My Reflections Of Luanda - Angola Part 4

I am betwixt and between. Our African journey has ended, yet I have not finished telling my stories. I’m toying with the idea of whether I should continue writing, remembering, and sharing, or press stop and disconnect my laptop, calling it a day. Butch and I aim for “refinement” rather than retirement.

 

Please note: It is impossible to tell the story of Luanda in a few words or with a dozen photographs. It's far too impressive for that. Put your feet up, pour a cup of Earl Grey tea, and then settle down and join us on a trip to Luanda.

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My understanding of Luanda was somewhat limited and prejudiced, based on the experiences of people engaged in ‘business’ in Angola. One man was selling cheap alcohol in sachets; another was an engineer, a former member of the SANDF, with a collection of ribboned military hardware adorning his impressive chest. He’d survived the war, and with “the intelligence” he’d gleaned during his missions to the border and certain camps, he saw lucrative opportunities to do “bidness.”

His stature increased by at least 5 cm in length and 15 cm in breadth when he spoke about his dealings. With his beefy arms hugging his chest and his khaki-clad legs spread in an “at ease “position, he regaled us with stories of his mysterious post-war missions to Luanda.

The preparation for his journey was shrouded in intrigue and secrecy as he described the operation into a corrupt world of bespectacled generals in battle fatigues sporting gold-rimmed Ray Ban aviators and field commanders in berets sucking on Cuban cigars, men, and a woman, who had to be placated, bribed and appeased with crates of fresh off the press, crispy, new $100 greenbacks before any business could be negotiated in a war-torn city still smouldering. In his impressive rendition, we could smell the acrid gunpowder and glowering fires festering in the rubble of shelled buildings and potholed roads still littered by thousands of landmines.

It was pure Armageddon. In my imaginings, people were living under torn tarpaulins, cardboard boxes and plastic sheeting, many scuttling about in Vietnamese-like tunnels with warlords in captured tanks and Caspers calling the shots from megaphones, and bedraggled children would appear having crawled out of holes in the garbage where they forage for food. Gangsters run amok with AK-47s strapped to their chests, and loaded ammunition belts are draped around their necks like strings of pearls.
Alouettes juddered and whirled in the night sky, the sound of their rotor blades whoop-whooped sending chills down one’s spine as swarms of camouflaged bottle green whirly birds appeared on the horizon, returning from their assignments to the rich oil and diamond fields further north on the banks of the Rio Congo.
For these super-rich and privileged few, staying in a hotel costs an arm and a leg. Only the best champagnes, Johnny Walker Blue Label, and rare wines were consumed by the crate. We shook in our boots and admired this man with the wherewithal to negotiate this chaotic city in the throes of a reckoning.

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In my mind’s eye, this was the landscape we were trundling into on a perfect windless, sunny, blue sky Sunday. We saw people doing business, walking with Bibles tucked away under their arms, youngsters laughing in groups, and ordinary folk walking back and forth, just like any other city we’d entered. On our left, the aquamarine waters of the South Atlantic coast moved toward the shore, heaving into a gently rolling wave that breached in a stretched-out left break and rolled placidly onto the white beaches. Were Butch, our faithful Honey Badger, and I lumbering into the jaws of an apocalypse? Yet, we braced ourselves.

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Our first impressions were of a city that defied our expectations. The usual suspects greeted us in Luanda, a developed city on the outskirts: small homes, apartment buildings, street markets, ATMs, small grocery and convenience stores, numerous tyre repair workshops, the occasional chop shop, and many fancy barber shops.
The towering concrete needle, a monument that pays homage to António Agostinho Neto, the first president of Angola from 1975 to 1979, introduced us to the city’s rich history.

Our GPS guided us smoothly up, around and over modern concrete motorways to the Clube Naval. We would spend time in Luanda in this picturesque waterfront yacht and sports club, enjoying the serene views and vibrant atmosphere.

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Later, while doing the dishes, I remarked that this must be one of the most impressive sights from a washbasin in the world.
I was surrounded by million-dollar yachts, modern motor launches, and a skyline of newly constructed skyscrapers guarding ochre-tiled administrative buildings, a placid safe harbour, and, on the hill protecting the city, the ancient Portuguese fort, a symbol of the city’s colonial past, now the military museum.

