We Killed Mangy-Dog and Other Mozambique Stories
We Killed Mangy-Dog and Other Mozambique Stories
by Luís Bernardo Honwana
THE LITERARY WORK
A collection of seven short stories set in Maputo province in southern Mozambique in the 1950s and 1960s; published in Portuguese (as Nós Matamos o Cão Tinhoso) in 1964, in English in 1969.
SYNOPSIS
The seven stories explore the struggle of Africans to survive Mozambique’s colonial regime. In the two stories “Dina” and “Nhinguitimo,” migrant farm workers strive to cope with the daily injustices of rural life.
Events in History at the Time of the Short Stories
Luís Bernardo Honwana was born in Lourenço Marques (now Maputo), Mozambique, in 1942. He spent his childhood and early adolescence in the rural area of Moamba where his father served as interpreter for the government. Completing his high school education in Lourenço Marques at age 17, he took up journalism, writing his first short stories for the young people’s page in the newspaper Noticias and establishing himself as an author of that genre. Honwana was imprisoned by colonial authorities from 1964 to 1967 for his support of the nationalist party FRELIM0 (the Front for the Liberation of Mozambique). His short story collection We Killed Mangy-Dog and Other Stories—published in 1964, the year he was imprisoned—exposes some of the colonial realities suffered by Africans in Mozambique before independence. In 1970 Honwana traveled to Portugal, where he studied law at the University of Lisbon and was subject to restrictions on his foreign travel. Defying the restrictions, he fled Portugal, eventually joining up with FRELIMO at its headquarters in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Honwana became an adviser there to Samora Machel, Mozambique’s future first president. After independence in 1975, Honwana became chief of the president’s office, then minister of culture. He later moved to South Africa, where he served as UNESCO’S (United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization) regional representative.
Events in History at the Time of the Short Stories
The Salazar regime—mercantilism and assimilation
Honwana’s short stories take place during the regime of Dr. António de Oliveira Salazar, the prime minister of Portugal from 1932 to 1968. A civilian economist, Salazar first came to power in 1928, two years after a right-wing officers’ coup overthrew an unstable parliamentary government in Portugal. Appointed finance minister to the new, predominantly military, regime, Salazar received a mandate to balance the budget and reduce the country’s external debt. He accomplished these objectives and also succeeded in establishing solvent currency, a favorable balance of trade, and surpluses in both the foreign reserves and national budget. Salazar’s success was largely attributable to his radical alteration of Portugal’s colonial policy: overseas territories were to be made self-supporting while providing Portugal with the surpluses it needed to purchase what it could not produce. Thus, Mozambique and other Portuguese possessions were to increase production and improve marketing of colonial goods.
These aims were reflected in the Colonial Statute of 1930—written by Salazar himself—”which tightened Lisbon’s control over the colonies and removed the discretionary powers that had formerly been exercised by colonial authorities” (Nelson, p. 43). The Colonial Statute also promoted the slogan, “One state, one race, one faith and one civilization,” conceiving of the provinces as overseas provinces of Portugal; their interests were subordinate to those of the mother country.
In 1932 Salazar became prime minister of Portugal, introducing a civilian government—the Estado Novo (New State)—and a new constitution, which took effect the following year and incorporated the principles of the Colonial Statute, reiterating that Portugal and its territories were “one and indivisible” (Nelson, p. 44). Throughout his long administration, Salazar encouraged colonial production of Portuguese goods and the emigration of white settlers to Mozambique. The latter policy met with only moderate success. During the 1950s, when Honwana’s stories take place, there were only about 50,000 Europeans living in Mozambique and they were concentrated in coastal cities and towns along the Zambezi River (Nelson, p. 44).
Salazar also promoted assimilation among Mozambican Africans, who had few legal rights unless they qualified as assimilados (assimilated ones). The Colonial Statute of 1930 and the constitution of 1933 encompassed an earlier pronouncement in the Lei Orgãnica das Provincias do Ultramar (1914), which had established the Politica Indigena (Indigenous Policy). Under this legislation, an indigena (indigenous inhabitant) was submitted to different judicial and political systems than the colonizers. A legal distinction was thus made between Africans (indigenas) and Europeans (não indigenas), the latter having full rights of Portuguese citizenship. Starting in 1927, Africans who could read or write Portuguese, who rejected “tribal” customs, and who were gainfully employed in the capitalist economy could apply for legal recognition as assimilados. Theoretically, assimilados enjoyed all the rights and responsibilities of a Portuguese citizen. Africans and those of mixed race who did not satisfy assimilation criteria were instructed to carry identity cards at all times, fulfill stringent labor contracts, and live outside designated European areas. The indigenas were also denied access to healthcare and education.
