Blocos Queimados

Sadly, this was only the beginning of our problems. The houses in Maganja, and most of Mozambique are made from mud blocks, some fired, but mostly not. We had talked about reusing the salvageable blocks from the old house, the unfired variety, and buying extra ones. Because the rainy season had just begun and the unfired blocks dissolve if not covered by a roof, one of the builders said we should consider buying fired ones instead, even though they were more expensive. So, we set off to look for these ‘blocos queimados’. We cycled approximately five kilometres in the burning sun to look at some blocos. We were told that we would need four thousand, which at 1MTn each would cost us 4000MTn (£80/10000ISK). We had slowly begun to realise that the 5000MTn price tag was a gross underestimation.

We arranged to come back the following morning at 6a.m. to buy 2500 blocos, which we were told would be sitting in piles ready counted. We woke up at 2a.m. to torrential downpour, which continued until 6a.m. No one showed up at the house until 8a.m. when the rain had completely stopped and the roads began to resemble roads again, and not rivers.

We set off the 5km with a very grumpy driver and promptly got stuck in a river, which did nothing to improve his mood. Half an hour, fifteen men, numerous rocks and branches later we managed to get the truck on the road once more - only to find it blocked by a fallen tree. We were still blissfully unaware of how much worse the day was going to get.

When we eventually arrived not only were the blocos not ready to load onto the truck, but the owner was nowhere to be found. We began dismantling the ovens and piling up the blocos. The two of us tried, logically, to make rows of ten, stacked four high. The rationale of this system seemed to completely escape those present.

Many of them weren’t sufficiently fired and were still clay, others were too fired and crumbled on the slightest touch. After about two hours we had counted three hundred decent blocos. Only two thousand two hundred to go. Eventually a pile of 500 was counted, probably incorrectly due to some rows having nine, and others eleven.

The blocos were carried 50m uphill to the waiting truck. Half the village turned up, not to help, but to watch and laugh. The truck only could take 500 blocos at a time, costing 750MTn (£15/1900ISK) a trip. Another hour later, all 500 blocos were ready to be taken to the site of the house and then loaded off. Did I mention we hadn’t eaten breakfast?

Another driver was procured, with a bigger truck and asking a more reasonable price. We quickly ate some lunch, as we were on the verge of collapse and set off for round two. This time we took seven local boys between ten and fifteen years old to help. I’m not sure if this is tantamount to child labour. The new truck was able to drive further down the hill, but it couldn’t turn off the engine, as it couldn’t start without being pushed. We created a chain of people, and nominated ourselves to arrange the rows in the truck to facilitate counting. The blocos are not light. We were carrying two, at most three – the boys were carrying three on their heads, or four or five in their arms. This was all done standing in thick petrol fumes. After numerous arguments about money and lots of shouting, we drove back to Maganja, bouncing around in the back on top of approximately 650 blocks, singing, clapping and waving, with grit from the blocos in our eyes – elated that the day was finally over.

I think we can honestly say that it was the worst day so far in Mozambique – we were both left with no skin on our fingertips, grazes on our arms, aching backs and long-lasting psychological damage.

We felt guilty, but secretly relieved, that we had to go to Quelimane the next day to organise new visas. We left Mariamo, along with ten children, to collect the remaining 1350 blocos. They were faced with other problems, the principal one being that the second driver from the previous day didn’t show up, despite having been paid.