WANTED: Stolen Art

In or about 1975, I enrolled in an art class on Saturdays. I would go very early and start a work, then rush to the University Hospital to attend regular morning class, return at noon to the workshop to finish my art project. Sometimes I got distracted in my art project and one of my classmates would come to remind me I had a clinical conference at the same time.

Once, I finished a carbon drawing of a curtain, I had played with light and was specially proud of my job. My colleagues said looked realistic. My art, posted on the wall, was gone by next Saturday. All other projects done by my classmates in art class had not been taken away. It was possible it had been taken by somebody, jealous of a work that could have made his/her own work look clumsy by comparison, or even worse, someone could have used my drawing to wrap fish or light a fire! But as a consolation, I preferred to think that my work had been valued to the point that someone took risks to steal it. My consecration as an artist!

Going tribal: Tale of two Luandas

Old Luanda: I lost my hotel reservation, and because of the oil and diamond boom it would take four months to get a hotel room. Thanks to a colleague living in the US, I get a room at Mother Luisa's Inn, actually a large house. I get the maid's room, with a latrine-type of bathroom, while a female colleague traveling with me gets the main suite with a private bathroom. Mae Luisa sleeps in a couch for a couple of weeks. The daily rate, $150, includes a breakfast. Mae does a fusion of Portuguese, Brazilian and African cuisines of her ancestors. Her home is immaculate but lacks basic services. As it is not connected to the generator in the compound, we often lack electricity, the water pump broke during most of our stay and there was no running water, naturally there was no Internet. Extremely noisy neighbors held wild parties every night until Mae called the cops. Traffic to downtown was so bad it took me more than 2.5 hours to travel approx 5 miles. I went to the Hospital for meetings. As I left the building, I tried not to step over roadkill, a rat flattened like a pancake. I woman with a headscarve moved rhythmically while wailed- her mother had died. Some buildings at the Colonial (since their got their Independence in 1975, anything older than that is Colonial) downtown are still scarred with bullet holes, others have been occupied by squatters. Cranes build more skyscrapers at a frenzy pace. Nobody seems to be building parking, SUVs park everywhere in the streets blocking traffic. I watched at passerby's buttocks and conclude they must be eating too little because of food inflation, walking home from work, because of the bad traffic, or both, since few have fat reserves. I regard my watching as a scientific endeavor, there is no informed consent, but got OK from my wife just in case.

New Luanda: On the last night, I went to the new Luanda. Wide, straight and clean streets, new buildings with a modern look, malls and all the amenities of a piece of the US transplanted into the heart of Africa. A few people walked, most drove brand new cars (priced double than in the US, but at least fuel is cheap). Prices were outrageous, $100/person for a dinner, but those eating here -executives, high government officials including top army brass- seemed able to afford them.