Although many Africans applied for assimilado status, few actually received it. Moreover, after 1954 the requirements that an African had to meet in order to qualify as an assimilado became more stringent. For example, a Mozambican who would have achieved assimilado status by previous standards could now be disqualified because he or she did not speak “proper”—as opposed to “colloquial”—Portuguese (Nelson, p. 46). Historian Per Wästberg observed that, as of 1963, only 5,000 Africans had become Portuguese citizens, “less than .1 per cent” of the Mozambican population (Wästberg in Ehnmark and Wästberg, p. 146). In the short stories, the social and legal divisions between whites, assimilados, and indigenas are continually emphasized. In “Dina,” Madala, an old African farm laborer, struggles to complete a hard day’s work in the fields under the eye of the brutish white overseer, while in “Nhinguitimo,” another indigena, Virgula Oito, loses his farm because of a Portuguese plantation owner’s greed. The uneasy position of assimilados in colonial society is similarly conveyed in “Papa, Snake, and I”; Ginho, a young boy from an assimilado family, witnesses the humiliation of his father by a white neighbor, Senhor Castro, who accuses him of poisoning a prized pointer, who actually died of snakebite. Deferential and placatory to Senhor Castro’s face, Ginho’s father refers to the man as a “son of a bitch” after he leaves (Honwana, We Killed Mangy-Dog and Other Mozambique Stories, p. 45).
Local administration in Mozambique
Although Portugal had the final say in decisions affecting its overseas territories, a system of colonial administration in the “province” of Mozambique was first implemented in 1907 and remained virtually intact until Mozambican independence was achieved in 1975. Under this system, the governor general of Mozambique, who resided in the capital of Lourenço Marques (today Maputo), was given the power to act in Mozambique’s interests. A provincial council with limited legislative powers was established and the province itself was subdivided into districts and rural jurisdictions. Matters of local government were handled by district governors who were expected to carry out the policies of the governor general. Administrators of rural jurisdictions were responsible for the direct management of African affairs.
At the time of Honwana’s stories, Mozambique was divided into nine districts, each possessing its own capital and governor. The district governor was the most important official in the hierarchy, followed sequentially by the administrator, the chefe de posto, the régulos (traditional African chiefs), the cipaios (indigenous policemen), and the interpreters. The administrator, who functioned as a constant, visible representation of the administration among the people of the district, ensured that the colonial laws, especially those pertaining to the indigenas, were carried out effectively. The chefe de posto was in charge of tax collection and managed the economic development within his district. The régulos worked at the disposal of the chefe de posto, and the cipaios served as the police force, which, at times, would be called on by the administrator to punish or torture recalcitrant subjects. Indeed, local administrations were frequently characterized by graft and brutality: “The underpaid and poorly trained Portuguese officials developed a reputation for incompetence, cruelty, and corruption. Because of their frequent use of coercive measures to effect policy and enforce the law, the whip and the cudgel became the recognized symbols of Portuguese authority among the great mass of rural Africans” (Nelson, p. 43). The administrator in Honwana’s story “Nhinguitimo” is portrayed as a shady individual who willingly conspires with Rodrigues to take away Virgula Oita’s land on a pretext we never discover.
Agriculture and labor
Despite less than ideal farming conditions—sandy soil and often inadequate rainfall—in many regions of the country, Mozambique was primarily agricultural, its people making their living off the land. The country’s agriculture fell into three basic categories: African subsistence farming—cassava, peanuts, vegetables—supplemented by a few cash crops, like cotton and rice; small-and medium-scale farming using European methods and tools, which was practiced by Portuguese immigrants at the government’s behest; and large-scale plantation farming, with each estate employing approximately 140,000 people—most of them Africans (Missiaen, pp. 5-7). Cashew nuts, sisal, sugar, and tea were among the principal crops. Cotton was also much in demand; in 1955, 33 percent of Portugal’s industrial labor force worked in textile factories, necessitating a steady supply of cotton (Dolney in Saul, p. 216). While most cotton was produced on plantations in northern Mozambique, African subsistence farmers in all regions could be forced by the government to grow cotton in designated areas and to sell the raw cotton to local concession companies at fixed prices that fell far below those of the world market. By the mid-1950s, 500,000 African farmers in Mozambique were engaged in cotton cultivation.
