues in the capitalist world today pressuring Africa to become a continent of democracy and free market economy to be accepted as a worthy international partner in the dominant capitalist system. It was an interesting article and relevant to an African Film essay I was writing concerning the films Lumumba, Karmen Gei and Blood Diamond. The last half hour elapsed and with that I turned back on the technological appliances. I had to adjust the clock on my radio/docking station, it got disorientated after an hour without electricity. I changed my Whatsapp status to “Eye on the ball”.

Did I feel virtuous? I am not an environmentalist, the best I do normally is not littering. But there was no hypocrisy in my participation, I just felt like doing something significant. Some critics however, disagree with the significance of Earth Hour. In March 2010, the Telegraph quoted electricity experts that “it would therefore result in an increase in carbon emissions” due to complications related to rapidly lowering then raising electricity generations.  Some have argued that Earth Hour is an anti-technology cause and that people will simply use candles instead which are undesirable because they are petroleum based. I think these critics are missing the point, Earth hour isn’t a quick fix to climate change. Earth hour is symbolic, it is supposed to shake people out of apathy. Just in the last few years our planet has experienced droughts, floods, hurricanes, earthquakes, things are not looking good. Everyone on earth is united by one thing, our planet and it is the only one we have.

By:

Edgar Munguambe

The international cultural exhibition - The logistics (part 2)

18 August 2011: I woke up feeling the pressure. I had less than 24 hours to put it all together. The day was going to be a long ordeal. I made the first unanswered call to the dispatcher. Then I made my way to varsity. I knocked on Janine’s door at the international office to tell her that the contacts she gave me were incorrect.

-“Those are the only contacts we have in our system”, she said
-“OK so I’m alone, either way I don’t intend to sit through this one, I’ll represent Mozambique”
-“You should, either way it will be a lot of fun”.

So I was alone, I gave that phone number another go, still nothing. There I stood outside of the international office, seeing groups of nationals mingling in their own language. Some Tswana students were congregated outside of the library, some German students were sitting by the benches, Xhosa people were everywhere clicking and laughing. I felt like a man trapped in an island…but a bloody good swimmer. My driving force was there.

I made a call to the Cubata restaurant, saying I would be there in the evening, he said it would be best to get there at 9pm. At least we were getting somewhere with regards to the food. Shortly after I finished my lunch, the dispatcher returned my call. The dispatcher just wanted to confirm my physical and postal address, I asked her if she could confirm the arrival of the delivery for that day, she couldn’t, I could hear her shrugging her shoulders on the receiving end of the call. I was worried, in class my Advertising tutorial leader sensed tension, “You look worried”. I denied it playing the cool cucumber. I excused myself from her class to answer another call, it was that dispatcher’s superior, a Portuguese man. He had sombre news

- “The bag has not left Jo’burg, we tried to give it to passengers, we tried bribing some shot callers to have the bag checked in, none of the airlines accepted it”, he lamented
-“How come, the bag’s been in Johannesburg for 2 days, how is it that you couldn’t find a systematic solution?
- “The airlines won’t take the any unaccompanied bags”

They should have anticipated that, terror alert is at an all time high. We can’t even take a bottle over 50 ml to a plane.

-“What now?”
- “We’ll have to DHL it, it will be there tomorrow at 9 am”
-“9 am!! My exhibition has to be set up before that!”
- “That’s all we can do”

I zoned out in class for the rest of the day. I sent some futile messages to my parents and to uncle Salty. My father replied

“If the equipment only arrives at 9am:
1. Ask the organizers to set- up what you have. Show them good will.
2. You should have spoken to Sululo. Second best”

I kicked myself in the foot, I shouldn’t have dismissed the possibility of Susulo’s help. Media Ethics was my last lecture at 4:05pm, the clock was ticking and help was needed.

-“Jes you offer to help, let’s do this”

Jes may not have been Mozambican, but she was there for me.

Off we went on her Golf, 10 km to Sidnum, with Jes’s housemate Kevin as co-pilot because he knew the place. By reference the stadium faces a lake and Cubata is also a reference, being on the other side literally one block away. From the outside, it looked impersonal, with its high burglar bars and a drug fiend circling the restaurant. As soon as we got inside however, that cosy smell of chorizo and roast meat loosened us up. It had a tavern like atmosphere, visiting flags were up, I could see Italy, Angola, and the UK. I never got the manager’s name, he came over and made small talk in Portuguese, and even asked Jes if she was Mozambican too. So he only had tiger prawns straight from Mozambique going at R170 per kg. We asked for 3kg, a little over the budget but a bird in the hand is worth two in the wild. We were almost set, he brought the prawns over…in their frozen boxes.

-“Camarada, I asked to have them prepared”
-“If you want them prepared, that will cost you”, he said rubbing the tips of his fingers
-“How much?”
-“I charge exactly R170 per kg of fried prawns, so it will be double”
I was ready to swipe my card, Jes grabbed my hand and said, “wait, we need to think this through”
A box had 20 tiger prawns, 3 kg of tiger prawns was not going to cover 80 plus people, even if we only wanted them to sample it. Maybe 5kg would but that would have been way over the budget.
“We could buy fresh shrimps by the harbour and make it ourselves, it would be much cheaper”, she reiterated. Jes had valid points, we could buy prawns at retailers such as fruit and veg and Checkers at half that price saving us a lot of money. Prawns are fried in just 5 minutes, all we needed was a stove, a massive source pan filed with oil, and butter, garlic and lemon to make the sauce. The Portuguese man agreed that it would be more favourable, “It is that simple”.

I thought I had this one, but it seems like if anything was going to be done, it would be in the nick of time. We left that place to the harbour hoping to get a quote, it was 10 pm.

-“I told him yesterday I wanted the prawns cooked for 80 people to sample, he didn’t say he only had tiger prawns, and at that price!”
-“Welcome to life! Don’t you just love it?” exhaled Jessica
-“You live and you learn”, I said
-“Don’t you think it would be fresher, if we made it ourselves on the day?”

The harbour was closed, but I got a number of a Fresh seafood supplier from a sign post. The number rang for a while then led me to a fax machine dial.
-“James’s dad sells seafood, he probably has shrimps. You guys could call him early tomorrow to get the quotes”, said Kevin
-“OK, Edgar give me the money and I will get up early and find out the prices from James’s dad, Fruit and veg and Checkers”, said Jes
-“I’ll be up by 6 tomorrow to see if I can get quote from the harbour. Make sure you keep the receipts”
- Jes replied, “Yes mommy”
-“Hehehehe, were would I be without you?”, I told her this repeatedly over this episode. The tasks were divided between us, she would run get the saucepan, garlic, lemons and run the errands to get the shrimps, I’d supply the stove, butter and stay on top of the pending materials. We all stopped by the Engen petrol station in Summerstrand for some ice cream. They say it makes you happy.