The busy restaurant at the Clube Naval was one of our favourite haunts, and we'd often pop in for a bite to eat. The staff are very much part of the furniture, well-trained, knowledgeable and soon got to know us. They would serve our drinks and present our favourite tapas before we requested the menu. We were there to enjoy the bounty from the sea and weren’t disappointed. Fresh fish is perfectly prepared and served just as we like, without all the frills. Where the locals eat is usually a sign of a good kitchen and chef.

Most days, we'd stop for a coffee, always trying to pick a new spot. The choices are endless, and to give an educated opinion, we'd try various establishments for tapas, cocktails, lunches, snacks or dinner in the evening. I can't recall ever being disappointed. Luanda's cuisine is a blend of traditional, Portuguese, Brazilian, and Mediterranean influences, offering a truly global slice of deliciousness. From a spoonful of Pap (traditional African maize meal) to chopstick for sushi, there's something for every palate.

The Gateway to Luanda is a modern sculpture and walkway that leads walkers from the inner city across the busy marginal to the promenade, a palm-lined avenue perfect for cyclists, walkers, runners, or the less energetic who prefer contemplation from a park bench. 

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The first order of business was to replace the tyre we’d shredded on the gravel road in Namibe.

With Marina Kruger of Rio Longo Fishing Resort’s help, who recommended us to Cleusio PGR Saidy, a tyre dealer who could source a 17” tyre for us, we set off to his workshop early Monday morning.

The drive to the establishment took us on a route we might never have used, which was also an experience.

Time stood still as we waited and negotiated, waiting for the tyre to be produced. In this line of business, we discovered that nothing gets done until the cash is in the register.

At the outset, Butch inquired whether credit card payments were accepted, and the manager on duty assured him that his card would be fine. Later, he was told the credit card facilities were offline. “Bad service” is the standard response. Cash is king. After much negotiation and backwards and forwards, Butch had to admit defeat. We were to draw the money. The new tyre was on the truck, and we were not to be trusted, so with an employee to accompany us, we set off to draw cash.

We learned that there is a cash shortage in Angola. Ten ATMS later, after standing in the queue for hours, we withdrew 305,021.52 Angolan Kwanzas.

Back at the Alinhamento de Direição & Manunteção, the accountant diligently checked every note for forgeries before it was accepted. At last, we were back to six perfect wheels, and with a wave from bored staff, we set off.

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Luanda

On our bikes, we reconnoitred the city.

Founded in 1576 by Paulo Dias de Novais and initially settled by the Portuguese, Luanda became the administrative centre of the Portuguese colony of Angola in 1627. It was a major outlet for slavery to Brazil.

The city is the birthplace of the Mbundu people, whose roots are deeply ingrained in the area.

Luanda has a warm, equable climate. The surrounding region fronts a tropical coastal plain that gives way to a water table dissected and drained by the Cuanza River and other coastal rivers. Cambambe Dam, 177 km southeast of the Cuanza, supplies power to Luanda.

Skyscrapers and wide avenues give Luanda a modern appearance. The outlying districts, which comprise the higher part of the city, are generally poverty-ridden, while the lower part is commercial and industrial.

The city is the seat of a Roman Catholic archdiocese and is home to Agostinho Neto University (1963) and the Catholic University of Angola (1997). The National Library of Angola and the National Historical Archive are also located there, as are several museums.

Most of Luanda’s sizable Portuguese population had left the city before Angola gained independence from Portugal in 1975. The city’s population swelled dramatically during Angola’s civil war (1975–2002), especially after 1992, as refugees fled from warfare in rural areas.

Historically, Luanda has consistently faced challenges in maintaining a clean and accessible water supply, and decades of war and insecurity have further exacerbated the situation.

The influx of new residents overwhelmed the city’s public services, including sewage treatment and trash collection. Even in the years following the Civil War, Luanda was still vulnerable to frequent outbreaks of cholera and other diseases stemming from a lack of potable water. (We believe there is currently a cholera outbreak in the city.)

Luanda is an industrial centre that manufactures beverages, automotive products, and cement. Oil was discovered nearby in 1955, and a refinery is located at the north end of Luanda Bay. Agricultural products include coffee, cotton, sugarcane, oilseeds, palm oil, and kernels; cattle raising is also important locally.

In addition to the city’s port facilities, Luanda is served by an international airport and the Luanda Railway, which has its eastern terminus in Malanje.

