That day, during a visit to Macaneta, a few days before the chaos of the pandemic set in, I was overcome by a feeling I had never felt before. A strange and unexpected pride at seeing a flag that was not mine fluttering in the wind.
In that instant I realised that Mozambique was no longer just that African country with which one easily falls in love. Mozambique had become home. My home.
Even today I continue to lose myself in its nooks and corners. With every journey across it, I learn a tiny part of the infinity of its customs, traditions and silences.
And, in this endless learning, one truth grows ever firmer within me: I will always be a stranger in my own home.
