Maputo- the capital of Mozambique

The main street is lined with buildings which were once incredible examples of colonial architecture but are now nothing but ruins. Tree roots have pushed through the sidewalks or the stones have been stolen causing the need to be constantly watching your feet when what you'd really like to be paying attention to is the dodgy guy who has been following you for two blocks. Sewer covers have fallen apart leaving huge holes in the sidewalk which could put you knee deep in an assortment of rubbish that has accumulated there over the years. There is no warning. There are no signs or bright coloured spray paint. Walk at your own risk. Maputo is a neglected city. What once must have been the pride of colonial Portugal is now a city struggling to move forward.

There is a sense of desperation in the people of Maputo. The city is supposedly thriving. It is the economic capital of Mozambique, one of the fastest developing countries in the world. After decades of civil war which landed the country at the bottom of the UN's world development list, Mozambique is clawing it's way up, digging itself out of poverty but not fast enough for the people who have moved to Maputo hoping for a better life and find nothing but unemployment and poor living conditions. As tourists we become a source of income. As we tour the streets like walking dollar signs, we become a target for street vendors and random guys who want to sell. Paintings, small wooden statues, necklaces, phone cards...there are men, never women, whose only source of income is peddling to tourists. At the end of the day if sales have been slow, their tactics become more aggressive because without a sale, they will not eat dinner. We saw this first hand in the Fish Market of Maputo.

The Fish Market is exactly what it sounds like. It a market where the locals come to sell their fish However, with the development of tourism, it has acquired a secondary function. Tourists are drawn there with the promise of a fresh fish dinner. Go to the market, pick out a fish and have it cooked for you in one of the many small restaurants surrounding the market.

The market is a far way out of town and we made the mistake of walking there our first night in town. Exhausted by the time we arrived, we were not ready to be accosted by promoters for the many different restaurants. Each restaurant has a guy staked at the entrance to the market to latch on to the tourists and lure them into their restaurant. Not knowing exactly how things worked we didn't want to commit to anyone and just walked through the market until we reached a point where surrounded by six different promoters each claiming to have been the first one to see us, to have the best restaurant and to be the most honest. My travel companions were overwhelmed with the pressure and were ready to leave, when one of the promoters took the hint and suggested that they all leave us alone and give us some space. “We'll go with him, the guy in the red shirt.” Decision made, the rest just drifted away.

Our promoter was Gasper and he turned out to be wonderful. He led us to the restaurant, got us some drinks and helped us to navigate the process. We had such a wonderful time that we decided to return on our last night in Maputo. Armed with the knowledge of how things worked, knowing which restaurant we wanted to go to and having arrived by tuk-tuk, the second visit to the market was far less stressful. Upon arriving at the restaurant Gasper gave us a warm welcome, found us a seat and set to making us feel completely at home. It was late Sunday afternoon, there was music playing and the place was filled with locals. It was the place to be. However, this also meant that we were more of a target for the salesmen who patrol the market looking for potential purchasers. This became a bit of a joke as we were subjected to sales pitch after sales pitch. “Buy this necklace, I give you a good price.” “Just look, looking is free.” “My name is Mr. Price, lets make a deal.” “Today is Sunday, I give you banana price.” Banana price?

We watched as ridiculous paintings were paraded past us- various renditions of a half naked woman in a variety of different dress colours, a picture of two hands with a child's small foot nestled in between, one we were told was a picture of Bob Marley's dad Elvis, another of Bob Marley himself. But my favourite must have been the one of the man kissing a ball (which may have been a man drinking from a coconut, but art is all in the interpretation). Needless to say, we didn't buy anything.

As the afternoon wore on and turned into evening, we were approached by a young man with necklaces who seemed more desperate than most. It was obvious that most of the men in the market were doing pretty well- nice clothes, healthy glow. This man was not. Lacking energy, wearing a worn t-shirt he focused what energy he had on me. “Please buy some necklaces. There haven't been many tourists today and I haven't sold anything. I need money so I can get the bus home. I live in the slums which are far away and I have to get home. 5 for 100 mets.” His necklaces were ugly and you never know what is the truth, perhaps this was just this guys strategy for a sale. He persisted for a while on the verge of begging when another group of tourists came in and he went off to try his luck with the new victims.

We were having a great time so dinner was a lingering affair. We watched the boys try to sell a white man drums, giving a full demonstration which involved every salesman giving the drums a try which resulted in a series of interesting beats, not all actually carrying a rhythm. It was at this point that we noticed our necklace friend devouring the scraps from the table beside us. So grateful to have some food he thanked his benefactors profusely for their generosity. He seemed to come to life. Like a new man, his energy was renewed, a smile across his face. Food was good, but it wouldn't help him get home to his family. His satisfaction was short lived as he resumed the hunt for a sale. There comes a point in time where you have to recognize just how blessed we are. Coming from Canada, I've had everything I've ever wanted. I have more opportunities than I know what to do with and have never had to beg for food or fight for an honourable life. 100 meticais is the equivalent of 4 dollars. I knew the man would return to our table, and I knew that I would buy his necklaces, an easy thing to do to help a human being retain their dignity. This had gone beyond the scam and had suddenly become quite real. He was a person in need. A real person, not just someone pestering me during my dinner.

I am now the proud owner of five ugly necklaces and as such I was able to make someone's day. As I put the 100 mets in his hand, you could see relief wash over him. He was going to be able to go home, he was ok for one more day.