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Ilha do Cabo

Our neighbourhood is typically known as Ilha do Cabo (Cape Island), also referred to as Ilha de Luanda. This thin spit off the shore of Luanda consists of a low sandy strip formed by sedimentation. Interestingly, the peninsula belongs to the municipality of Ingombota in the Luanda Province!

When Paulo Dias de Novais, a Portuguese navigator, arrived here in 1575 with several hundred soldiers and settlers, the island was inhabited by the Axi-lwanda, a subgroup of the Ambundu people related to the Kongo Empire.

The island was essential for collecting zimbo, the shells that constituted the currency of the Kongo king before the arrival of the Portuguese. The Portuguese settled here for a while, gaining control of the currency before establishing themselves on the mainland.

As it's known colloquially, the Ilha is connected to the city through a narrow passage and is located at the foot of the Fortress of São Miguel.

This laid-back strip is where residents can escape the stresses of the capital, especially on weekends. A wide variety of hotels and clubs with bars and restaurants, as well as flea markets and marinas, attract visitors.

Fresh fish is sold from fishing boats, and vendors sell fresh pao (traditional Portuguese buns and French loaves) and deep-fried sweet treats.

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The active Clube Nautico da Ilha De Luanda sports club is situated on the island, and we were pleasantly surprised to notice three Padel courts, which are all the rage now.

One evening, while we were enjoying our sundowners, we noticed a flotilla of small sailboats entering the club’s harbour and were told the young sailors were all orphans. To uplift the children, the Club’s management invited them to learn about sailing, teaching them new life skills. The project is an enormous success.

We strolled along the strip most evenings to witness the magnificent orange sunsets. At sunset, Luandans come down to the water’s edge to play football or volleyball, to chat in groups, or to support their team or to walk along the water’s edge, and to watch fishing boats land on the beach, or watch anglers prepare and throw out their nets for sunset catches.

With our friend Brahim, who’d come up to Luanda to do business, we enjoyed mint tea at one of the numerous restaurants on the strip.

Music and dance are traditions; whenever we could, we stopped to listen to and enjoy the traditional marimba beats.

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António Agostinho Neto

In “We Must Return,” a poem Neto wrote from prison in 1956, he described Angola as “red with coffee / white with cotton/green with maize” and as “our land, our mother.”

Unfortunately, Neto’s ambitions for a “liberated Angola” did not last long, and a 27-year civil war left much of the country in ruins.

Neto was born in Ilha de Bengo, in the Bengo Province, in 1922. He attended high school in Luanda; his parents were both schoolteachers and Methodists; his father, also known as Agostinho Neto, was a Methodist pastor.

After school, he worked in the health services before attending university.

Neto left Angola for Portugal and studied medicine at the universities of Coimbra and Lisbon. He combined his academic life with covert political activities. The security police of the Estado Novo regime, headed by Portuguese Prime Minister António de Oliveira Salazar, arrested him in 1951.

He was incarcerated for three months for his separatist activism and again in 1952 for joining the Portuguese Movement for Democratic Youth Unity. In 1955, he was rearrested and held until 1957. Notwithstanding all this, he finished his studies, and on the day he graduated, married a 23-year-old Portuguese woman born in Trás-os-Montes, Maria Eugénia da Silva.

Neto returned to Angola in 1959 but was arrested again in 1960. After his release, he assumed leadership of the armed struggle against Portuguese rule. When Angola gained independence in 1975, he became president and held that position until he died in 1979.

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On a perfect, breathless morning, we ventured to the obelisk-like Mausoleum of António Agostinho Neto in the centre of Luanda.

Our lovely guide showed us around and shared the story of his hero with great respect and affection.

The cold, grey, concrete mausoleum, standing at 120 meters high, symbolises national pride.

Visitors to the mausoleum can peruse a collection of Neto’s personal effects and documents related to his life and presidency.

Neto’s simple, uncluttered, minimalist office echoed the man’s humble roots, where there seemed to be no ostentation.

The surrounding park, filled with impressive sculptures and manicured gardens, is also worth a stroll.

Despite Neto’s having died in the USSR in 1979, the brutalist-style mausoleum was only completed in 2012 to perpetuate his memory as Leader of the Fight for Liberation, Statesman, Man of Culture and Humanitarian.

Local art is on display, which emphasises Angolans’ creative abilities and their love of colourful art.