19 august 2011: D day. I set the alarm for 6:20am, got up at 5:30am, couldn’t go back to sleep. At 6, the suppliers at the harbour still weren’t picking up. I gave Jes the green light to find the best offer. 4kg for R100 per box from She was very quick on her feet. Fish and veg was . I put on my custom made capulana trousers and waist coat over a plane white T-shirt. I took a long look at the man in the mirror, I guess to gain momentum, “Good luck buddy”. I left the house at 7:30am with only two jars of salty cashew nuts in my duffle bag.

The venue was the Krall on South Campus. The represented flags were mounted on the screen of the stalls and over the banister on the upper level. A stage had been with seats for 100 people. There I saw Sid wearing an Umbhaca. Sid’s band Vudu were the opening act, I’d seen them perform their urban Jazz sounds a couple of times, they hadn’t yet disappointed.

-“I like your trousers, I’m stealing them”, she said.

My trousers were the only thematic items going for Mozambique. Botswana, Namibia, France, Malawi, Ghana, Zimbabwe, Lesotho, Tanzania, USA, Iran, Ethiopia, Mauritius, South Africa, Uganda, Seychelles, Nigeria, were all represented here. Most of the stalls were either set up already or close to it. The only empty ones were Uganda and Mauritius and Mozambique. I was on the phone frantically, trying to reach the only contact I had, of the case’s dispatcher. Again it just rang. I could imagine the dispatcher looking at my number on the caller ID and rolling his eyes cussing out, “Aargh f*** this guy!” . He just did not pick up the phone. Sid came over and gesticulated a watsup with your stall.

-“Don’t give me that, I’m stressing out here, my stuff’s only arriving at 9”, I said.
-“It will work out in the end, it always does”.

I don’t usually hear her saying these things, so coming from her those were some mighty encouraging words. All the stall had already been set up, even Uganda and Mauritius. The girls from the Seychelles had palm tree branches around their back screen, a coconut, a pineapple, frangipani flowers, a snail shell laid out over some topical leaves. They had their own shooters, they even brought sand. I was seated and looking at my sole cashew nuts embarrassed. It was 8:50. I felt suffocated. ‘I can’t stay here’, I thought to myself. I got up and went to the labs hoping for an e-mail from the post office notifying me of the case. There was no such thing on my inbox, just some forwards on “reasons to be proud of NMMU” to add insult to injury. 9:00am. In a haze I walked to the post-office. The lady there shook her head, “there is nothing here for you”. My heart was racing, my thoughts were ‘I’m going to be disqualified…’ I walked back to the kraal decided, I was going to forfeit the exhibition to save myself from embarrassment. Mozambique can’t deliver, in fact it is in our culture to “deixa andar” (let it be), and I am Mozambican. I was in front of the Kraal about to face the inevitable, I looked to my right and there was Janine Wagenaar with a smile accompanied by a man with a suitcase. “There you are, I told him this is something Edgar will be happy to see”. I let off the biggest sigh of relief. The package signed and delivered. It was 9:07 am. Inevitable is just a word. I began setting up my stall as I was about to represent Mozambique in this exhibition.


To be continued…

The international cultural exhibition - The logistics (part 1)

10 August 2011: It was an ordinary day at University, I was checking my e-mail at Aberdale labs. I received a forward form the office for international education about the international cultural week, it read:

“Dear International students
In response to a request from Prof Swartz, the Vice Chancellor of the NMMU, for a strategy to address organizational culture, the Centre for Advancement of Non-Racialism and Democracy (CANRAD), in conjunction with the Office for International Education, the Transformation Office (Monitoring and Evaluation), Alumni Trust, HR Equity, Art & Design, Language and Literature, Social Development, Foundation Studies, Faculty of Education, Arts & Culture, Law Faculty, the Sports Bureau, Student Governance & Development, and Marketing & Corporate Relations will host Diversity Month during the whole of August, in which International Diversity Week will take place from 15-19 August 2011….”

We had events like this at my high school Waterford Kamhlaba, I never lifted a finger. My peers would set up stalls with treats from their countries and I would just walk around and feed off them. Fast forward to today, I’ve become a much more hands on person, who finds satisfaction in showcasing the arts. The international cultural exhibition would be on the 19th. Mozambique has so many milestones our neighbours don’t even know about. We grow and export Cashew nuts, in Africa only Kenya and Tanzania have the tropical temperatures to grow them. In 2011 we were the third largest exporters of Cashew Nuts behind Brazil and India. We have Cahora Bassa, the fourth largest artificial lake in the world. Built there is the Cahora Bassa dam, the largest hydroelectric scheme in Southern Africa. It was built in 1969 during the Portuguese colonial government, it is now proudly ours as we bought most of the shares from Portugual in 2007. We inaugurated our first multi-use stadium up to international on 23 April 2011, which we will use as the main stadium for the 2011 All-Africa Games. These will be the 10th annual games, and the first hosted in Mozambique. Our beaches are unparalleled, 2000km stretch of paradise, it is the reason we are called the pearl of the Indian Ocean. It played in my mind, I could see myself, the flag, the stall, the treats, photos of our milestones, the socio-cultural exchange, it would be great for, my own self development, self-fulfilment, my curriculum and it would be legendary. I called my parents and asked for their help with some contacts.

11 August 2011: The minister of tourism provided my dad with the number of the CEO of the National Institute of tourism. My dad relayed the number to me, and under it the words “Go for it! Grab the beast by it’s tail”. The man’s name was Tomas Psico (PhD in Management). I contacted him and politely asked to call back explaining my lack of airtime, given I’m a student. He called back, asking about the state of my health first, “Primeiro de saude esta tudo bom?”. I replied positively, he was pleased and then we got to the chase. I talked about the event, he thought it would be a great way to share our country, the only one we have as he put it, with other nations. He told me his secretary would call on Friday morning. I thanked him, the man said “Nao, obrigado digo eu por pores Moçambique no mapa” (No, I thank you for putting Mozambique on the map). I gave feedback to my dad, he replied by text,
“Well done Edgar! You are building yours and everybody’s FUTURE.
Keep going!
S.Munguambe”

12 August: At NMMU, I went to the office for international Education. Janine Wagenaar the event co-ordinator was pleased about my intentions to participate, saying that it would be the first time Mozambique participated in the International Cultural exhibition.

I signed up, I had a peek at the other countries on her file and there were they had a lot more than one name signed up. I knew we were at least two on South campus, but I was not in touch with the other Mozambican and let me tell you why. Last semester, when I was new I saw this girl once at the office for international education. We were in line to pay our tuition fees, she was in front of the line, seeing that she held a Mozambican passport, once she had been helped I greeted her as a fellow compatriot, “Ola minha compatriota”.

