What It’s Like Living in Cuito

you wake to the hum of diesel generators and the distant thrum of a landfill that’s owned by the same people on your street. the air tastes like a mix of damp soil and burnt plastic, but you get used to it. earlier, if you ever had breakfast,

faq

q: what’s the cost of the usual things here?

a: coffee cups cost 1.20; haircuts go for 2.50. a gym membership might set you back 3.70 a month if you’re lucky enough to find one that doesn’t charge in kilograms.

q: are there open spaces to relax?

a: all over. the market is backed by a field of baobabs that look like they’ve been there since before the city was built. you spend hours there after having dinner.

q: who do you talk to?

a: the market ladies. they speak of their children always. they laugh at your jokes, even the terrible ones. they will ask about your son’s school, for instance, and you don’t even know the kid.

living day-to-day

the basic salary is a joke-most people work two extra jobs just to hear about money through neighbors. you meet your pastor for coffee, but he always brings his family by to gossip about church. at school, the chairman looks to you like any other schoolboy, until he doesn’t, and then you tell him off, and he’s humiliated. some days you find things buried, and you put them back in the ground. you don’t know who put them there.

insight block 1

when they say ‘we move to the city,’ they mean we move into the cycles of others. everyone is in motion, and you are stuck in the middle.

insight block 2

the most honest conversations happen when a child has to go to a school that’s miles away, and the parents argue over it. it’s about loss, and loss is what everyone wears here.

insight block 3

everyone has something they don’t say, and then they tell you about it when you’re scrubbing their floors. it’s not dishonest, just reserved, like an old clock that’s ticking but has forgotten time.

insight block 4

when you try to ask why, people will stop you and say ‘it’s complicated,’ and then they’ll start talking about their children again. you can’t change that.

insight block 5

here, the weather changes, but it doesn’t feel much different. rainy days are just old days, almost. and there’s a kind of magic in them, the way the light slants through the trees like it’s coming from inside the clouds.

practicalities

rent: the balconies are the only thing that matter. they are either rusted together or have a view. that’s enough.

• haircut: 2.50
• coffee: 1.20
• taxi: 1.80 per k
• casual date meal: 5.00
• gym membership: 3.70

geo and weather

you live under a layer of dandelions that seem to fight gravity more than anything. the sky flares out before the rain, like a bruise on the neck. everywhere there’s a smell that sticks to your clothes, and it doesn’t go away.

anti-tourist truth

they say the city is safe, but that’s an accident. it happens sometimes that someone will steal your phone in the market, and you’ll find it a day later, smelling like fish.