“Man is absolutely free: he is nothing more that what he does in life, he is a project”

It is not easy to tell my story, perhaps because nobody ever asked me to tell it.

I was born into a poor family on January 15 from what I have been told.

My village was called Nacaca and was in the district of Ancuabe-Mesa, in Mozambique.

My childhood years were marked by the war between the RENAMO and FRELIMO. The war was spreading throughout the country, the gunfire was getting closer and closer to the villages and our fear was drenched in blood.

Anyone who has experienced this fear carries it inside them forever.

The danger of violence by the bandidos was everywhere, but it was most dangerous to leave the village and go to the machambe to gather vegetables.

It was while she was in her machamba that my aunt was taken by surprise by bandits.

My mother was in the field with her and she realised the men were coming with their weapons. She called mu aunt, but she did not hear.

My mother fled. My aunt was killed with the child she was carrying in her womb.

I remember when my mother and my uncle returned to the village with her body, their crying and wailing and that of the people of the village.

It was a terrible war and our young eyes saw it all, our ears were filled with fearful, painful sounds.

After this death, we moved to a nearby village.

The village was protected and surrounded by a traditional feticeria. When the bandits passed by the village, they did not see houses, but mountains and hills and no-one who lived there was in danger.

We were protected within the village, but danger was always lurking outside in the machambe which were cultivated less and less. And more often than not, we did not have any food.

But children are still children, even in time of war and always find a way and a place to play.

I remember hunting crickets, those big ones that are under the ground. We flushed them out and then all together, boys and girls, we cooked them…we played and fed ourselves!!!

In 1992, the war ended with the Peace Agreements of Rome. What joy, what emotion! The celebrations in the villages lasted for days and months. Also because not long after the UN humanitarian aid arrived. Every family had tools to work the fields, foodstuffs (we called them emergency products) and money. Hunger was over and life started again.

Meanwhile I had started school. I liked studying; I was curious and wanted to know new things. I learned because I wanted to learn.

I was young, but had already realised that if I studied I could leave poverty behind me forever.

For people like us from the villages, studying also meant leaving home and the people we loved, to go away to college.

At the end of the fifth class, my maternal uncle enrolled me in the school in Mariri.

The college was nice, surrounded by three lakes and the hospital was nearby.

Life there was well-organised: there was a time for work, study and sport. There was always breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sometimes the food ran out and we had to wait for the WFP, the World Food Programme, to come. Peace had finally arrived, but the economy was still suffering from the consequences of the conflict.

At the age of fourteen, the big change: my uncle wanted me to be close to him in Pemba, so he enrolled me at the school called “16 June”.

When you are fourteen, you want to find out about life, you want to see new worlds and what could be better than living in a city?

The help and the care of my uncle, Pedro Antonia Francisco Muipia, played a crucial role in my life and my education.

I will never forget this and will be forever grateful to him!

My childhood years were marked by the war between the RENAMO and FRELIMO. The war was spreading throughout the country, the gunfire was getting closer and closer to the villages and our fear was drenched in blood.

Anyone who has experienced this fear carries it inside them forever.

The danger of violence by the bandidos was everywhere, but it was most dangerous to leave the village and go to the machambe to gather vegetables.

It was while she was in her machamba that my aunt was taken by surprise by bandits.

My mother was in the field with her and she realised the men were coming with their weapons. She called mu aunt, but she did not hear.

My mother fled. My aunt was killed with the child she was carrying in her womb.

I remember when my mother and my uncle returned to the village with her body, their crying and wailing and that of the people of the village.

It was a terrible war and our young eyes saw it all, our ears were filled with fearful, painful sounds.

After this death, we moved to a nearby village.

The village was protected and surrounded by a traditional feticeria. When the bandits passed by the village, they did not see houses, but mountains and hills and no-one who lived there was in danger.

We were protected within the village, but danger was always lurking outside in the machambe which were cultivated less and less. And more often than not, we did not have any food.

But children are still children, even in time of war and always find a way and a place to play.

I remember hunting crickets, those big ones that are under the ground. We flushed them out and then all together, boys and girls, we cooked them…we played and fed ourselves!!!

In 1992, the war ended with the Peace Agreements of Rome. What joy, what emotion! The celebrations in the villages lasted for days and months. Also because not long after the UN humanitarian aid arrived. Every family had tools to work the fields, foodstuffs (we called them emergency products) and money. Hunger was over and life started again.

Meanwhile I had started school. I liked studying; I was curious and wanted to know new things. I learned because I wanted to learn.

I was young, but had already realised that if I studied I could leave poverty behind me forever.

For people like us from the villages, studying also meant leaving home and the people we loved, to go away to college.

At the end of the fifth class, my maternal uncle enrolled me in the school in Mariri.

The college was nice, surrounded by three lakes and the hospital was nearby.

Life there was well-organised: there was a time for work, study and sport. There was always breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sometimes the food ran out and we had to wait for the WFP, the World Food Programme, to come. Peace had finally arrived, but the economy was still suffering from the consequences of the conflict.

At the age of fourteen, the big change: my uncle wanted me to be close to him in Pemba, so he enrolled me at the school called “16 June”.

When you are fourteen, you want to find out about life, you want to see new worlds and what could be better than living in a city?

The help and the care of my uncle, Pedro Antonia Francisco Muipia, played a crucial role in my life and my education.

I will never forget this and will be forever grateful to him!

Obrigado
Adelino Cuba