Micaela

I got to Beira, the second largest city of Mozambique by road via Mutare, the third or is it fourth city of Zimbabwe. I was a bit surprised when I got to Mutare and was told it is the third or fourth largest city of Zimbabwe. My informant was not sure if Mutare was the third or fourth largest city of Zimbabwe.

            What surprised me was the size of Mutare; it was like a suburb compared to the capital city of Zimbabwe, Harare where I had been the previous day. I had been appointed buyer for a large supermarket chain and I was strongly convinced that if I sourced rice directly from Mozambique profit margins would be magical to say the least. There were also possibilities of getting fish and other products of interest in Mozambique. It is whilst I was on this rice quest that I met Micaela in Beira.

            Since I came back from Mozambique, I have been waiting for something strange to happen in my life. My friend Josh picked me up from the bus station. I had hardly settled in the car when he looked at me with a worried look.

“I hope you did not have sex with the most beautiful Mozambican girl”. He said whilst dangerously reversing into oncoming traffic.

“Why. I thought you would be saying the opposite of that”.

“There is a curse going on. Or maybe it’s just some strange muti business”.

“What are you on about?” I was getting worried.

“I have heard stories about mysterious, very beautiful girls who seduce men. The experience is said to be wonderful, but it will be your last”.

My heart was racing when I thought of Micaela; the most beautiful girl I had ever seen and she had given me the most wonderful sexual experience ever. The bus stopped in front of the hotel and almost everyone got off the bus. But it was me and a white guy who got into the hotel. The rest were cross border traders who were after bales of second hand clothing and rice and dried fish known as bakayawo in Mutare. I remember meeting a Mozambican young man many years ago. A lot of Mozambicans had crossed the border into Zimbabwe as a result of the war between the government troops and rebels who were fighting a bitter civil war. The rebels were known as matsanga  and many had fled Mozambique because of them. They were also in the habit of destroying the oil pipeline ferrying fuel into Zimbabwean government and the Zimbabwean government had send troops into Mozambique to protect the pipeline.

“A lot of people outside Mozambique think Samora Machel is a hero, far from it: He was an oppressive dictator who did not care about his people’s welfare”. Angrily said the young, Mozambican man who sold freezits at Sakubva bus terminus in Mutare: More like the president of Zimbabwe. There are varied extreme opinions regarding the president of Zimbabwe.

It was one of the nicer hotels where your luggage is carried by a porter and there are complimentary newspapers et cetera. Micaela was behind the reception desk and she smiled broadly as she helped me check in. I didn't read much into her smile: Aren't front of house employees supposed to be courteous to everyone?

When I got to my room, I filled up the bathtub, added bubble bath and relaxed as I felt the exhaustion drain away. I must have fallen asleep. I woke up with a start when I heard a knock on the door. It was already dark outside. I scrambled out of the bathtub, wrapped a towel around my waist and rushed to the door. She had gotten out of the blue, hotel uniform and she was now in a beige outfit that looked so exotic.

“Good evening.” She said with a smile and squeezed past me into the room. She had on her arm a basket that later revealed an amazingly delicious fish and rice dish. “You didn't make a dinner reservation, so I thought I should bring you room service.”

            For close to an hour I thought she had brought ‘room service’ as part of her duties as the hotel’s employee. We chatted about her life in Mozambique. She was a qualified photographer, but because photography was not really recognised as a career amongst black people, she had settled for a job at the hotel. By and by, she cleared away the dinner things, let down her dreadlocks and sat cross-legged on the bed. She had on a short skirt and this deliberate action sent my blood racing.

            Her soft lips on my forehead woke me up the next morning. She was fully dressed. She smiled her now familiar smile and was gone. I had early meetings and I rushed through the processes of bathing and breakfast. She was not at reception when I left the hotel and she was not at reception when I came back. I waited in my hotel room for many hours hoping she would come, but she did not. I went down to dinner and again she was not at reception. On my way from dinner I passed through reception.

“Is Micaela around?” I asked the young man at reception. He didn't seem to like the fact that I was asking for Micaela.

“She is not here”, he said with a sour look on his face.

“Is she in the hotel?” He did not respond. A middle aged woman behind a computer came up to the desk.

“She took a few days off work. She does not stay very far from here.” She smiled faintly.

“Thank you.” I said and walked towards my room.

I slept a trouble sleep and woke up very early in the morning. I rushed through my meetings and checked out of the hotel in the afternoon.

            Back home I spend a week waiting to die or for my penis to disappear. Josh had scared me alright. But nothing bad happened and I began to relax. After two weeks a package arrived for at work. It had Mozambique as country of origin.