(We were surprised to realise the building operations were eventually sponsored and work completed by China and North Korea.)

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South Africans are only granted a 30-day visitor visa to Angola, and our time was running out.

The stars were aligned, and while sunning ourselves on the lawn overlooking the harbour one afternoon, we met fellow South African Danny de Vries from the Goeie ou Kaap, a retired naval officer from Simon’s Town. Danny de Vries trains midshipmen at the private sailing school housed in premises belonging to Clube Naval.

Danny suggested we apply for tourist visas at the Department of Immigration. He said we would be permitted to stay for up to three months.

The next day, Butch and I grabbed our passports and vehicle documentation and headed off to Immigration on the hoof. The city unfolded before us, and today, I know our footprints lie there.

Paperwork had to be completed, and we were sent to a private Visa application centre, where the necessary documentation was completed. We were then sent back to Immigration, where we joined the queue of Chinese immigrants and other foreigners.

Although the process was slow, unlike a trip to Binnelandse Sake in South Africa, where the wait is unpredictable, we were soon processed, fees were paid, our passports, papers, and photographs were handed in, and we were issued a document stating that we were free to travel. We were to return within 10 days to receive our updated Visas.

The Honey Badger also needed to have its documentation renewed, so we went to another Motor Vehicle and Revenue office in the city to apply for that.

After walking and asking for directions, we realised no one knew where we needed to be. We hailed a taxi and sped off to the appropriate building.

A modern high-rise situated in a tree-lined leafy avenue. We were dropped off amidst a fleet of black Land Cruisers (There are more black, brand-new, top-of-the-range Land Cruisers in Luanda than anywhere else in the world) and ushered into a grand reception area. At the reception, we were politely informed that we were not dressed appropriately and would not be permitted to enter the official offices of the Department of Motor Vehicle Licensing. We were escorted to plush leather seats and told an officer would send his assistant to collect our documents. We were to wait.

Around us were smartly dressed people in formal office dress (dress suits for the men and glamorous ladies dressed to the nines in suits, stockings, and heels). My flip-flops would not do; we were underdressed for the occasion.

Thirty minutes later, we were instructed to return to the Clube Naval, where we would be given instructions on how to proceed. Two hours later, the officer called to inform us that he would deliver our updated truck papers to our door at no charge.

We decided to grab this chance to continue our journey north to the mouth of the Congo River. This allowed us to see the outlying, poorer industrial city to the north. Poverty is a reality, and seeing children pilfer grain from the top of a grain carrier on the move was distressing to me. However, it seems they've become very adept at climbing into the cargo hold, filling up bags of grain, lifting them onto the roof, and then depositing the bags to waiting accomplices. Their timing was spot on.

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After a fortnight away, we returned to Luanda to collect our new Tourist Visas.

We were told our visas weren’t ready yet but would be within four or five working days, giving us ample time to explore more of Luanda on foot, by bike and by taxi.

We cycled for hours on our bikes, becoming familiar with the city's layout.

From our vantage point, we could see dozens of mammoth cranes on construction sites, where skyscrapers are seamlessly juxtaposed with colonial administrative buildings. Meanwhile, smaller buildings housing restaurants, small shops, boutiques, and furniture outlets are in their shade.

Avenues of indigenous trees lined the boulevards, their enormous trunks whitewashed.

A business district contains a conglomeration of international banks, with the De Beers Diamond Building at its centre, highlighting the importance of the mining industry.

Wall art or graffiti is everywhere and also tells the story of a city or town. I think it's imprinted on our DNA to write on walls.

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During our adventures, we’ve met remarkable couples and families. While at the Clube Naval, we often woke up in the morning or returned from our explorations to find a new vehicle parked next to us.

One afternoon, we returned to meet the Armadillo, a vintage Land Rover decked out for long-term travel. From the back of the vehicle, I spotted two feet, and there, crawling around the back, was a delightful French lady from Aix-en-Province, searching in a metal trunk for a tin of beans. This elderly couple has been on the road for years, and their Land Rover is a testament to their enduring love for adventure.

They have crisscrossed Africa multiple times, capturing its beauty through their lenses. Their Polarsteps, a digital footprint of their travels, are an impressive display of their trips down the African West Coast, North and South America, Europe, and the Arctic Circle. It just goes to show that where there’s a will, there’s a way.

