Usually loud and busy Avenida Mao Tse Tung where I live is very empty today. As is the rest of the city with closed restaurants, shops and very little public transport and people in movement.

The fares of the ‘chapas’, the minibuses that serve as public transport here in Maputo, were raised yesterday and people on their way to the city got angry and started violent uprests, burning cars, looting, and stone throwing, mostly in the outskirts of the city. Police cars were burning, people were injured and mobile networks and media channels were shut down. I was sent home from the office.

Today, we were instructed not to come in to office either but to my knowledge nothing serious is happening apart from some closed shops, an increased police presence, and a couple of roadblocks.

The price of a chapa ride has been kept artifically low and subsidized by the government at a rate of 5MZN, which is about 0,10€. Yesterday, years later, the price was increased to 7MZN and for many people coming from the outskirts this minimal increase hinders them from affording to commute to town. That’s how poor this country is.

In central Maputo, however, most people are probably just enjoying Maputo on hold and loving the fact that they are getting a longer weekend than expected.

By the way, did I mention that Leonie is back in town?

Today, on the way home after a late dinner, we were stopped by the police.

First, a man in a worn out white hoodie approached us and I thought that he was considering robbing us. Then his colleague, a man in a police uniform, came, which of course doesn’t necessarily mean that he is a police officer. That’s when I saw the gun and decided to give him my ID.

“You know we are all good friends here, we don’t want to put you young people through trouble by taking you to the police station. Let’s solve this here and now”

“But for what? No crime has been commited.”

“We can tell our story at the station and you can tell yours, it will take all night but as you say, it’s the right thing to do.” The gun, the darkness, the guy in the hoodie looking like a bandit and separating us to ask intimidating questions. The escalation of it all.

“I’m sorry, I’m not paying a bribe.”

2,5 hours, three police officers and ten mosquito bites later, the threats and made up stories escalated as they were being passed on from one officer to another. All of them asked for bribes throughout the process despite our refusal. Blackmailing and corruption as direct and open as it gets.

The amount of disgust I feel towards the corrupt officials here is not even to be described. If anybody ever asks me what the worst thing was about Mozambique, I will undoubtedly answer: The horribly corrupt police force and system.

Good night.

The Cicirella and the ginger from Mogadishu have arrived and are currently indulging in the best of Mozambique.