A few steps away from a luxury hotel in the city of Pemba, capital of the province of Cabo Delgado, lives, in a decorous house, Maria Clara, cook and woman whose womb refused to give her any children. Misfortune had it that both her sister and niece passed away, leaving behind a herd of thirteen children.
Luck had it that Maria Clara “towed” (these are her words) those children, teaching them while feeding them baby food, rice and chima. In the backyard of her house, those trailer children are now being interviewed by the mucunha (“white men” in local dialect). The most outgoing is Edmilson, seven years of smiles, that shows us his study book proudly, while the school driver tells us “he likes school so much that even at Sundays he gets ready to go.”

In the Complete Primary School of Chinda, in the district of Mocímboa da Praia, we have eight Makonde (ethnic group pin the north of Mozambique) mothers waiting for us. The Mozambicans mothers are the cornerstone of a home, they go to the machamba (a type of farm), they go to get water, they go to get coal and the majority will survive their husbands and teach their children by themselves. What’s expected from the men is for them to bring home more money than problems. With Ausse Rafael Tomás it will be certainly different. His friends don’t call him by his name but from the month he was born in. It’s Junho (June) all year long. He’s twelve years old and says, without beating around the bush, “I’ll be President of The Republic of Mozambique, I’d like to help people very much.” Despite not having much assistance from his father and stepmother, Junho is such an obstinate student that, apparently, he is already in pre-campaign.

Frenque Agostinho is in the 6th grade, one year ahead of his colleague Junho, and he has a key hung around his neck. Professor Docta, our interpreter, who either translates to Shimakonde, the language spoken by 900 thousand Makonde Mozambicans, or to simplified Portuguese, tells us that having your home key, even one from a padlock that locks the door, is an important symbol. Frenque’s father was also a teacher once but “lost his job to drunkenness”.

The mother has children from several men, without time for family planning conversations, because “talking about condoms in this village is the same as insulting”. In some Mozambican houses 1 + 1 equals children, without minding the venereal diseases or mouths to feed. Unsurprisingly Frenque wants to be a math teacher.

On the other side of the road, in front of the School of Mahera, 120km away from Pemba, lays the house of Mother Varnaia Muauheke. We’re welcomed on the street, with chairs to ourselves, the mucunhas (white men), while relatives and neighbours sit on the floor. While introducing the children and grandchildren of the big family, everyone helps the matriarch remembering names and the order of birth. Some are Helpo’s godchildren and there are several who don’t know their own age.

The oldest is 18 years old and the youngest, sits on the lap. Laura, 15 years old and a smile from ear to ear, doesn’t show the shyness with which we are usually presented. The bright sun shows elements of glitter around her eyes and the two years she lived in Maputo with her uncle help explaining her extravagant dream of a future profession: “television presenter”.

Dulce is a neighbour of the Muauheke family who doesn’t know her age nor what she wants to be when she grows up. She knows, however, that the kerchief on her head has a fundamental function: to balance on her crown whatever needs transport, without falling. Water, logs, coal, clothes, cereals, everything is taken on the head. During a coffee talk, someone defended the plastic bucket as symbol of the Mozambican revolution.

Before the weightlessness climbed its way up to the heads of Mozambican mothers and daughters, the solution to transport potable water over kilometres was a clay pot which, even empty, weighs too much. For now, the AK-47 rifle still appears on the country’s flag and Dulce can’t even imagine she has all the balance and weightlessness to be a future top model.

João is an orphan of both parents and stayed two years without studying. Fortunately, when an aunt sheltered him and his brothers, who were separated, everything began to get back to its course. This 14-year-old boy, as most of the interviewed children, wants to be a teacher, but in his case, he even has extra qualifications, since João, after school, works as a caprine cattle shepherd. When we ask him the names of some goats, the answer leads to total laughter in the courtyard of the Impire school. “Pincha, Kutukuru and Vekawe”.

The first one is the same as queer and the last one designates someone who likes to isolate themselves, like the goat in question, who has the habit of pasturing by herself, without patience for teamwork.

Dara, 12 years old, was the queen of being at ease during the trip, with a more structured speech than many adults. Our conversation takes place at the Helpo Ludoteca of the Pemba Provincial Public Library, probably one of the most successful free teaching spaces in the country, with lessons of theatre, poetry, visual education, french, english and citizenship. In the past, Dara wanted to study accounting and eventually become a company manager, minister, governor or president.

Later, she heard the voice of reason and decided she wanted to be an electronic engineer. Whoever wants to hear the sobriety of her speech only needs to tune in to Radio Mozambique and wait for the children’s show “Cantinho da Alegria” (Joy Corner), which Dara hosts every week, very much at ease.