All she said was, “oi tudo bom?’’ (hi, how r you?) and left. Naturally if you meet a fellow compatriot in a foreign country you are welcoming towards the person. Compatriots are birds of a feather, but given the indifference I thought that one had broken wings. I saw that girl again randomly, said hello and she ignored me. Whether she didn’t recognize me or just didn’t feel like talking to me is unknown to me. I too ignored her next time we crossed paths. Then I never saw her again. This brings me to the 17th at Janine’s office. I told her I knew there was at least one other Mozambican and asked her to find her and other Mozambicans so that I could get in touch with them for the sake of the exhibition.. Janine was glad to help. Before I left she gave me an envelope with R300 advance, the expenses I had to return in slips; and a list of all the equipment they’d provide us:

1 Trestle Table
1 Black Table cloth
2 Chairs
1 Felt Divider/Back screen
1 Flag on the screen of your country
1 Signage strip of your country name
1 Chafing dish
2 Spririt Jellies to keep food warm in the chafing dish
1 Serving spoon
1 pack containing the following:


- Toothpicks
- Serviettes
-Plastic cups
- Plastic teaspoons

Sweet, I was on my way. Dr Psico’s assistant called me, I explained everything, reiterated the fact hat we’d never been represented at NMMU. She asked how the transportation costs would be met. I thought it was cheapish of the national institute of tourism not to offer to cover these costs, after all it was for the good of the country. My options were, (i) give the materials to a trusted regular light traveller, so that he can give to my uncle in Johannesburg and trust him to courier it to Port Elizabeth or (ii) Contact another uncle, a big cat at LAM - Mozambican Airlines and trust him with the full transportation of the equipment or (iii) DHL the materials from Maputo to P.E. After talks with my parents, we agreed to go with option (ii) uncle Felix Salty.

13 and 14 August 2011: This was a very odd weekend, I’ll get to that in a different blog entry

15 August 2011: Monday I had lunch with Jes, my friend and fellow Media student. I told her of the cultural exhibition. She was thrilled at the idea and offered to help. I had to think it through I told her I’d get back to her later. I was still waiting for the other Mozambicans to pull through. In other news, Uncle Salty agreed to dispatch the suitcase with all the materials, the show was on the road!

16 August 2011: The case was on its way to Jo’burg, and due in P.E in the evening. I got an e-mail from Jenine with contacts of 3 Mozambicans, 3! It is bewildering how I’d been in Port Elizabeth for 7 months and hadn’t yet been in touch with these people. I sent them the most patriotic e-mail, calling them comrades and compatriots, I even signed off with a “Viva Moçambique!”. The show was on the road! However, the show was in for a 180 when it came over its first pothole. I got a mail delivery error from the server. I tried again, proofreading the names of the recipients. It would not go through. I remained cool, Jenine had also given me a phone number. I called it and the man who picked up was distinctly Xhosa and made sure he emphasised it, “I am 100% South African!”. He added that I wasn’t the first one that called him looking for a Mozambican. Not quite knowing what to say I said, “If you see a Mozambican let me know”. The day came and went, the suitcase did not arrive.

17 August 2011: My dad caught wind of a man called Isaias Muhate who made a presentation on Investments and Business in Mozambique in the field if transportation. He left the equipment at the South African High Commission in Pretoria. Dr Sululo was the number two at the Mozambican high commission in Pretoria. My dad gave me his number to contact him for additional equipment and pointers. I gave my dad a few nonchalant “yeses” and “um umh’s” over the phone. In the end I didn’t bother to call Dr Sululo.

I was thinking about the food for the stall. At home we savour Mboa, it is a cooked mashed up pumpkin leaves with tomato and coconut white. But making it in SA would be difficult, for starters I’d never seen pumpkin leaves in South Africa. The Cubata was a Portuguese restaurant I’d heard of by the North End stadium. I called the manager explaining asking if he made any traditional Mozambican dishes given our countries’ special relationship. All he had were prawns from Mozambique. I explained him my intentions and said I wanted to order the prawn speciality for roughly 80 people to sample. He just told me to show up so we could talk face to face. I agreed, in terms of food that was the plan, to be executed on Thursday straight after Media Ethics, my last lecture.

I got a call from SAA, the man on the other end told me the bag would arrive in P.E. with the 18:20h flight SA 145. He gave me a tag number. That was during my African film viewing, the viewing was not compulsive but critical to the model. You can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs! So I bunked the viewing and hopped on a cap to the airport, I got there at 18:30. The passengers had already arrived and the carousel was clear. I spoke to a gay Indian man at baggage claims. He had two unclaimed bags by his counter, none of them had my name. He checked his computer for my name, all he got were closed flights from the holidays in June/July. There with my name. He called his counterparts in Johannesburg attempting to track the bag, his hands moved in a very flamboyant lady like fashion as he talked. I'd seen parodies of gay Indians by Russell Peters on TV, but reality was I’d never seen a gay Indian up close until this day. Anyways, there was still nothing. He sighed, I don’t know if it was because he was attracted to me or because the trail was going cold, “what does it look like?”, he said with a smile.
-“I’ve never seen the bag, it came through on SA 145 this evening for me”
-“The bag came unaccompanied?”
-“Yes, it has materials sent to me”
-“Oh, then this is the wrong place. You should go to cargo”
-“Where is that?”
-“Make a right from Avis, then left, you’ll see a warehouse at the end. You have to sign to go in”
-“Alright, thanks”

So off I was to Cargo. Pang, the taxi driver had this to say, “These people always f*** with you, they make you chasing your own tail”. The guards there at Cargo were idling away so Pang just drove through. There I spoke to a lady, as usual in these places I established that I am Mozambican, to cut them from starting a Xhosa monologue. She couldn’t find the tag number, said it wasn’t one of their flights. She wanted a tracking number, I wasn’t given one. I redialled the number that had called me earlier, it just rang and rang. She spoke to her colleague, who spoke to another colleague, who spoke to another colleague but not before cracking a loud joke. Nothing checked out or rather checked in my favour. Pang was getting impatient, he left the cap, “how much longer are you going to take?”
-“they can’t track it”, I said
-“Sisi what’s do you need to find the bag?”
-“I need a tracking number”, she said
-“well I don’t have one”, I repeated
Pang just stormed to the two Afrikaans speaking people (of the two lighter demographic shades of South Africa) on the other side. They Afrikaansed it out and then the man turns to me, asking the same questions the sisi asked, only faster. I was in a puddle, I reached my phone and dialled uncle Salty in Mozambique. No answer. I started darting my eyes plan-less. More of the same questions were asked in the next 5 minutes then I got a returned call.

