Life suddenly stopped at the road's arden. When traveling by car, It almost always goes too fast before our eyes and, contradicted, Sometimes it slows you dry to force your eyes, that no longer distinguishes, Between the incessant barahúnda of images, The crying eyes of a child or the indolent grimace of the young man who sculpts his shadow on the red earth.
At an indeterminate point of the province of Inhambane Among the localities of Inhacongoo and Cumbana, in the south of Mozambique, The off -road engine entered boiling and there was no choice but to get close to the gutter. We had to try to refrigerate it at all costs and we needed as much water as possible if we wanted to continue without shock. Very soon we had emptied the bottles we had in the car, A manna that the engine devoured between a steam robe that consumed the liquid without remission. More water was needed.
Sometimes life slows you dry to force your eyes, that no longer distinguishes, Between the incessant barahúnda of images
Place, cursed by the sun, It didn't seem the most conducive to finding her. On the road there were peanut vendors, that hung their plastic bags from the branches of a tree, and bottled gasoline stalls; Wintings offered "Piri Piri" (LOCAL GUIDELA SAUCE) and even centolos. In the most unexpected corner you stumbled upon a motorcycle with a red flag of Frelimo, The government party (The elections were held soon). But, There did not seem easy to get more water to cool the entrails of the car.
To our right, the huts of a small town appeared. Just look at it warn. It was what we had more shot and we came to ask with two plastic bottles in their hand. I was empty. Jeremiah, our driver, He then proposed to cross the road in search of another nearby town. As we approached, It seemed that we were going to run the same fate, Although we soon distinguish a woman with her three children watching us under a shadow sigh of one of the constructions of the deserted village.
The engine entered boiling and there was no choice but to get close to the gutter. You had to try to refrigerate it at all costs
Next to them there was a well of about three meters in diameter, semi -in the mouth with a sheet plate, in which a rudimentary pipe dragged in charge of collecting rainwater. Maybe it will store enough water to offer unknown "mulungus", thought. The illusion vanished immediately. It was enough to appear to realize that the well was completely dry. Or had not rained a long time ago or had more leaks than cement. I crossed a look of restlessness with my friend Juancho. Not because he presum, but because of the contrariety that caused me to ask someone so in need of her. The thirsty of the evangelical mandate were them, Not us, that we just needed to cool the motor of a car, The noise of progress that these peasants listened to every day. What right did we even ask for it?
While we cracked conscience, Jeremiah was already dialoguing with the young woman exposing our problem. I would almost have been glad that the water would have denied us but, surprisingly, That woman was excusing for not being able to let us fill the two bottles, Well, he needed water for his children. We could only fill one, regretted.
That woman was excusing for not being able to let us fill the two bottles, Well, he needed water for his children
I wondered how I would react if a good day I opened the door of my house and a stranger asked me for the last lend of bread. I then remembered that African girl who, finished a brief vacation in Spain kindness of a well -intentioned NGO, responded on TV, After a question that did not deserve, that his greatest desire would be to have in his house "a tap from which water always came out". That woman coming towards us with plastic bottle filled behaved, truly, as if your tap water and always come out that hospitality that we have long forgotten admired me and, at the same time, disconcerted me.
We would soon drink cold beer or soft drinks with ice cubes, although not before cooling the engine of the SUV with that same water that she gave to her little. Without time to whip us, He returned with the bottle full and handed it to the three strangers. Did not ask us for anything in return and, truth, We did not even give meticals for your hospitality. It didn't even go down my head and I'm not sure I would have accepted it. We only be right to music our shy thanks. The two youngest children, indifferent, They continued while crap on a fabric in which their mother prepared something to eat.
That woman who came to us with the full plastic bottle behaved as if water always came out from her tap
This is not a story of good and bad. Nor we were the bad, nor her good, That each one, Apart from its origin and social situation, load with its corresponding habit of miserias. Maybe a little further there was another water overflowing well. Who knows. We could continue our path to trompicones, Because until you reach Maxixe We still had to stop a few times to drink the SUV. Thirsty water. There, In a gas station, Fortunately there was a tap. Of those who always get water.