Sérgio returned to Micolene’s Little School, Namialo’s village, in the district of Meconta, not to repeat pre-school, but to talk. This little school was literally born from the ground, thanks to the transforming magic of a brick construction machine. Red dirt goes in with a pinch of cement and out comes male and female bricks that fit together. Sérgio is 19 years old, currently in 10th grade, plays instruments and loves to draw.

On the t-shirt he wears we can read Gang Relachado (Relaxed Gang), name of the musical project Sérgio wishes to harmonize alongside the dream of making a living by painting. The name of the poet and painter Malangatana comes up in conversation, he is his great reference and Sérgio has everything to get there, “brick by brick in a magical drawing”.

In the most obscure communities of Mozambique, albinos are still persecuted and murdered so their organs can be used in witchcraft rituals. Their bodies’ severed parts are worth thousands of dollars in the black market. Sandra Albuquerque Lopes, the 3-year-old albino girl who studies in the little school of Micolene, lives oblivious to this reality. She has clothes and cream to protect her from the sun rays, wears sunglasses, likes to sing the national anthem, she’s very sure of herself and has even managed to go to the beach.

Sandra is different from most Mozambican children, not because of the pigmentation of her skin but because her father, Albuquerque Almirante Lopes has a salaried employment, which is enough for her to contradict the past and have a future.

How old are you? How many kilometres do you walk to school? At what time do you wake up? How many siblings do you have? What do you want to be when you grow up? “I don’t know…” and a shrug are the most popular answers. It’s not ill will, it’s the lack of birthday parties counting the years gone by, it’s the lack of mileage account on the feet, it’s the lack of watches, it’s the lack of accurate questions, “brothers, dead or alive? blood-related or not?” and it’s the lack of objective words. In the Macua language dictionary, “future” does not exist.

Juna is in the school of Teacane. While wrapped in her mantle of serenity one cannot see her 20 years of age nor the hours of walking she already did to get to her school. When we ask her who treats the sick people better, “doctors or healers?”, first she shrugs and then answers “the nurse is better”.

The school of Teacane is a few kilometers away from the center of Nampula (the third biggest city of the country), but looking around there are few traces of urban life. Just as in most schools, there is no electricity and the school bell gadget is noteworthy: the rusty hoop of a rim is hanging on a tree and half of a plier rests there, waiting for the kinetic energy that causes the tinkle. We’re talking with Eva Maurício, nine years old, nine siblings and a second-grade student who’s already chosen her future profession, “teacher of the first grade”.

One can recall and disagree of the words of O Guardador de Rebanhos from the bucolic Alberto Caeiro. “Because I am the size of what I see / And not the size of my height”. In the deepest part of Mozambique, few children see beyond the nearest crossroads or the book they consulted with every deference. Maybe that’s why there are so many malnourished imaginations and children who can barely dream far.

The visit to the Polyvalent School of São João Baptista of Marrere led to an invitation to lunch by the director of the school, Father Pedro. During the meal there were talks about computer piracy, miracles and the importance of technical and vocational education. After lunch, we did a series of interviews surrounded by the library’s books. Wilson, 17 years old, came with his mother. He’s in 10th grade and is going to study medicine, but says he wants to be a sailor even though his mother assures us he doesn’t know how to swim.

Gertrudes Mário is 18 years old and doesn’t talk much. However, she has a very unusual wish in these parts, she would like to travel with no destination in particular. Just travel. To sail without knowing how to swim and to travel without knowing where to? After all, there are young Mozambicans who are able to dream.

Here are today’s plans. Visit five intervention centers scattered over three villages, Mahunha, Ilocone and Munimaca, in the province of Nampula. Solemn reception in the school of Mahunha, with mothers, fathers, teachers, elders and older children, all in line singing a welcome song. Hand-shaking everyone in line during the performance. Interview Estefânia Velasco. Rest. Let us break down the interviewed, a girl who does not know her age but still gets her face ready exquisitely “on study days and sundays”.

Girl whose brother in law shows up and confirms she is 10 years old. Girl who wants to be a teacher despite liking to sing. And wouldn’t you rather be a singer? “Teachers also sing”, she shoots. We asked her for a sample of her repertoire and, in 2 seconds, her colleagues of the culture team show up and join Estefânia in a song about the importance of studying.

In the little school of Ilocone we have a new solemn reception. Celso wears the typical and immaculate professor’s white coat, but a little green serpent embroidered in his pocket reveals the pharmaceutical origin of his clothing. We talk with Eva Bonito, an 18-year-old child that has completed the fifth grade and has two sons. When we ask her why she stopped studying she laughs and her two reasons hold on to her a bit more.