-“Alo”
-“Uncle Salty, it’s Edgar.
-“Sorry Edgar I was in a business meeting, what’s the situation?”
-“I’m at the airport and these people can’t find the bag. I got a call giving me a tag number that doesn’t check out, what could be the problem?”
-“It should have arrived, I’ll find out immediately, then I’ll get back at you”

Further waiting, at this point Pang was pacing on the phone, he seemed to be swearing, but then again every word of Afrikaans sounds like a swear word. The Afrikaans man called me into the warehouse to check if any of the bags were there. The warehouse was largely empty, except for a few crates, boxes and cases. None of the cases had my name.

-“This is what you should do. Go to the first building outside to your left, speak to the man, he unloaded all the bags, he can probably help you”. He spoke to Pang outside in Afrikaans, by the body language giving the same instruction, a call came through from Mozambique, uncle Salty.

-“Edgar my colleague said the bag’s still in Jo’burg, it’s only coming through tomorrow. But you don’t have to go get it, it will come to you.”
-“OK, I’ll wait for it. Is there a contact I can save to track the delivery?”
-“I’ll send you a business card with the dispatcher’s number”
-“Ok, thanks for the feedback”
-“Take care”

I got in the cab and broke the news to Pang, “I just got the most f***ed up call, the bag’s still in Joburg, it’s only coming tomorrow”. He replied, “Welcome to the new South Africa my friend”.
We went back to Summerstrand, along the way he retorted, “Here they’ll give you the job if you’re black and you’re stupid, it doesn’t matter of the white, coloured or Indian guy is better qualified for the job”
-“If you’re stupid period you should stay at home”, I responded
Funny enough I never mentioned the race of any of the dispatchers. He charged me R120 for the wild goose chase. The heat was definately on

To be continued...

The LMC 202 entries: The scent of a man

I’d been looking at my shelf after my morning showers for a while, seeing my Davidoff - Cool Water Game perfume disappear slowly, spray by spray. This situation was anything but cool, my other perfume on my shelf was Giorgio Armani’s Armani Code, which I despised! Armani Code is a fragrance to be worn at night, it still has rave reviews and undoubtedly has gone done in history, but for me it is way too spicy, it’s so in your face that it constantly reminds me it’s there. I’ve had a 75 ml bottle for 3 years now, I doubt I’ve consumed even 20 ml. It has been my plan B for years, like the time when I went out at night with a bunch of shady characters I didn’t know, friends of friends of friends who bummed my ride all night. The following day was my friend with benefit’s birthday party, I was ready to go out all I needed was that magic touch, I opened my glove compartment and reached out for my Burberry perfume…nowhere to be reached. That wiped the smirk off my face, my Burberry was gone. It was no use trying to chase those random niggas that I drove around, I didn’t want them in my life anyways! Calling them would be exposing my number, I just imagined them on the other end, “Oh I don’t know about your perfume errr… but this is your number right? I’ll save it and we can chill again next weekend”. No thanks. So I didn’t bother with bygones, but I had an emergency. I ran back to my room and the Armani Code was there looking at me, I hesitated for a bit, “arghh … oh f*** it!”. Later that night the girl said I smelt sensual, mystical, yes it paid off, it usually does but I couldn’t stand it.

It was winter in South Africa, a time when your scent stuck better to the skin. So on a Saturday I left Summerstrand for Walmer park mall, buying a perfume was on top of my priority list. I walked in the mall and took a detour to the cinema, Captain America: The first Avenger was showing. I am a big fan of comic books based movies and I’m not the type that needs a date to watch a movie, so I bought a ticket for the 2:30pm session. In the half hour before the movie, I walked around the mall, bought a beanie, a magazine. Then I walked into Edgars. The perfume section in all these department stores is always seductive, bright yet comfortable lighting, a uniquely designed teaser bottle next to its perfume box behind glass, iconic images of the respective celebrity endorsers. So a clerk came up to me, “Can I help?”
-“I saw la nuit de l’homme in a GQ magazine, it just caught my eye”
-“You can try it”
She sprayed it on a testing strip, it was OK, just OK. Looking at Vincent Cassel’s pause in the ad you’d think this perfume is out of this world, it is night time, he wears an all black suit, black shirt, black tie, he is completely in command. Sadly the smell isn’t.
-“Nah there was too much hype about this one, either way I’m looking for something fresher”
-“How about the earlier version, L’Homme?”, she sprayed it on my other wrist
I checked the time and it was 2:25pm, I had to make a decision, “That’s much better, I’ll take it!”
- “It costs R670”
- “I’ll take it!”, did I stutter??
-“OK, which size would you like? There’s the 60 ml and 100ml”
-“I’ll take the 60 ml, the other ones would last forever, I like changing fragrances”

By then I was checking the time frantically, and I still had to stand in line for the purchase. By the time I finished the purchase the movie had started. I brisk walked to the cinema at 2:35pm. When I sat down to watch Captain America there was something wrong. It wasn’t the geeky 3D glasses I had on, it wasn’t the fact that Chris Evans who plays Captain America had already played the Human Torch (a character from the same universe) in the Fantastic 4 movies nor was it the Red Skull speaking English to other Germans in a horrible German accent, it was the fragrance of L’Homme emanating from my wrist. There was something bitter about the smell, kind of like overriped bananas… placed on a soggy wet wooden surface. I shook it off, after the movie I went home. At home I opened the plastic seal, removed the bottle from the box, admiring it’s aesthetic shape, it’s reflective cap, I couldn’t have been wrong. I sprayed it on my wrist. It is a daytime perfume, so it is fresher than say, the Armani Code, but it is so bitter!! I did some school work for about an hour then I brought my wrist back to my face, awful, there is something raw about it, it’s the type of smell Wolverine would have on. I surfed the web for some reviews. What I was experiencing is called purchase dissonance in the communication world, I found the product’s flaws yet I looked for stuff that reinforced my purchase decision. These were some of the ways L’Homme was promoted:

- “A purist’s classic scent, L’Homme is the one you wear for those introspective days when the allure of something greater keeps stealing your thoughts away. This is the scent of a successful man. It is easily worn with a suit or those moments when a suit will be too much, but you need to dress up a pair of wool slacks and zip-neck sweater over an oxford shirt for and afternoon stroll through the streets.”