In the short stories, Honwana pays particular attention to the plight of African farm workers. As indigenas, Africans were subjected to forced labor (chibalo), curfews, restricted movement, and limitations placed on how they earned a living and even their venues of entertainment. The first and fourth conditions play a major part in Honwana’s stories “Dina” and “Nhinguitimo.”
The policies and practices of the chibalo system of legalized forced labor changed constantly from the late 1880s until the early 1960s, affecting both rural and urban laborers. During the mid- to late-1950s, the chibalo system decreed four main categories of work: obligatory work; contract work; resocialization work; and forced farming.
At the time of Honwana’s stories, the government controlled obligatory work, stating “that
EXCERPTS FROM THE WORK SONG “WHAT KIND OF SHIBALO IS THIS OF MAGANDANA?”
Work songs such as “What Kind of Shibalo Is This of Magandana [evil person]?” were sung in the traditional Ian. guages of Mozambique during the long hours of forced labor. These songs created a sort of dialogue among the workers. The lines from this work song reflect the despair and frustration with the indigena reality, specifically the inhumane colonial labor policies and practices of the Portuguese:
What kind of shibalo is this of Magandana, ho …
Ho … Magandana, ho …
—I am dying, my father, ho …
What kind of shibalo is this of Magandana, ho …
—They don’t even let us rest, ho …
What kind of shibalo is this of Magandana, ho …
—The settlers are trying to kill us, ho …
What kind of shibalo is this of Magandana, ho …
—Why don’t you go back to your country, ho …
We are killing ourselves, Mangandana, ho …
(Penvenne, p. 210)
African [s] should devote six months of each year to the services of the government or big enterprises (plantations, industries, etc.) or an individual of non African [heritage]” (Martins, p. 64). Significantly, obligatory work policies did not specify how many hours the worker would be required to work per day; rather, the employer decided the number of hours required of all of his workers. The average workday was 12 hours—with a 30-minute lunch break, the dina of Honwana’s story—but could extend to 18 hours when laborers were employed by particular families. Pay was very low, usually less than 15 escudos per day (U.S. $0.50). Workers who “lagged” in production were often punished with physical abuse and torture.
Contract work was imposed by the Código Rural de Trabalho, a system in effect since the beginning of Portuguese colonization, which stipulated: “A contractor enters an agreement with the would-be employer and supplies the labor needed by the employer, who then pays the worker in accordance with the agreement” (Martins, p. 66). This policy allowed the contractor to read aloud the “contract” to all of his workers while withholding pertinent information regarding fees to be paid to the contractor. The payment—before subtraction for fees—ranged from 400 to 600 escudos per month ($13-$20 U.S.).
Of the other forms of chibalo, resocialization work was practiced in prisons, on farms, and on roads. The main objective was to “educate” the African worker, transforming him into an individual who could not only fulfill his prescribed duties but also achieve “a higher morality equal to that of the European” (Martins, p. 66). Forced farming, the fourth type of chibalo, was the most commonly practiced policy, affecting the approximately 1 million Africans engaged in subsistence agriculture. Until the Acto Colonial in 1961, self-farming Africans had to comply with the following rules:
- Crops for cultivation must include those that would be sold to the government (i.e., cotton, cashew nuts, rice).
- Lands to be cultivated by Africans were determined by the government.
- Africans were obliged always to reside on the land.
- Africans were obliged to pay any tax the government might impose on them.
- Africans’ work should cover a period of eight months in any one year.
- An African should build a brick house within three years after being considered an independent farmer.
- An African’s failure to abide by these rules would result in the land being taken from him.
(Martins, p. 67)
In his short story, “Nhinguitimo,” Honwana depicts just such a scenario as that described in the last stricture when Virgula Oita loses his farm to his greedy employer, Senhor Rodrigues. Significantly, neither the reader nor Virgula himself ever discovers the exact reason that his land is taken from him: “Lodrica [Rodrigues] has shops, tractors, big farms. … Why does he want our place? Why?” (Mangy-Dog, p. 71).