Somewhere along the road, someone mentioned our itineraries to another French couple following in our tracks. Soon, Dorothee and Butch were communicating, and Butch was giving them updates on our travels. Dorothee said they were on their way and would meet us at the Clube Naval.

The huge 18-ton (the Badger is a 6-ton truck) grey Mercedes truck dwarfing our Honey Badger one afternoon was them.

We spent a few delightful days in the shade of their truck. We met their two boys, who have known no other life but one on the road exploring exotic places.

Native Parisiennes who have adapted to life on the road, Dorothee regaled us with tales of overlanding with a small baby and then being pregnant with their second child. She shared how easily the family adapted and coped with everyday life, homeschooling, and being explorers. Their resilience and adaptability are astounding.

With Dorothee's encouragement, we spent an evening of music and dance at the Palácio de Ferro, which was organised and sponsored by the French Diplomatic Mission in Luanda.

The rhythmic beats of African drums filled the air, and the dancers' vibrant costumes added a splash of colour to the evening.

We all tapped our feet and swayed to the romantic beats of Buenos Aires as couples took to the floor and danced the Tango. It was a celebration of life and culture, highlighting the musical spirit of the Angolan people.

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Palácio de Ferro

The Palácio de Ferro (Iron Palace) is a historic building situated in the heart of Luanda’s historic district.

The bright yellow corrugated iron building is believed to have been designed and built by – or by someone associated with – Gustave Eiffel, builder of the world-famous icons the Eiffel Tower in Paris and the Statue of Liberty in New York City.

The structure’s history is shrouded in mystery, as no official records exist.

Rumour has it that the structure was pre-built in France in the 1890s and shipped to its new owners in Madagascar. Due to heavy seas and the notoriously unpredictable Benguela Current, the ship ran aground on the Namibe coast, Angola’s Skeleton Coast.

As was done at the time, the Portuguese claimed the ship along with all its contents, including the palace.

The magnificent structure was built in Luanda. It was highly regarded and used as an art centre during the Portuguese era.

After Angola’s independence, the palace was neglected, and its surrounding area eventually became a parking lot. It was also heavily damaged during the Angolan Civil War, leaving some of its structures rusty and rotting.

The building was renovated in 2009, funded by profits from Angola’s oil boom, with the help of Brazilian construction companies. Many reclaimed iron balustrades and floor tiles were individually renovated in Rio de Janeiro.

It now symbolises the city’s rebirth and serves as a social reference for the future. The Ministry of Culture in Angola still needs to decide whether the building should become a diamond museum or a restaurant.

When we visited, the walls were lined with Angolan art, highlighting the local people’s vibrant love of art.

You might well ask, "Where's Wally?" There he is, sitting under the old oak tree.

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As the sun sets and the lights twinkle across the bay, Luanda comes alive with the vibrant energy of the Marginal de Luanda. This 9 km stretch of waterfront along the Atlantic Ocean in Luanda’s city centre is a hub of nightlife and entertainment, lined with restaurants, bars, nightclubs, hotels, and apartments.

On Sundays, we were told, similar to Singapore, this is where the Porsches, Maseratis, and other supercars and bikes come out to play. All this took place well past our bedtime, and we only heard the faint roar of powerful engines.

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The National Assembly

Standing in any part of Luanda, the domed terracotta National Assembly (Assembleia Nacional) building, the legislative branch of the Angolan government, is a constant reminder of the country’s history. As a unicameral country, the National Assembly is the sole legislative chamber at the national level, and a symbol of Angola's journey since gaining independence in 1975 under the majority rule of the People’s Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA).

Under the quasi-dictatorial rule of former president Jose Eduardo dos Santos, multi-party elections were a long-delayed aspiration. It wasn’t until the 1992 Angolan general election that this dream was realised, followed by another election in 2008 after the second phase of the Angolan civil war. Adopting a new constitution in 2010 paved the way for the first election under this new constitution in 2012.

The original building of the National Assembly, constructed in 1980 and also known as the People’s Assembly, was located in Estúdio/Restauração Cinema in Luanda’s urban district of Ingombota.

The journey from the initiation of the new building on 15 October 2009 to its inauguration on 9 November 2015 is a testament to Angola's commitment to infrastructure development. Part of the Political Administrative Centre, the new building stands as a symbol of progress and modernity.

