I have left Afrika.
I hope Afrika doesn’t leave me anytime soon.

We woke up at 05 and had tea in the light of a candle as the electricity had been off for over two weeks.
Nalda woke up and cried in the next room.
As Chikinya carried her to her room, we put out the candle and stayed quiet. If she’d known we were leaving to the airport without her, she’d’ve just had cried more.

Getting a chapa was easy.
We walked the last part of the way and bought pão com badjias on the road.
Later these pão and badjias led me to receive appreciation from the airport personnel checking my bag; how did I know pão com badjias? Did I really buy them on the street? Did I learn my Portugese here? In three months? What did I do here? Dance? When am I coming back? And the standard line: I should get myself a Mozambican husband.
Standing in line later for the passport check was the first time I felt tears in my eyes.

The flight went well.
I watched the tin roofs and the busy streets until I could not see the cars anymore.
Nor the people moving there.
Just a flat surface with lines and dots.
I wrapped my jacket tight around me and went to sleep.
Sleep heals.

…

(This story told in pictures.)