One day…well one day in November of 1974 I step down from a Boeing 747 coming from Lourenço Marques (now Maputo), Mozambique, and since then, I knew…I knew I was born to love. Then I realize it was the end of an era and the beginning of a new period of my life. I ran away alone in that huge airplane, a war refugee of a renewed attempt to reconfigure the world according to the vision and wishes of the outstanding persons that rule planet Earth (Aliens, politicians, who else?). Despite to be quite young, just fifteen years old and leaving behind all my family, friends, and my beloved country where I was born, I was happy. Oh, yes!

Because, that was the beginning of my chronicles from Lisbon…

Image credit: http://www.tourist-destinations.net

Lisbon…is Lisbon. Image credit: http://www.tourist-destinations.net

Visit Lisbon: http://lisbon.arounder.com/

From the tropical urban landscape of Maputo, full of trees of exotic scents, colorful flowers growing up in a straight network of streets and enlivened by the beautiful Mozambican people, I arrived to Lisbon to discover a european capital, full of history and splendorous past. Lisbon is beautiful, believe me. But at the beginning it was easy for me to get lost in the apparently chaotic network of roads and traffic. Portuguese, in general (idiots apart), are so kind to foreign that it is sometimes painful to witness. I wonder why, the causes are so diverse, but I dare to name a few of them here:
– due to their past of travelling everywhere around the world for business (and later to make an empire!?… with a three millions of people at the time, and you see how dreamers they are…), they retained genetically an exquisite spiritual voluptuousness in their relationships with foreigners;
– the need to show that after all they live well, which is true to some extent, the extent of a hidden poverty, the poverty of their knowledge, because they lost it in more than two centuries of disgrace (don’t forget we had the second oldest university in the world after Salamanca, by the way, our very next neighbours).

Liceu Salazar (now High School Josina Machel)

My mozambicain Alma Mater. In my times was called Liceu Salazar and now is the High School Josina Machel.

So, this is what I got with my status of war refugee, and I am happy because life is good in this small country (all we need is to understand that with banksters and the political class we are not going anywhere, but probably this is the same problem everywhere).

Now that my memories are so fresh, I wonder where are you girl? Because I had three days to leave Africa in that Boeing 747, without saying a word of goodbye, without a whisper, without telling you to where I would go…

But how can I forget you girl? The words sometimes are missing, but there is always something there to remind me…

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