-“Ysl l’Homme the epitome of Ysl mystic and heritage with woody undertones and a fresh first impression of citrus, followed by a spicy top note that lasts throughout the day” - (http://www.askmen.com/fashion/grooming/yves-saint-laurent-lhomme.html)

What the hell were top notes? I asked myself. I dug a little more. So I found out that in perfumery there is a pyramid of smells where groups of smells can be sensed with respect to the time after the application of a perfume. This is due to the evaporation. The top notes are smelt immediately upon application and evaporate quickly. The middle notes compose the smell that remains when top notes dissipate, it is the heart of perfume and it is more mellow in relation to striking top notes. The base notes are heavy molecules that evaporate slowly, it is what remains after hours. In short, the teaser smell that you fall for in the shop is made of volatile top notes designed to give you a lasting first impression. It is a marketing scheme, that initial impression is so far removed from the actual personality of the perfume. Naturally the endorsers paint a pleasant picture of all perfumes, in L’Homme’s case with words such as “mystic” and “successful”. On the other hand, there were also negative reviews from disappointed buyers:

-“Perfumery is dead! Once the avant garde of perfumery, Yves Saint Laurent has run out of ideas, this is such generic and recycled fragrance, ginger top notes, spicy and wooden middle notes and forgettable base notes. What a disappointment”

-“Awful, the best fragrances died with the old man”

I second these negative reviews. Wearing the L’Homme felt like I’d given one of those disappointing performances in the movies where people boo and throw tomatoes and bananas on stage, and in this specific case a load of ginger. I even saw myself slip on a banana peel and hit the stage with a large thud to be laughed and pointed at. Holly s***! Exchanging L’Homme was the first thing I set out to do the following Monday. Once back at Edgars I spoke to the sisi at the counter, she took a look at the wrinkled plastic seal and just let out a, “Yu!”. Dubious. She took it to her superior and I could see his head shaking from across. I walked in his direction to confront him.
-“Are you the customer?”
This man that looked a lot like Clark Kent.
-“Yes I am”, I said
-“Unfortunately we can’t except an exchange as the seal has been opened, it is in our terms and conditions at the back of the receipt”
-“But everything else is intact, the receipt, the box, the perfume, this was bought two days ago”
-“Yes but you’ve opened the cellophane, it is our guarantee to customers that the product is brand new, we can’t convince a customer if the product is not in its original package”
-“Original package? this is a piece of plastic with a price tag!”
-“That is our policy”
-“The price tag is right here, the plastic wrapping is just wrinkled but I’m sure you can replace it”
-“Unfortunately we can’t do that”
I thought I’d screwed myself. He was about to turn away when I said, “Then what should I do?”
-“You can give it to someone as a gift”, he shrugged.
-“(sneering) I bought this for myself”

This dork was not going to take me anywhere, I charged towards the perfume section. There was an older woman there, I explained the situation saying that I understood the T’s and C’s and in all honestly, “I made an honest mistake, I was in a rush”
She kindly pointed to management, she was surprised when I said I was from Mozambique, she thought I was British, usually people in South Africa think I’m from the US. Anyways the manager was a tall 40-something year old brunette. I greeted her politely and explained myself.
-“I was in a rush and I have to commend Yves Saint Laurent for their convincing ads. But this perfume is just not there”, I said
-“We don’t return or exchange used perfumes, it wouldn’t be fair on our customers”, she said
-“It wouldn’t be fair on your potential customers but what about the existing unsatisfied customers?”
PR mode activated.
-“We have exchanged perfumes only twice before but with everything down to the plastic seal intact”
-“But to the naked eye that is just a piece of plastic, everything else is intact”
-“We’ve had cases where people have returned perfumes and replaced the content with cheap imitations”
-“(laughing) I can assure you I didn’t do that, you can try it out”
-“I’m not saying you did that but I’m sure you understand”
-“And besides I haven’t used this perfume”, I lied looking at her straight in the eyes.
She observed the contents
-“I had a teaser spray and I bought it on the spot because I was in a rush, but the smell went from bad to worse and at home I opened the perfume to smell the cap and it smelt just as bad”
-“How bad?’’, she asked.
I smiled, “Like root beer”.
She laughed, I had the upper hand.
-“I’m a student…” I said pointing at my NMMU bag, “I’m athletic and this perfume just does not complement my lifestyle”, I said with smile on my face and determinant eye contact. The ball was in her court.
-“I’ll let you exchange this, take both perfumes to Jenine lady over there”, then she addressed the lady, “Jenine, he’s going to exchange a perfume then he’ll come to you”
-“Thank you, this will not happen again”
-“Now you know”

We exchanged a smile and I took off to the perfume area. A pretty clerk assisted me, I told her I wanted something casual, it was a toss between the Cool Water by Davidoff, CH by Carolina Herrena and Acqua di Gio by Giorgio Armani. These perfumes form the evoked set of alternatives that I should have had before my first purchase I shortlisted these simply because those were the ones I’d seen in men’s magazines. I’d worn the Cool Water before, it was a breath of fresh air, exactly what I wanted, casual, cool and plain fresh. It was exactly what I needed but not what I wanted. The CH’s top notes are bergamot and grapefruit which I found to be too sweet. I then tried on the Acqua di Gio by Giorgio Armani, the top notes of rosemary and jasmine tinkled my olfactory. It was very pleasant but I’d leant not to judge a book by its cover, so I took a stroll around for a few minutes to allow the middle notes to settle. While I waited I checked out a few reviews from the web on my phone:

-“CH men, someone had put some time and thought into the thing. A big block of glass, half of which is covered in embossed leather. CHCHCHCHCHCHCH. It feels great running under your fingers. A metal CH pendant has been attached to a deep red grosgrain ribbon and knocks against the leather like a little drum...CH smells like damp earth and flowers, with some spice and stewed fruits thrown in. The notes are listed as mandarin, bergamot, grapefruit peel, saffron, nutmeg, jasmine, violet, wood, ambergris, vanilla, moss, burnt sugar and leather” - (http://ismellthereforeiam.blogspot.com/2009/10/carolina-herrera-ch-man.html)

The smell didn’t live up to the impressive bottle, it was still too sweet to me 10 minutes in. Looking the comments for the Acqua Di Gio:

-“Acqua Di Gio - Giorgio Armani. This is one fragrance that never seems to go off the charts. Somehow this scent has managed to traipse the fine line between woody scents and marine notes which makes for a Mediterranean feel that is exhilarating to say the least. The earthiness of the perfume makes it one of the best perfumes for men.” -(http://millionfragrancecollection.blogspot.com/2011/03/top-perfumes-2011-men.html)

Some mixed reviews said:

- “ Acqua di gio is like a pair of Converse All stars, you have them, you best friend has them, your neighbour too but it is still trendy. A classic summer fragrance. You will not stand out of the crowd. It is casual and safe”

“…Middle notes - Persimmon fruits, marine notes. Base notes - Cedar, Patchouli, White musk, rock rose”

15 minutes later Acqua di Gio’s smell was still so fresh, I was sold. R749, I paid a R79 difference for a 50 ml bottle, 10ml less than the L’Homme. Sure it was overpriced, I know guys that just wouldn’t bother buying this or any perfume, saying it is too expensive and it drains your natural smell. These guys shower, put on lotion and go out feeling fresh, not me. I reckon perfume accentuates your swagger, your lifestyle. I used to get so many complements from girls thanks to the Davidoff, but that wasn’t the reason I once wore it, whether I’m in the pool, in the tennis court, paddling a bicycle or on a yoga matt, I exercise regularly and the Davidoff made me smell how I should fresh off a workout, it was a perfect match. Picture Daniel Craig as James Bond coming out of the sea in Casino Royale, he eyes a sexy lady and she checks him out, you know he smells salty from the water but it doesn’t register, to you he smells fresh like lavender, his toned body in that scene would make a perfect ad for any fresh eau de toilette. You are sold and he still looks good…and he feels like a million bucks. That is the feeling I have after exercising and this fragrance puts a scent to it. It is not quite vanity; it goes with a lifestyle I call borderline metrosexuality.