The Short Stories in Focus
Plot summary
The seven stories comprising We Killed Mangy-Dog and Other Mozambique Stories are set in Moamba, a rural area in the Maputo province in southern Mozambique. All but two stories, “Dina” and “The Old Woman,” are told from a child’s or young adolescent’s perspective, and all seven concern the Africans’ struggle to survive an unjust and inhumane colonial regime. Both “Dina” and “Nhinguitimo” deal with the social condition of the African laborer within the colonial system.
“Dina” begins as an old field worker, Madala, struggles to complete his tasks while anticipating the break for dina and the relief it would bring from the scorching sun. Fieldwork has left Madala physically and spiritually broken; he suffers “unbearable,” “excruciating” pain in the “small of his back,” “the muscles in his neck,” and the “tendons behind his knee joints” (“Dina” in Mangy-Dog, pp. 1-2). His status as a forcedlabor worker does not permit him to tend to his aches and pains. Weary and in agony, he must remind himself that he is “not allowed to work kneeling down” (“Dina,” p. 4). With the nearby overseer eager to punish those who are not working to his satisfaction, Madala tries with all of his might to conceal his physical pain.
When the overseer allows the workers to break for dina, Madala slowly moves towards the camp where the meal is served; his fellow laborers greet him with respect and deference: “When they saw him approach, they stopped talking about women and put on a more reverent air” (“Dina,” p. 6). Madala observes the overseer eating his lunch and drinking wine “with great enjoyment,” reminding the old man of his own visits—at the end of the month—to the cantina where he shares wine with his friends (“Dina,” p. 8). Although the overseer does not finish his bottle of wine, Madala notes that he never shares its remains. As the old man watches the overseer, Madala’s daughter, Maria, comes to visit him but the overseer interrupts their conversation. Maria encourages her father to go and eat. After Madala gets his food, he observes the overseer talking to Maria in an angry manner. Later, Madala and the other laborers watch as the overseer follows Maria into the field and sexually assaults her. Afterward, a panicky Maria is mainly concerned that her father has witnessed the act, exclaiming to the overseer, “Now Madala saw! … Madala saw!” (“Dina,” p. 15). But the overseer, unaware that Maria is Madala’s daughter, fails to understand the significance of her words. He tosses a silver coin in Maria’s lap as payment, then is shocked to learn the truth of Maria and Madala’s relationship. A young laborer from the Kraal gang appeals to Madala for encouragement to avenge the rape of Maria: “Madala … tell us what we must do! … Speak, and we’ll finish with all this now” (“Dina,” p. 15). Initially beside himself over the discovery that Madala is Maria’s father, the overseer suddenly appears to dismiss the fact and recover his domineering manner. As he orders the workers back to the field, he holds out his bottle of wine and beckons to Madala, who takes the bottle and finishes its contents in one gulp. The young man of the Kraal gang spits at Madala’s feet and calls him a “dog” (“Dina,” p. 18). Ignoring the youth’s actions, Madala slowly returns to the field. The overseer commands the youth to return to work, but the youth does not move. The overseer hits him with the bottle, splitting his scalp open with the second blow, then crushes his face with his boots. Meanwhile, Madala and the other laborers resume their labors as though nothing has occurred.
FROM “DINNER” TO “DINA”
Linguistically, dina is a corruption of the word “dinner.” How did the word find its way into Mozambique? Some Mozambicans, known as magaiças, traveled to South Africa to work in its gold mines. Coming from various parts of southern Africa, the miners communicated with one another in a pidgin known as Fanagalô, which contains terms from a number of languages, including English. When the magaíças returned to Mozambique, they introduced Fanagalô terms into their own languages as well as their version of Portuguese.
“Nhinguitimo” (the title refers to the violent storm marking the beginning of the rains) begins with the coming of the storm in the Incomati valley, which lies at the foot of the Libombo mountains. The story is told by an adolescent boy who observes the dynamics of the relationship between a farm owner and black laborer during the extremely humid nights before the arrival of the nhinguitimo. During these humid nights, the “best people” (the administrator, the doctor, the postmaster, the veterinarian, and the stationmaster) are found talking around Rodrigues’s counter surrounded by the company of field laborers and village prostitutes.
