Azulejos

Portuguese art and architecture:

Many of us who have visited the Eastern African coast may recognize the Portuguese calling card aka the fort structure, and pillars such as Vasco’s in Malindi.

The one thing that’s captured my imagination where Portuguese legacy in Africa is concerned, other than their immediately evident contributions of the words: mbatata, copo, bendera, and meza, to Kiswahili (or is it the other way round?), has been the beauty of the azulejos. These are handpainted tiles that are used to decorate one’s walls (outside and inside), sometimes telling a beautiful story.
In Maputo, these are evident in some ‘hoods more than others, and you can sometimes miss them if you aren’t especially attentive. I suddenly noticed them 2 years ago, and have had a nose for sniffing them out since. The first scent came from the railway station (ok, so it was as subtle as being hit over your head), a wall with the most beautiful tile pattern; then about a block outside the railway station, a building façade with some very interesting tiles.

I love that someone (at some point in time) took the time and pains to make a building, buildings, beautiful to look at. These days (as she gets into old fogey mode) it seems we’re just keen on putting up 4 walls (whatever the permutation), without paying attention to aesthetics. Our loss and that of future generations, I suppose.

Taking into account Portugal’s ignoble (my favorite word this week) and lasting impact on this continent, I’d never thought I’d be remotely interested in visiting “the mothership.” The azulejos changed my mind. Perhaps this is another country into which a surgical insertion can be made: straight to azulejo land, then out again. Contributing the barest minimum to the economy?

So, the history of azulejos? (and let me state, right off the bat, that this is a very incestuous history: a case of ‘the internet’ citing itself… trying to get my hands on a variety of fallen tree (paper) texts in order to at the very least, increase the number of references).

Ceramic tiles, from Portugal, classically of the blue and white handpainted variety, but with time, their color content increased. The origin of the style/art of hand painted ceramic tiles was the Moorish colonization of southern Europe (and yes, I know Moorish is supposedly perjorative in some quarters, but in my mind, it’s actually quite romantic, so I’ll keep it that way here). “The Spanish word for tile, azulejo, comes from the Arabic (Moorish) word az-zulay” which means small brick”. Since Spain and Portugal were influenced by those most civilized people, I suppose that’s where such beautiful artistry originated.

What I love most about them (and the original Moorish tiles) is the wonderful sense of geometry, the way in which they create (as they’re scaled upwards) a more complex image from very simple building blocks. Something very pleasure-inducing in that. As you will hopefully see, below.

(above) a building on (not too sure, but somewhere near Consiglieri Pedroso… the mosque is around the next corner.

(above) was told (after asking in my minuscule Portuguese) that this is the residence of an ambassador. It’s on Julius Nyerere, in Nelly and Graca’s ‘hood.

(above) this is near the Panthera Azul bus stop, opposite the botanical garden)

(above) a house somewhere in the vicinity of ponta vermillion… state house.

(above) near a petrol station around independence square.

(above) a house on the way to lovers’ garden.

(above) somewhere along the walk from Fatima’s place to Pestana Rovuma.

(above) the railway station wall.

(above) love the eclectic themes: pagoda awning beside old school azulejo.

(above) right opposite the national school of visual arts, on the way to samora’s statue which stands before the botanical garden.

Girls talk

[image source]

Dinner date. On the menu: strictly girl talk, i.e. the ones that got away, the ones we’re glad to be rid of, the ones that might could be sitting in the palm of our hands.

Frigid night, the front’s due through tonight… waking up in the morning will be a mission, especially since (from confessions which should only be half-believed) we’ll all be kept warm by our electric heaters (Eskom’s not known to “load shed” over the weekend. So far). Or hot water bottles. Half-believed ’cause some don’t have “titled” personnel, and this here forum is about the formal, not informal, social economy. We take turns airing our most ignoble acts since the last time we met. ‘Tis a quarterly meeting, this.

One of us has recently been to the A-rab world, returns with tales that make me think, for like the 15th time, that I’d slim in a heartbeat if it weren’t for that whole oppression-of-women thing. Those of us who’ve watched Vantage Point [which is to the Opel Astra what The Italian Job was to the Mini Cooper] concur that Hollywood’s focus has brought to the big screen a whole lot of A-rab hotties… so good to have clean-shaven, buffed, drool-worthy ones for public (global) consumption.

Then we inevitably (or maybe even… the whole point of the meeting?) get to the topic of love. One has a tale of first love. They were broken up by social pressure. They’re from ‘rival’ tribes you see. But 2 years on, with all the growing up they’ve done, and all the attempts at “moving on”, they realize they’re still very much in love. Another tells of following a love story to its (logical?) conclusion: a man who says one thing, her stubborn belief that he means quite another, and her father’s pronouncement that she should “listen to what a man tells you, ’cause that’s exactly what he means.” We all scowl at the buzz-killing father’s words, but quietly, begrudgingly, acknowledge his wisdom.

Ah, but valuable tips are exchanged in the brief buzz-group sessions that punctuate the plenary discussions. Interesting follow-up research, where to get certain information, call /email me on Monday and I’ll put you in touch with the right person, that Bikram sure is crazy but you should totally do the McYoga diet for at least one quarter, this is how Helen raised money for that project… But it takes place during only 20% of the interaction time… yet another illustration of relevance of Pareto’s principle?

Platitudes galore served up, but embedded therein: life truths, audible only to those whose minds are ready. For the rest, maybe next quarter will see them grown enough to get it?