Anyways, I went back to Clark Kent’s area and had one of his colleagues call on the walkie-talkie. I saw him coming from across the store and waited for him to come to me.
-“Just for the record what is this piece of plastic called?”, I asked.
-“It’s called cellophane”
-“And this is what contains some sort of an encryption that guarantees the product’s originality, right?”
-“No, actually the encryption is on the barcode in the box”
-“Right…”
So they give the piece of plastic wrapping a fancy name, attach a value to it but in reality it is absolutely worthless. It’s just another mousetrap to make it hard for the customer to return/exchange the good. F****** bureaucrats.
-“Well, I managed to exchange it”, I had to gloat.
-“Oh”
- “yeah…cheers”
I left with a smirk on my face. I won, I didn’t care if it was dated or overpriced, what mattered to me was getting the right fragrance. At the end of the day did it Acqua di Gio make me smell fresh? Hell yeah.


By

Edgar Munguambe 18/08/11

In the beginning there was you

Many moons ago Although we were so young
We were nature’s second sun
We were always on the same page
I crossed your t’s
You dotted my i’s
Days, weeks, month, years
Out of the blue I got an e-mail from you
“I got married” was all I did read
Were you just bringing my wheels up to speed?
Or was it your nickel for my thoughts?
The earth was flat
The sun spun around the earth
There is a ring on your ring
And a knot on my throat

Winter succeeds Autumn
Spring will always follow
The sun will rise tomorrow
And you’ll still be…
The first woman I ever loved

I speak of love, don’t be mistaken
I speak of being, not making
Today I wonder why we never tried long distance
But there is no point trying to insist
It’s all water under the bridge
But is it? It isn’t
I would have thrown caution to the wind
Just to see you in your wedding dress
Reality check, I should just
Click reply and wish you happiness

Winter succeeds Autumn
Spring will always follow
The sun will rise tomorrow
And you’ll still be…
The first woman I ever loved

By
    Edgar Munguambe 010411

First impressions: student life at NMMU

After three years studying at UNISA through distance learning I felt it was time to go back to school for the experience. Distance learning is also a long process that requires dedication, you can consider yourself a wiz if you can complete a three year bachelors degree in six years. At the rate I was going I estimated total of 8 years for me to complete my degree, that would take me way into my thirties. Honestly I was a bit paranoid about the decision to return to a contact university, due to my last disastrous experience. At the University of Sussex in Brighton, UK, I’d just had sinus surgery, badly operated by a quack South African doctor called Jeff Feinstein (yes I named him and do not recommend him!). Once the British winter kicked in, breathing literally hurt. I couldn’t endure, I went into depression. I went back to Mozambique a wreck for Christmas, its tropical weather made breathing easier. I temporarily withdrew from university, but full recovery was a pipe dream, I was forced to cancel my studies, my world had crumbled. Four years later after much stalling I had corrective surgery done by the finest doctor in Southern Africa, Dr Keith Davidge-Pitts. So now, feeling better, I decided it was finally time to hop back on the bandwagon.
So why South Africa? I’ll only be an Easter, long weekend, mid-semester or semester break away from home, it is a neighbouring country, that has the best universities in the continent.

Why the Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University? I chose the Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University (NMMU) because it is the most multi-cultural university in South Africa. 10-15% of the student body is international. Coming from Waterford Kamlhaba, a united world college with over 50 countries, NMMU seems like a good follow-up. These were my first impressions of student life:
I arrived in Port Elizabeth on the 18th of January 2011, with the objective to complete my BA in Media, communication and culture. PE is windy and chilly at times, at first I thought my sinus problems would return, they didn’t, in fact I breathe better. At home I’d sometimes sleep with a humidifier to filter the air, in PE I don’t need to, the air is so pure and the university is only 1 km from the sea, so I have clean air in my lungs all the time. Incidentally PE is beautiful, in South Africa I’d say the second to Cape Town. NMMU is beautiful too, the first thing I noticed about the campus is how green it is; the office for international education is in a plaza, with a long fountain pool. It is by far the best looking campus I’ve ever seen, I’ve seen campuses in Maputo (none of them are great), I’ve seen the University of Zambia, the London School of Hygiene and tropical medicine, the University of East Anglia, the University of Sussex, Wits University and the University of Cape Town. None of these campuses would ever win a beauty pageant running against NMMU!

The faculty at the university seemed good, during orientation I learnt that in the final year we get a chance to do an internship at a top media organisation such as Mnet or FHM, quite interesting.

About transportation in PE, the so called taxis, which are actually chapas (combis) charge R6 trip, that’s already at least R12 per day just by going to University and back, which is 1.5 km distance. So I decided to buy a bicycle, a good 1st hand bicycle for R1230 from a shop that provides assistance.
-“That’s too expensive”, said a fresher from Zimbabwe.
-“Actually in the long-run it will save me money”, I stated.
A “taxi” would suck me at least R1260 per semester, that’s R5040 in the four semesters that I’ll be studying. R1230, that’s already less than I’d spend on a taxi in a semester and I’d be exercising. Naturally, there are maintenance costs, like when I punctured my back wheel, I thought I could take it back to the shop for a fix-up but they don’t do such petty repairs, I had to buy a cycle repair kit for R15.20. Repairing a punctured wheel is simple, you remove the tube, place it in a bucket full of water and squeeze it until you see bubbles and that’s where the hole is. Use a scrapper to roughen the surface, apply glue to the area and apply a patch when the glue is almost dry. That’s it, I learnt something new and it’s easy peezy diy.

Living on your own means doing chores, like washing dishes, the few times I ever washed my own dishes, I did so wrong. Washing dishes close to the tap is a no-no because it always spills water onto the adjacent surfaces, which means more cleaning and more time wasted. Dishes should be washed close the base of the sink to avoid all of that. The same goes for cooking, if you’re pouring stuff, pour it close to the recipient to avoid spillage. Incidentally, a lot of undergraduate students would rather live off fast food and sandwiches than on a wholesome diet. Many don’t bother to buy neither fruit nor cooking equipment. I think cooking is one of the most relaxing activities, period. It is not the 7 headed monster that these undergrads fear, all you have to do is read cooking recipes, they even come at the back of everyday ingredients like stock cubes and rice bags, I only noticed this when I began managing my own apartment.