The Centre accommodates a Presidential Palace, the Palace of Justice, the Defence Ministry, the Ministry of Justice and Human Rights, the Episcopal Palace, and the premises of the former National Assembly headquarters. The construction was carried out by the Portuguese company Teixeira Duarte, under the supervision of the Special Works Office of the Angolan Government. Jose Eduardo dos Santos inaugurated the building on 10 November 2015.

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One morning, Butch, while grinding our morning coffee beans, announced that he needed a haircut. The grinder’s din almost drowned out his voice, and I heard him mention that his Click’s hair trimmer had given up the ghost. I had sympathy for him, knowing full well how it feels when one wakes up on an ordinary morning and the only thing that will set the day back on its axis is a trip to the hairdresser.

His only option would be to have a haircut at one of the numerous and popular Barber Shops we’d seen all over Africa. Men’s grooming was a high priority, and we’d always been impressed by the haircuts and hairstyles men sported.

After a hesitation and a good think about the situation, Butch relented and agreed to this new adventure.

We took to the streets after searching for “barbers in Luanda” on Google. The list was endless, and we took the nearest one to our truck.

We walked for miles and couldn’t locate a barber shop. Eventually, exhausted, hot, and not amused, we found a hairdressing salon. The unenthusiastic stylist could not quote him, but after a telephone conference with the owner, she quoted a ludicrously exorbitant price. We thanked her and resumed our search.

After another long trek, we finally spotted a barbershop. The barber, a taciturn man, accepted the challenge. Butch was seated, and the cutting cape was draped over his shoulders with a flourish.

While I waited, I perused the local morning newspaper. The headlines featured our President Ramaphosa, and although I couldn’t understand a word, I saw him on every page!

After an hour of meticulous snipping and buzzing with a razor, Butch emerged from the chair, transformed. The professional cut, shave, ear, nose, and eyebrow trim were all done with such skill and care that we couldn’t help but be impressed. And to top it all off, the price was a mere fraction of what the hairdresser had quoted.

Feeling like a new Kwanza, we stopped at the Anthropology Museum. Butch was exhausted and sat himself down under a large, shady tree to while away the half hour, scrolling through his messages, while I soaked up the art, masks, and memorabilia on display. He couldn’t stop running his hands through his freshly cut bristles, and I noted his satisfied smile.

For a treat, we bought corn on the cob grilled over hot coals from a street vendor. Another lady’s tropical fruit on display was too good to pass up, and we returned to the Honey Badger with a shopping bag bulging with fresh goodies. That evening, we had a fruit salad and a tropical fruit smoothie after our morning cycle.

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Museu Nacional de Antropologia

Located in the heart of the Coqueiros neighbourhood, the renowned National Museum of Anthropology testifies to Angola’s cultural heritage.

The renovated and preserved ochre building, with its white accents and traditional bottle green window frames, was founded on November 13, 1976. It is celebrated as a beacon of cultural and scientific significance, dedicated to collecting, researching, conserving, and disseminating Angola’s past. The museum informs and fosters a deep appreciation for its significant efforts in preserving the country’s history.

The museum boasts indigenous hardwood staircases, the original balustrades polished by thousands of hands running over the warm wood, and scuffed hardwood floors spanning two floors and 14 rooms. It is a treasure trove of over 6,000 traditional artefacts, including farming tools, hunting and fishing equipment, an iron foundry, pottery, jewellery, and musical instruments.

What sets it apart is a collection dedicated to women’s rights memorabilia and a poignant photographic exhibition featuring the Khoisan people.

I found the room dedicated to traditional masks particularly fascinating. Wooden masks are traditionally used in Angola rituals, religious ceremonies, and festivals. They often represent ancestors, spirits, or deities and are believed to possess spiritual power. The masks on display here offer an insight into the rituals of the local tribes.

While perusing the exhibits, I occasionally saw my beloved, who was enjoying his time under the tree.

 

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One evening, a friend, an expat living in Luanda, took us on a guided tour of the city. He knew Luanda so well that he could show us all its highlights.

From high up on the hill, we had a 360° view of Luanda. Below us, we saw the oil refineries Angola is renowned for, the busy harbour, historical sights, and our yacht club with the mainstays pointing skyward.

Unfortunately, many of the yachts, we were told, belong to corrupt officials, oligarchs and friends of the previous government, who are persona non grata and hiding in countries with governments that ignore corruption but will accept a liberal handout under the table.