Virgula Oito, a laborer on Rodrigues’s farm, also has his own land “on the other side of Goana, where the administrator had not yet decreed the abolition of the native reserve” (“Nhinguitimo” in Mangy-Dog, p. 57). Virgula makes the most of farming his fertile land, planning to make a considerable profit on growing vegetables. He also hopes to build a good life for himself and N’teasee, the girl he intends to marry. During his visits to Rodrigues’s store, Virgula unwisely brags about the fertile soil he owns, the abundant crops he produces, and the money he will make from them. Maguiguana and Matchumbutana, two coworkers on Rodrigues’ farm, warn Virgula that acquiring as much money as Rodrigues could be dangerous because the whites may become very angry by such an act. Virgula dismisses both men’s comments as nonsense, explaining, “But why should you think they’d be angry? … I won’t kill or steal, I’ll eat what I earn from my work, I’ll spend my money on my family, I’ll pay my taxes, I’ll pay my labourers. … How could they be angry?” (“Nhinguitimo,” p. 62).
Meanwhile, Rodrigues calls the “ownership” and abundance of Virgula’s farm to the attention of the administrator. Rodrigues explains to the administrator that his concern derives from “such good rich land being squandered on the blacks” (“Nhinguitimo,” p. 62). The administrator asks Virgula about his land, and Virgula explains how his land is large and productive due to its fertile soil. Later Virgula finds out that the administration has taken his land away from him. When one of the laborers asks Virgula, “d’you think it’s right, all this business of Lodrica?” (“Lodrica” is a mispronunciation of “Rodrigues”), Virgula begins to laugh maniacally, as thunder clashes and the skies darken; moments later, nhinguitimo strikes, seemingly called into existence by Virgula’s lunacy. Later, a mud-spattered Maguiguana enters Rodrigues’s store and tells him that Virgula has gone crazy, killing Machumbutana and some of the other laborers. Rodrigues beckons some of the other men to take up arms and aid him in shooting Virgula before he kills again, exclaiming, “Let’s go quickly before something terrible happens in this village!. … My God!” (“Nhinguitimo,” p. 74). Meanwhile, the adolescent narrator of the story is vexed to hear that “a whole lot of super things had been happening and I hadn’t even noticed!” and vows to become more aware of what is going on around him (“Nhinguitimo,” p. 74).
Violence, resistance, and liberation
Literary scholar David Brookshaw observes that Honwana “was inspired by the moment, the injustices of the colonial system, and the changes that were taking place in Mozambique during the 1950s and 1960s” (Brookshaw in Cox, p. 328). Indeed, Honwana’s vivid depiction of “the moment”—epitomized by the daily humiliations suffered by Africans at the hands of their Portuguese oppressors—is arguably the hallmark of his fiction.
Throughout the short stories, Honwana’s African characters continually confront the injustices of colonialism; their individual responses to the situation are usually dictated by age and experience. Brookshaw notes that there is often “a clash between an older generation that has been conditioned to accept humiliation and the youths who are disappointed by their elders’ inability to react against daily tyranny” (Brookshaw in Cox, p. 322). In “Dina,” the youth of the Kraal gang is disgusted when the elderly Madala does nothing to avenge his daughter’s rape by the overseer, while in “Papa, Snake, and I,” young Ginho wonders why his Papa does not stand up for himself against the white neighbor who wrongfully accuses him of poisoning a dog. Ginho, however, undergoes a similar humiliation in “We Killed Mangy-Dog” when he allows peer pressure—applied by Quim, a Portuguese schoolmate—to persuade him to participate in the shooting of a stray dog that he pities and that Isaura, another schoolmate, loves. In Honwana’s stories, however, resistance to one’s oppressors is almost invariably met with violent punishment. The overseer beats the recalcitrant Kraal youth senseless in “Dina” while in “Nhinguitimo” Virgula Oita’s crazed response to the loss of his land prompts the frightened Portuguese to hunt him down in their turn.
While the impulse to revolt and retaliate is continually frustrated in Honwana’s stories, a resistance movement that would eventually change Mozambican history forever was taking shape at the same time. Decades earlier, there had been localized opposition attempts against colonialism, which included social banditry and peasant revolts, but lack of organization among the Africans, and the superior armed strength of the Portuguese police force, doomed most of these protests to failure (Isaacman, p. 101). In the years following World War II, the Mozambican government suppressed through police force and censorship any demonstrations or protests that arose, including “dockers’ strikes, unrest in Lourenço Marques in 1948, and protests in In-hambane and other towns to protest labor conditions, inadequate pay, or poor food supplies. Many were killed in riots, and others who took part were imprisoned or suffered reprisals” (Nelson, p. 47).