The garbage. I placed my garbage bin outside the house in the morning. When I returned in the afternoon it had been chucked back over the fence. I must have pressed the garbage man’s wrong buttons. I told this to the landlord, who laughed and said, “You have to place the bags outside”.
-“Black bin bags right?”
-“Yes”
Why black bin bags? I had left the bin itself outside filled with garbage in Spar plastic bags, these are no good because they are neither made from recycled material nor municipal size, it’s insulting to expect garbage men to collect pint sized commercial bags from your bin.

One thing I’ve always hated doing is the laundry. When I studied at Waterford Kamhlaba in Swaziland I’d accumulate a knapsack with dirty clothes and give it to the first Maputonian that went home for the weekend, he’d hand it to my mother who’d have the maid wash it and have it ready to give back to him when he returned to school on Sunday. At Sussex, we all had to wash our own laundry, which I found daunting. It’s a laborious process of separating colours, putting it in a washing machine, waiting, taking the clothes out, hanging them, getting dishpan hands in the process and ironing, what a drag! NMMU has a laundrette with ladies to wash and dry your clothes, they’re fast, efficient but they don’t do it for the love of students, 3kgs is R35 and they have a pricing for ironing depending on the item. It cost me R71 to have 3kgs cleaned. To save money I bought an iron and an ironing board because although I hate washing, ironing is not as bad and I’d be straightening small loads at a time.

The taxi (real taxi) driver told me Port Elizabethan girls were hot and willing. I’m not yet sure of the latter but he got the former twisted, these chicks are not all that...at all. I come from Mozambique, a country notorious for having hot women, I don’t recall ever cruising the streets or walking in a restaurant, mall or park without seeing some amazing looking women, natural beauties, even those with no class are ghetto fabulous. In PE it’s a whole different story, the white women generally speaking are not exotic, they have no palpable attributes if you get my drift. Most black girls on the other hand are fat with HUGE asses, you might think that is what black men desire, we find an ass like Nicki Minaj’s amazing because it is round and firm, these girls on the contrary have bigger and flabbier assets and a disproportionate body to go with it. Take college chicks, on campus there is a gym, a swimming pool and an array of sports to play, but that doesn’t seem to register with them. Perhaps it’s their diet, I’ve asked the waiters at two cafes on North and South Campus for fish or seafood, both shook their heads saying, “We don’t have seafood”.
There isn’t a shred of fish on any menu on campus, whether it’s a cafe, a diner, a fast food joint or a buffet. The cafe on South campus has fancy dishes such as pork stir fries and beef wraps but can’t deliver seafood. Even the Chinese restaurant in town, though it has seafood, it does not have fish! How can this be? Port Elizabeth is known exactly for having...a port, yet you have to go treasure hunting for fish!? No wonder these chicks are unattractive!! On my first week here, I’d go for a number 2 twice a day from all that meat, it’s nhama nhama nhama and more nhama! My alternative was to buy fish at Spar and cook more often that I’d expected at first. Anyways, the other colours in the rainbow are generally speaking better looking, but seem to be living in their own segregated world, but I won’t put everybody in a box just like that, in time I’ll see who’s real and who isn’t.

At any given point walking around campus and I hear at least three languages, Xhosa, Afrikaans and English. I thought it’d be English the whole way because the system is in English, though that’s not how things roll in the rainbow nation, here the blacks here speak Xhosa, the whites speak English or Afrikaans and the coloureds speak Afrikaans. The kats here think that if you’re black you speak their language, WTF? Wherever I go, someone approaches me in Xhosa like, “Unjani buthi, click click click....” and I always say, “I’m not from South Africa”.
This lady at the faculty office started clicking at me and once again I said, “I’m not from South Africa”, by then I was already on autopilot.
She then asks, “Why?”
In my mind I did a double take, what kind of a question was that?!?
-“Why?? Because I’m form Mozambique”, I responded perplexed
-“I’m just joking!”
I didn’t find that funny, the whole Xhosa thing was getting to me. One day I wore my International student T-shirt and my international student bag. I walked down the corridor only to hear a, “Shap ekse, u click click kanjani click click”
-“Woa brother, I’m not from South Africa”, I said (again!) this time pointing at my shirt and my bag
-“Ohhh alriiiit, so you’ve neva lived here?”
Naturally, otherwise I would have understood you.
-“No”
He asked for directions and I helped him get to his venue. This predicament is not only limiting for me but to this whole country, how are they going to become one unified nation if there are several different cultures? People are never going to see eye to eye. South African comedian Trevor Noah jokes about this in his special “The Daywalker”, how even in Joburg, his city, people ask him if he’s from Cape Town, and worse in Cape Town the coloured people think he’s from there and speak to him in Afrikaans! The man is half Xhosa, half Swedish and has nothing to do with being coloured culturally yet he was accused of being a ‘banana type’, yellow on the outside and white on the inside!
In my city people talk to you in Portuguese regardless or you being black, white, grey or green because that is the official language. How can you end segregation if people automatically put you in a box because of the way you look? I’m not going to click with these people, take a social environment, a bar for instance, you don’t know people, but you can easily join in on conversations or chip in on something you overheard, that is not possible if you don’t understand the language and already there is a hindrance in socialization.

Security. I’m living in a studio apartment, on the same grounds as a house. The walls have barbed wire, the gate has spikes and two locks, my unit has another lock for a barred door and a key to a second door, talk about security, it takes me 5 minutes just to enter the house. The whole neighbourhood seems to be like that. The taxi driver said, “People here are so f***ing paranoid, that even the people in asylums have more common sense than them!”
Are they? I went for a swim in the aquatics centre at NMMU and left my sports bag on a chair by the side, just like I do in Maputo. I then took a shower and placed the bag in the changing rooms unattended. When I got home I couldn’t find my wallet, and I distinctly remember putting it in my bag. There were people circulating the swimming pool and the changing rooms but it never crossed my mind that one of them would steal from me. I should have used the lockers, next time I’ll know. Gone is my ID, some money and my debit card. I was forced to cancel my card, fortunately I didn’t need money immediately, I had sufficient food for some days until a new card was issued. This is South Africa, the crime rate is high, in terms of security it has nothin’ on my country.

In hindsight, I’ve had and interesting experience so far. This is a learning experience, I’m finding out a lot about myself and a lot about life, I consider every situation either a win-lose or a win-win, these are lessons that I will take with me for the rest of my life. This journey is going to be educational, I’m constantly learning and that’s the beauty of it.