Many berthing fees are overdue, and some luxurious vessels will be sold at auction to cover the overdue payments.

That evening, we dined on fresh fish at our host’s favourite restaurant on the Ilha do Cabo.

The last landmark we were instructed to visit was the Military Museum.

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Museum of the Armed Forces

A massive star commemorating Angola's liberation beckoned us to enter these hallowed grounds where military hardware is a testament to war, history, slavery, colonialism and ultimately freedom.

In the forecourt, tanks and a small, mosquito aeroplane, Neto’s humble, beige Russian-made motorcar and antitank vehicles chronicle events.

To see South African tanks, a bombed helicopter and a Ratel amongst captured spoils of war displayed and lauded as “captured enemy war machines” was a punch in the solar plexus. The damage to thousands of lives is incalculable, and I know it was all an unjust whim created by fear to control an unfair political agenda in South Africa.

The silence surrounding us is a deafening tribute to the history displayed as we pad through the heavy wooden doors.

Set on the hill overlooking the harbour, the Fortaleza de São Miguel de Luanda, a strategic fortress built during the colonial era, stands proudly within the ancient ramparts.

Tito's Lada 500 is parked there, a small, inconspicuous mode of transport for one of the country’s greatest heroes.

The Museum boasts an impressive collection of military artefacts, ranging from bi-motor aeroplanes and combat vehicles to various weapons used during the pivotal conflicts that shaped modern Angola. 

The museum also houses an intriguing array of statues, once gracing the avenues and plazas of colonial Luanda, but removed after independence. Among these are the statues of Diogo Cão, the first European to set foot on Angolan soil; Paulo Dias de Novais, the founder of São Paulo da Assunção de Luanda; the legendary explorer Vasco da Gama; and Portugal’s celebrated poet, Luís de Camões. 

Black-and-white photographs of colonial settlers are also valued as an essential part of the country's history, as most Angolans are of mixed descent and proudly recognise and celebrate their Portuguese ancestors.

For many years, the museum’s grounds and its collection of outdoor exhibits languished in a state of dilapidation. However, between 1997 and 2013, a comprehensive restoration project breathed new life into the museum, revitalising its historical significance.

Constructed in 1576 under the auspices of Paulo Dias de Novais, the fort became the administrative centre of the colony in 1627. With its thick, cannon-encrusted walls, the fort served as a vital nexus for the slave trade to Brazil, operating as a self-contained town within its protective boundaries.

Blue and white Portuguese tiles gracing sections of the walls tell the story of the country’s rich history, geography, and wildlife during colonial times.

From there, one has a 360-degree view of the city, and I wonder what it looked like in 1684 when the Portuguese surveyed the land. In their wildest dreams, they would not have imagined the view I saw.

On the perimeter walls, modern colourful mosaic tiles tell of a different, turbulent time in Angola's history. These murals are a reminder to Generation Z’s to make their world a better, safer, prosperous place for all it’s people.

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This time, our passports were ready for collection. We had explored the city as much as we could and seen many landmarks, but it was time to pack up and make our way to unfamiliar places. 

Reflections of a place are how we recall a time and place, and how we capture them can take many forms. Here are some of my photographic reflections!

Luanda, a multi-cultural, cosmopolitan city rich in history and up-to-date with modern technology, has buried its past and built a brighter future for all its citizens. We were enveloped by the welcoming smiles and generosity of spirit of everyone we met, whether they were helping us or entertaining us.

Luanda's streets and buildings are alive with the sounds of music, dance, and laughter, and adorned with vibrant art. This cultural vibrancy is a powerful expression of a community that transcends its challenges.

The old Generals have buried the hatchet, and it seems that new business, investment, and upliftment are encouraged. The present government is working hard to curb corruption and bring the old crooks to book. Where there is immense wealth, greed flourishes, and it must take great courage, discipline, and magnanimity to keep deprived fingers out of the till.

On our last night in Luanda, the bright red scarlet ball dipped into the sea, bidding us farewell. As we bid farewell to Luanda, our hearts are filled with hope for the city's future. We envision a prosperous, well-governed, and peaceful city, a vision that we believe the people of Luanda truly deserve.

---oOo---

Women seldom hang up their gloves until the bitter, bloody end, and neither will I. I shall continue my scribblings; besides, I find remembering cathartic. Most importantly, I aim to remind my children and grandchildren of their African heritage, lest they forget where their roots lie.