From the mid-1950s to the mid-1960s, however, various anticolonial political organizations began to form throughout Mozambique. Support for these organizations came mainly from laborers and peasants who had suffered most from the oppressive labor policies and practices implemented by the Portuguese. However, educated African expatriates and Mozambique’s “indigenous elite”—who numbered around 30,000 according to the 1955 census—agreed on the necessity for the country’s independence from Portugal (Nelson, p. 47). These intellectuals encouraged student associations, regional mutual aid societies, and other social organizations to adopt a political orientation.
In the mid-1950s, a national organization known as NESAM (Nucleus of African Secondary Students of Mozambique) was formed; its members included Eduardo Mondlane, Joaquim Chissano, and Mariano Matsnhe, all future leaders of the liberation struggle. These men generated a wave of interest and activity in the idea of national independence, while encouraging organized resistance to the Portuguese. Other movements dedicated to the cause included UDENAMO (the National Democratic Union of Mozambique), founded in 1959; MANU (the Mozambique African National Union), founded in 1960; and UNAMI (National African Union of Independent Mozambique).
The early 1960s found African workers, peasants, and intellectuals in Mozambique vehemently fighting the atrocities inflicted on them by the Portuguese colonial government. African urban workers staged strikes while peasants resisted the forced labor policy of chibalo. In June 1961, the Portuguese army massacred 600 unarmed peasants protesting unjust labor policies and practices in the village of Mueda. In response to this incident, representatives from UDENAMO, MANU, and UNAMI met in June 1962 at a conference in Dar es Salaam, a conference that resulted in the formation of a new organization, FRELIMO (the Front for the Liberation of Mozambique). Despite internal stresses and several schisms (the group formerly known as UDENAMO broke away in 1964 and reformed as the National Democratic Union of Munhumutapa), FRELIMO became the dominant organization of the Mozambican liberation movement.
On September 25, 1964, FRELIMO soldiers, aided by the peasants and workers in the surrounding area of the Delgado Province of the north, attacked Chai, a Portuguese administrative post. The soldiers damaged the post, killed one policeman, and wounded several others. This incident marked the true beginning of Mozambique’s organized armed struggle against the colonial regime for independence, which was finally achieved in 1975.
Sources and literary context
Honwana drew much of his stories’ content from life experiences in his rural childhood home of Moamba. The landscape and people of the region furnished him with themes, characters, and settings. Such reallife places as the Libombo Mountains and the Incomati river valley are referred to in “Nhinguitimo,” while Dori, a young girl to whom Honwana dedicated the Portuguese edition of his stories—“a Dori, que é sensivel à angústia dos cāes” (to Dori, who is sensitive to the anguish of dogs)—served as the model for Isaura in the title story, “We Killed Mangy-Dog.”
Honwana’s major contribution to Mozambican literature was his development of prose fiction there as a legitimate and respected genre. Nós Matamos o Cäo Tinhoso was the only book of “African” prose published in Mozambique prior to independence in 1975. Before Honwana’s stories appeared in 1964, Mozambican prose fiction was limited to three types: the traditional African folktale delivered in oral form; the European settler’s tale, which presented Africa from an outsider’s perspective; and the missionary’s tale, which had a prevailing moral objective—to lead the pagan African to a better, “civilized,” life through religious teachings. Honwana did not draw upon any of these models, but found another source of inspiration in the highly acclaimed protest poetry of José Craveirinha (to whom Honwana also dedicated his collection of short stories) and Noémia Sousa, who both wrote in the 1950s about their dreams of black soli darity and the awakening of Mother Africa. Their simple language and strong rhythms served as a basis for Honwana’s own style in depicting the experiences and sufferings of ordinary people under Portuguese colonial rule.
The Depression-era “realist” writings of American writers such as Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, and Erskine Caldwell provided an additional influence on Honwana, especially in relation to social concerns and vivid descriptions of nature.