Edgar Munguambe 290111

Guitar and me

Watsup people! After my birthday I decided to take up the guitar for good, but the story of "guitar and me" goes way back. The first guitar lessons I had were at my high school, Waterford Kamhlaba back in 2002. CC, my guitar teacher, who incidentally was my Economics teacher, taught me a few basic songs like "Bailamos" and "Wild Thing", the lessons only lasted one term and I guess I wasn't too motivated to extend them.

In 2006 I decided to buy a guitar, I just bought the first one I saw, a transluscent green acoutic one with metal strings, hey it looked cute. Then I found a new tutor Albino Mbie (shout out to the man), this young cat was flippin good but he dissed my guitar sayin it wasn't good for beginners. He taught me from the drawing board cause I'd forgotten everything CC taught me. It was painful, I don't think any other instrument is as painful to play. Other than the pain for some reason I still wasn't fully into it, but he kept telling me I have what it takes to become a great player including the look! About 3 months later he won a scholarship to Berkley University in California (that's how good he was!). Before he left, I bought one of his classic nylon stringed acoustic guitars. So I had two guitars in my room...yet I did not even touch them, not until 2008. I got yet ANOTHER instructor, a friend of Albino's called Baloo (like the Jungle Book Baloo, kinda  looked like him too!). I didn't want to be taught at home, cause with Albino he always asked to borrow my stuff, movies, books and a dictionary that he never returned, so I didn't want to bathe in the same waters twice. We chose a location, one of his relative's house in the inner city about 6kms away from my house. Driving there was hell, especially at rush hour which was the only time that suited us both. I got easily bored, he wasn't a bad teacher, maybe it was the distance or the fact that he kept asking for money, but for some reason I termitated the lessons telling him I was short for time. He'd send me messages asking when we could resume the lessons, I'd always make up excuses and eventually stopped returning his sms'.

Regardless, I always saw beauty in a guitar player jamming, what Carlos Santana does to the guitar is amazing, he doesn't even have to talk, the guitar talks for him. Sara Tavares is the woman of my dreams, beautiful, natural dreads and an angelic voice accompanied by an accoustic guitar, my GOD what a woman! And everytime I saw guitar players, whether live or on the tube, that desire to play would come to life.

In 2009, I gave the metal stringed guitar away to a friend that was in a bit of a low point in life. We made plans to hook up with a guitar instructor and take up lessons together. My friend was completely disorganized, on two occasions he couln't set up the meeting. So we just left it at that.

In 2010 my father began playing the piano daily, after it had been accumulating dust for the past 2 years. Seeing my father play with such dedication motivated me to take another shot at the guitar. He had a tutor at the "Escola de Musica de Moçambique", in the spur of the moment I told him I wanted to take up the guitar, this time for good, he thought it was a marvellous idea saying how an instrument can take you outside of all the worries. My dad's piano instructor hooked me up with the first instructor she came accross, a middle aged Cuban immigrant called Eladio Marcet. He looked serious enough, but after the first lesson I realized that I was gonna have a tough time understanding what the heck he was saying, trust me Tony Montana's accent is nothing compared to his thick Spanish/Portuguese mash-up. At times I had to ask him to repeat himself 3 or 4 times. Once again I started form ground zero, he taught me the proper posture, position, he showered me with theory, upon theory, upon theory, guitar staffs and all this stuff I couldn't find myself revising.
He always said, "tienes de practicar mais!!".
I'd dose off in his lessons, maybe it was the theory maybe it was the time (8:40am was too early for me at that time). Then he started skipping lessons. I'd wait in the school halls and he wouldn't show up. I'd call him and he'd tell me he was at the hospital tending to his sick wife or having car problems or something, all these delays put me off, and eventually I just stopped going there. We haven't spoken since.

One day in late 2010, I bumped into that friend of mine. He looked beat up, at 24 he was at University studying psychology, but had mediocre grades, paraded around lonely and couldn't get a date. He had taken up Taekwondo twice and quit, he had no other hobbies apart from playing the playstation, his conversations were generic, I'd known him for five years but right there talking to him I came to one conclusion, he had no self-esteem, the man was lost in life. At that moment in time I had a string of hobbies, swimming, asthanga yoga, tennis, creative writing, staying informed on current affairs, but I wasn't happy at my part time job and I didn't have a girl. I didn't want to be or end up like him. To add insult to injury he too hadn't touched the guitar in ages.

I did not want to quit learning, I'd had four different instructors and none of them worked out. It was in my grandma's 90th birthday party, November 6th, 2010, where I saw a prodigal kid playing the guitar. He left everybody's mouths agape. Sometime after the performance I approached him, congratulating him then asking him where he learnt how to play, he simply said, "on YouTube", in awe I exclaimed, "you got that good just by watching videos?!" and he replied, "yeah", and he summarily excused himself cause his family was about to leave. That kid must have been 12 years old, if a little kid like that could to that, I could do that. When I got home that same day I began searching for guitar sites. I found chordbook.com, which is so brilliant, it gives you the chords, the scales, the different tunings and other cool stuff. I began to self-teach, firstly by learning all major, minor and sharp/flat chords, revising them hours on end. At first it was painful, chords like D9 were close to impossible to play, my arm kept complaining, my wrist hurt, my finger tips were sore, I'd play take a break every five minutes. Yet I was tanacious, I had cramps on my hands for almost two weeks but refused to put the instrument down. I applied an anti-inflammatory gel to soothe my hands and began exercising my hands with a hand grip before playing. The cramps eventually went away and instead I've got permanent blisters on the tips of my left index, middle, ring and pinky, numbing all the pain. I bought an electronic chromatic tuner, this time inspecting well before the purchase. Then I found another neat site megachords.com, giving me access to over 10400 guitar chords for different songs. I made a list, Bryan Adams (Heaven, Please forgive me), Michael Jackson (Black or White, Give into me, The way you make me feel), Enrique Iglesias (Escape), Nickleback (Hero), Eagles (Hotel California), Mariah Carey (Angels Cry), Celine Dion (My heart will go on), Ray J (Can we fall in love). I figured I didn't need to learn how to read notes on a staff and found the process to go much smoother, many of the greats don't know much theory. Ever since I've practised EVERY DAY. I've subscribed to some online tutors on youtube and stream videos after midnight (happy hour!).

I plan to excel at this instrument, I love what it does to me. I kill time with it, it makes me more creative and it's an escape. Ever since I started playing, I found a part-time job that I like, I've been meeting more girls, somehow things are falling more into place. I see myself serenading ladies one day, I see myself performing my own compositions one day. I believe my new hobby is improving every area of performance, opening new chanels in my brain. Sounds a bit overzealous but it's the best thing that's happened to me lately, I'd rather stay home playing the guitar than going out to get trashed in some party. This is my new passion and it's a never ending school I intend to keep going!

Edgar Munguambe 261210