Salma stood in the midst of wreckage pointing to the green and blue concrete slabs lying at her feet. Those toppled remains were hardly identifiable as pieces of a house that might every have sheltered a family. Judging from the blank look that shot across Salma s face, those hunks of concrete she pointed at were not only significant pieces of her world, but the very foundation of life as she and her family knew it. In Trevo, once a vibrant residential community in Maputo, people still sweep the streets.
Music blares from someone s radio as people cook and take their meals.
Clothes hang on bushes and trees and dogs doze on a mattress left to dry in the sun. Two men play checkers with bottlecaps while nearby someone has her hair plaited. All this will stop at dusk when everyone returns to temporary shelters elsewhere. Even after living in Trevo for nearly forty years, Salma wouldn t spend another night there even if she had a house to come home to. Now even if there is any little rain I m afraid after what I ve seen.