JOSÉ CRAVEIRINHA: THE POET OF MOZAMBIQUE
José Craveirinha was born in Maputo in 1922, He pursued a career in journalism and proved to be a fierce critic of Portuguese colonialism, resulting in his arrest in 1966. His journalistic prose and creative poetry inspired the nation. Celebrated as the “Poet of Mozambique,” Craveirinha is praised for encompassing the collective voice and sentiments of the people of Mozambique in his poetry. Like Senegal’s poet-statesman Leopold Senghor, Craveirinha pays homage to Mother Africa and traditional African culture through his use of rhythmic tones and vivid imagery, meanwhile igniting nationalistic sentiments by revealing the injustices that afflict the colonized in Mozambique. In his well-known poem, “Grito Negro” (Black Cry), Craveirinha explores the issue of the exploitation of African coal miners:
Eu sou cravão!
Tenho que arder na exploração
Arder até às crinzas da maldição
Arder vivo como alcatrão, meu Irmão
Até não ser mais tua mina
Patrão!
I am coal!
I must burn your world of exploitation
Burn until I become ashes of malediction
Burn with live heat like tar, my Brother
Until I am no longer your mine
Boss!
(Craveirinha in Andrade, p. 180)
Overall, Honwana’s prose fiction is viewed as a political act—directed towards an imagined audience consisting of white city dwellers and those living outside colonial Mozambique—that attempts to investigate and expose the daily atrocities taking place in his country. His dedication to the cause of Mozambican liberation in both his life and his art earned him the praise of FRELIMO—a movement he ardently supported—and the reputation as a pioneer of Mozambican literature.
Reviews
Upon its 1964 publication in Mozambique, Nós Matamos o Cão Tinhoso was praised by the small group of African intellectuals who were dedicated to using literature (mostly poetry) as a political tool in the struggle for independence. Literary critics speculate on the connection between the publication of Nós Matamos o Cão Tinhoso—with its revealing content of the brutal nature of Portuguese colonial rule and practices—and Honwana’s subsequent arrest. In Rádio Moçambique, José Régio proclaimed Honwana’s fiction to be “a genuine form of fresh, spontaneous realism” (Regio, p. 59).
Outside Mozambique, Nós Matamos o Cão Tinhoso was very well received after its debut in 1964; within three years, translations of the stories could be found in Nigeria, South Africa, Great Britain, France, the Soviet Union, and the United States. South African novelist Nadine Gordimer (see Burger’s Daughter , also covered in African Literature and Its Times) was so taken with Honwana’s short story, “The Hands of the Blacks,” that she recommended it to the New York Times. In Lisbon, the Portuguese intellectual Amāndio César published an enthusiastic review, hailing Honwana as “the youngest revelation in Mozambican prose writing” and drawing particular attention to his “simplistic technique that lends a strange vivacity and authenticity to his testimony” (César, pp. 206-208).
—LaShonda Long and Pamela S. Loy
For More Information
Andrade, Mário. Antologia Temática de Poesia Africana 1: na noite grávida depunhais. Lisbon: Sáda. Costa, 1975.
César, Amãndio. Parágrafos de literatura ultamarina. Lisbon: Sociedade de Expans o Cultural, 1967.
Cox, D. Brian, ed. African Writers. Vol. 1. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1997.
Ehnmark, Anders, and Per Wãstberg. Angola and Mozambique: The Case Against Portugal. Trans. Paul Britten Austin. London: Pall Mall, 1963.
Honwana, Luis Bernardo, We Killed Mangy-Dog and Other Mozambique Stories. Trans. Dorothy Guedes. London: Heinemann, 1969.
Isaacman, Allen F. The Tradition of Resistance in Mozambique: The Zambesi Valley, 1850-1921. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976.
Martins, Elisio. Colonialism and Imperialism in Mozambique: The Beginning of the End. Transcribed and presented by Jospeh Kofi Mensah. Kastrup, Denmark: African Studies, 1974.
Missiaen, Edmond. Mozambique’s Agricultural Economy in Brief. Washington, D.C.: Economic Research Service, U.S. Deptartment of Agriculture, 1969.
Nelson, Harold, ed. Mozambique: A Country Study. Washington, D.C.: Foreign Area Studies, 1984.
Penvenne, Jeanne. African Workers and Colonial Racism: Mozambican Strategies and Struggles in Lourenço Marques, 1877-1962. Portsmouth, N.H.: Heinemann, 1995.
Régio, José. Rádio Moçambique (Lourenço Marques) 419 (January 1972): 59.
Saul, John S., ed. A Difficult Road. New York: Monthly Review, 1985.