On the price of things

“I live in the most expensive city of the world”. Many different people, living in many different cities, often share this same thought. As I found out I was coming to Luanda, I naturally inquired on living costs, only to find out I was moving out of the UK and into an expensive place. Just how expensive is it? Well, according to some, it is the most expensive of all (click here and scroll down to the table), which is quite amazing, for a country in the 17th lowest rank of the UN human development index. More challenging than the amazing prices people ask for things over here, is however the inexistence of some other things you often take for granted. Much shopping is facilitated when you have a car, though. Not only because it allows you to go to that far away supermarket which has the toothbrush you’ve been wanting to buy for 2 weeks, but mostly because of the kids who go from car to car on the endless car jams, selling everything from cigarettes, bread and water (varying between the bottled and plastic bag versions) to irons, glass tables and small trees. It´s the informal economy filling in the gaps.

Outside Luanda

Last weekend I took the chance to go outside Luanda with some friends. It’s a good thing to go outside Luanda. The chaotic traffic is still there as you leave and when you return, but for the rest it is quite relaxing to the eye and to the nervous system in general. We drove some 160 Km south of the capital, to Cabo Ledo, and camped on the beach. The flora is quite amazing on the way, and I promise to post some pictures of it in the near future. I also intend to post pictures of Luanda, but those are harder to take, especially interesting ones. People are known to get into trouble with the police, military and other people due to photography shooting. For now let’s just enjoy the calmness of a weekend in the beach.

Jesus hasn’t come yet

Jesus decides on light and darkness. He also seems to do it exclusively out of his own will. My landlady keeps telling me that he’ll come, but so far he really hasn’t. In the mean time I’ve spent many of these nights on candle light, which is, to say the least, not the easiest way to get acquainted with your new house. You see, there is a problem with the fuses in the building: they burnt the night before my arrival. Sort of “a big panic evacuation”, the neighbour commented the other day, when I finally thought somebody had to be asked about why I have no electricity since I arrived. The thing is I rented this room from my to-be-met flatmate, who happens to be somewhere else in Africa at the moment. There is a landlady, but I didn’t have her contact. And Jesus? Well, he lives somewhere in this same building, and he commands a power generator which, I’ve been told, we share. The problem is obviously that the generator’s switch, along with its intrinsic problems, lives happily with Jesus, in his flat. I later got the number of my landlady - through the girl who lived in this room before me, and whom by sheer coincidence I actually knew from Portugal -, and basically called her for help. The landlady then patiently explained to me that things here tend to take a time of their own and are generally a bit confusing. This somehow reassured me, as it helped me realize that perhaps it is not my fault I’m failing to have a grasp on things. So I carry on, waiting for Jesus to come and help me.

So here I am

In the end, I did make it on the 3rd of May, and with all of my five bags and suitcases. To make it short, I flew over half of Africa, landed a nice landing, stood in some lines for some time, and passed through immigration, where nobody really saw or cared about “André”, my new middle name. I got the bags, and in the end, after quitting on being recognized by one of those people near the group holding other people’s name plates, I managed to call the office by borrowing the cell phone of some fellow immigrant, who had just been informed that his car ride was stuck in traffic 2 kilometres and 50 minutes away. Some time after, my own ride arrived, and off we went. First to the address where the apartment keys where agreed to be - and where there was nobody -, then to the office, where I met some colleagues, then back to the keys spot, and then, with the keys in hand, to find the apartment. Finally, to sweat an impressive amount by carrying heavy bags up 3 high floors under intense heat. It all went remarkably well.

Last minute notes

Will I fly today? I will not fly today? If I fly today, will immigration notice the name in the Visa is not quite exactly my name? Will they think it's funny? If not, will they care for my lame excuses? Will my future coworkers come to the rescue, or will I lastly win a free return flight? Is it free at all?... Stay tuned!