Eliseu Bonito and Filipe Bonito are, without a doubt, two beautiful children, but the conversation inevitably ends up in family planning. Celso reminds us that the nearest hospital is far away, “não dá jeito” (it isn’t handy). Curiously, Jeito is a Mozambican condom brand. Eva raises her children, helps her husband with the machamba (farm) and lives 50 kilometres away from the nearest village. As to dreams, that her kids study a lot until they bring a teacher and a nurse to the family.

Sandra is the only one interviewed in the school of Munimaca. Under a tree, we invite her to sit on one of the plastic chairs kept for important visits. In this moment, the whole school starts laughing. We are certainly going against rules of status and hierarchy, but we will proceed. It’s worth reminding that 40% of students in the Province of Nampula still attend classes sitting on the floor. Sandra cannot get past the situation and gives us the shy, face down and monosyllabic approach.

Why is it like that so many times? A teacher gave us the answer. “It’s probably the first time they’re speaking with a mucunha (white man). It’s just shyness”. So that’s it, we’re Martians. Suddenly the whole school is focused on the invasive flight of the photographer’s drone.

The Island of Mozambique is a paradise laid on a coral reef, ideal for those who appreciate the signs of architectural decadence and a simple, sweaty and salty living / way of life. Carlos Almeida, the national coordinator of Helpo in Mozambique (and our scout for 11 days) summoned Nuhy and Julinho for the usual conversation and photographic session. It’s difficult to be more resourceful than these boys. To get some extra meticals (official Mozambican currency), Julinho does touristic tours around the island and Nuhy sells some pastries called gulamo.

They both like to draw, want to be architects and are microentrepreneurs. Nuhy and Julinho have postcards drawn by them on consignment sale at a local art gallery. No destiny (or addressee) seems impossible for them, but they both agree that living at the Palácio da Ponta Vermelha (literally Palace of the Red Point, the official residence of the President of Mozambique) is not for them.

At the Provincial Kindergarten of Nampula there are two great friends, João and Salomão. Adelina Pascoal, principal of this orphanage, welcomes us with some stories that go from bad to worse which end up with abandoned children. In one case, a mother took too long getting dinner ready, the father hit her, and the son ran away from home, until this day.

João, son of a drunken father and demented mother, did not talk when he got here, but his friend Salomão helped him get out of his shell. Salomão wants to be a doctor so he can have a “carro, motor e pialeta” (car, motorbike and bicycle), while João does not know want he wants to be yet, but he loves to sing, which he demonstrates in loco (on the spot) in a patriotic duet with his inseparable friend “Moçambique nossa terra glorioooosa / Pedra a pedra construindo um novo diiiiia” (Mozambique our glorious laaaaand / Stone by stone building another daaaaaay).

Abdul is about to enter the job market as a mechanical locksmith and everything is straightening up in his life. Behind him stays a troubled childhood and adolescence, family problems and two months of living on the streets. At that time, Abdul washed cars to be able to eat and took a lot of beatings. It is thanks to a slight difference that he’s alive. There was the habit of sacrificing the homeless who flaunted an external symbol of wealth, the sleeping-bag.

The ones that only had cardboards and blankets were spared. Once, 30 street urchins were caught by the police and ended up at the orphanage. Twenty-nine ran away, Abdul stayed. He was 14 years old and, since he wanted help to study, he “payed” his stay with the only currency he had – good behaviour.

The first stop of the last day on the road is at the Complete Primary School of Matibane, 30 kilometers from Nampula, in the middle of the woods. The school has a lawn football field with standardized iron goal posts and basketball hoops in great condition, despite the three-point line not being visible amidst the bushes. We’re talking with Sitónio, a boy who was two months at home due to a car crash in which the tree came from the right. Yes, there are safer ways of transport, such as the train that passes nearby and takes the imagination of this young boy to other stops. What does he want to be when he grows up? “Train Driver”.

Gérsia was the last one to be interviewed after these eleven days, a teenager who likes geography “because it talks about a lot of things of the Earth”, playing football and Mukussakame, actor and humourist who used to make didactic movies about civic and environmental education. It’s curious that many students quote songs, plays, poems and didactic movies about their own schooling / learning. In a country with a lot of food hunger, all other types of hunger, security, freedom, health, truth, beauty, love and personal enrichment are still constructing themselves. Each baby step is really a “giant leap for mankind”.

We hope that one day the students of the future teacher Gérsia, satiated of all their hungers, tell her: “Future Presidents? That is so 2018… we are going to be future astronauts.”