Crossings

By Marifi Jara

QUELIMANE, Mozambique–I could not be certain of the number but I’ve been told there are at least 100 Filipinos here in the country. Last June 12, in keeping with the celebration of Philippine Independence Day, a group of Filipinos in the capital Maputo, mostly networked through a Catholic church they all regularly go to on Sundays, got together and there were about 70 of them in attendance, and that was not everyone in the guest list! I think that is quite a lot of Filipinos in a country that is not exactly on the list of popular destinations for our huge working and migrant population.

But that number is not significant enough just yet for the ordinary Mozambican to recognize our race.

On more than one occasion — here in Quelimane and in Maputo — I have been “greeted” by locals I come across the streets with “Chinese, Chinese” (they pronounce it chee-ne-se).

I have never taken offense in these occasional heckles, perhaps because I understand them knowing that some of our fellow Filipinos are also in the habit of barking “Kano, kano”(or “Hey Joe”) when they see a male Caucasian. As to why I am mistaken as a Chinese, I guess since majority of those with Asian roots here are either Chinese or Indian, locals assume I must be one of the two. And I guess between the two, they reckon I look closer to Chinese despite my unmistakably brown skin. These jeering behaviors, though seemingly impolite, are, I believe, harmless and nothing really but a cry for a little attention by people who are rather idle and bored. It never hurts to return a polite greeting, especially a word or phrase in the native tongue.

In one of the streets in Chimoio, a quaint city on the western side bordering troubled Zimbabwe, a group of young schoolboys greeted me “arigato”, complete with the palms held together at the chest and a nippy bow of the head. I returned the gesture then greeted them, in a serious tone and with the best Portuguese accent I could muster, “obrigado”, which also means thank you. The kids had a good laugh, obviously tickled by hearing what to them is a rather odd-looking creature speaking their language. I could only hazard a guess that their knowledge of the Japanese must have come, not likely from school, but from media or perhaps computer games.

The technician from the telephone company who installed our internet service at home asked if I am Europeo, and when I replied in my still limited Portuguese “Nao (naw), eu (a-yoo) sou (sow) Filipino, he said, “Ah, Americano!”. No, no, no I said and brought out a small world map to point to him our archipelago. He looked at it pensively as if it was the first time he ever noticed there is that part of the world, then muttered, “hmmm” with a slight nodding of the head.

Similarly, not a few friends and relatives back home and elsewhere in the globe have no idea where Mozambique (“iner?, saan yan?!”, they’d gasp ) is in the African continent; some of them actually think Africa is but one big country.

The unawareness on both sides I think is largely because our histories have hardly any significant crossings really. While we in Asia and them here in Africa (or more particularly us Filipinos and the Mozambicans) share similar stories of European colonization, our ties are pretty much loose. And the reality is that we do not really concern ourselves much with people, places and things that are not of immediate and close bearing to our lives, or simply just not having the time and opportunity to be bothered.

But looking at the number of Filipinos here now, many of whom in development work like our friend Ellen, who is from Manila with roots in La Union and been working here for a program of the Michigan State University, our links appear to be becoming more relevant.

Incidentally, a friend in Manila working for an international network of organizations related to water and sanitation emailed last week saying they’ve recently had eight Mozambican visitors for an exchange of experiences and knowledge and they expect some to return in October for a conference.

Who knows, perhaps someday soon, someone around here will surprise me by correctly guessing where in the world I am from. And I would not mind really if it were a heckling from a bored someone standing by on the side of the street.

(I will be writing about some of the queries posted by our contributors in The PUNCH online forum in my next column. It is always stimulating reading feedback from our readers.)

(Readers may reach columnist at marifijara@gmail.com. For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/roots/
For reactions to this column, click “Send MESSAGES, OPINIONS, COMMENTS” on default page.)

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