Dr. Mondlane was long since gone, and I awaited his reply. Two months later, he sent me a telegram to inform me that I was fortunate, and had received a scholarship. I was supposed to get ready and obtain a passport and visa. I was very happy and, for the first time, heard my nephews wishing me the best in whatever I was doing. Joao promised that he would do anything to enable me to go overseas.
He was the only man I could trust, because he seemed to be more supportive than the rest of the people. I went to the Department of Immigration and applied for a passport, but was refused. I was told that black people were not allowed to go beyond the borders of Mozambique. I had to make an alternative plan to obtain a passport. I went straight to the American Consulate that afternoon. It was not easy, but I had my nephew, Joao Chitofo, with me. He was so cheeky and would dodge the security guards, if necessary, to find his way into the house of the consul, in order to make an appointment for me.
Fortunately, I was allowed into the house with Joao’s help. I explained to the Consul that I wanted to go to America to study, and I needed his help. I explained to him that my brother in America had arranged a scholarship for me. He wanted to know who my brother was. When I mentioned the name, Eduardo Mondlane, he was quick to invite me back to his office the following day. Dr. Eduardo Mondlane was well known everywhere. He was one of the few black people to be found in the United Nation’s offices in America.
I was afraid to return to the American Consulate office. I was scared of the PIDE police, who were in charge of the reception area in the American High Commission offices. I told myself that I had no choice. I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to study in America. The following morning I woke up very early and prepared myself to meet with the consul. I proudly approached the reception desk. A white slender Portuguese lady was staring at me. I greeted her but she didn’t respond.
I knew she hated blacks, like the rest of the Portuguese. Madam, I am here to see the Consul, please.’ I said. Who are you? Do you have an appointment with him?’ she asked. No, he wants to speak to me.’ I said. She was very annoyed. She took the telephone and dialed the Consul’s office. A while later, she said very politely, ‘Take a seat, the consul will be with you within a few minutes.’ Very proudly, I sat down and crossed my feet.
The Consul called me into his office. He did not say much and wanted to know whether I could write in English. I confirmed that I could, but I was lying. He gave me some forms to fill in and he ordered me to bring them back the following day. I could not even read and lied about being able to write in English.
I took my forms to my friend, Joel Ngodoane, who was working at CFM and could speak, read and write English. I asked him to help me fill in the forms. He helped me very quickly and ordered me not to reveal to anybody what he had done for me.
The next day I returned to the Consulate. This time I had no problem with the receptionist. The Consul took the forms and told me to come back in a fortnight.
My airplane ticket to the USA had already been sent, but I was still struggling to get a passport and visa. Two weeks later , I returned to the American Consulate. He gave me a document to take to immigration with my photographs and the required amount. I took everything they required with me to immigration. On arrival, I handed all the documentation to the receptionist, who directed me to one of the offices. As I entered, a white Portuguese man greeted me with a warm smile. It was my first time, since I had arrived in Lorenzo Marques, that a white
man gave me such a warm welcome .
The white man asked one of his assistants for help, after I explained to him that I hurriedly needed a passport. It took me two hours to get a passport and visa. The next day I left for the airport with my luggage, documents and ticket.
On arrival at the airport, I followed the queue to the entrance, for my plane was going to depart in one hour’s time. When I arrived at the security guards, who were searching and observing our documents, they asked me for my destination.
When I replied, “America,”, he asked, ‘To do what?’ I told him that I was going to study. He furiously told me to wait aside and said, ‘This is not America. You must follow the rules of the Portuguese.’ I knew this meant trouble.
I was furious for the plane was about to leave. The PIDE was trying to prevent me from studying in America. A security guard ordered some of his colleagues to escort me to the police station. They transported me in the back of their van, with my luggage. On arrival at the police station, I was locked in a holding cell.
After a few hours I was taken to the office of the then Inspector Deputy of PIDE in Mozambique, Carmindo da Rocha. As I entered his office, he immediately started talking about things in connection with me going to the United States.
I was too angry to pay any attention to what he was saying. After he finished talking, there was silence in the room. I asked him , ‘Why does the Portuguese government want to prevent me from studying in a country that follows the principles and values of Western civilization? What programme does the Portuguese follow for the future of Mozambique, to avoid becoming an easy prey for communism tomorrow?’ Rocha never answered my questions . Instead, he asked me why I didn’t ask the Portuguese government to give me a scholarship.
The only answer I could give was, ‘You refused to give me a scholarship.’ He was angry and ordered for me to be removed from his office. The security guards led me outside and told me to leave their premises, but they kept my documents. Outside, there were journalists waiting for me. Some wanted to know what had happened to me and why the government won’t allow me to study overseas? Was I the next Dr. Eduardo Mondlane? I was confused and wondered who informed the journalists. Was this the beginning of the struggle against the Portuguese government?
I was so angry that I refused to talk to the journalists. I could only repeat the questions I had asked Mr. Rocha earlier that day. Little did I know that, in the near future, Mozambique would become a communist country. I took my luggage and went home.
At home my nephews, Alxandre and Joao, were worried to see me back so soon. I had a good relationship with them, and told them what had happened. Joao was disappointed. After I had managed to obtain a passport and visa, he thought the struggle was over. The Portuguese were making the black Mozambican’s lives unpleasant, and they were preventing us from going to study in order to empower ourselves with the necessary knowledge. They wanted us to be uneducated slaves forever.
I couldn’t accept that. I went to the American Consul to explain my dilemma. He told me that I was not supposed to have told the PIDE police that I was destined for America. However, there was no way I could have avoided them at the airport. He told me that there was nothing more he could do to assist me.
The story of a young man who wanted to go overseas to further his studies, was published in newspapers all over the country. Some were saying that I was the next Dr. Eduardo Mondlane. Some reporters even said that I had tried to escape the country to spy on the Portuguese. I feared for my life in Mozambique.
I knew that the PIDE were going to try and kill me before the end of the day. I had to work out a plan of escape because I was sick and tired of being intimidated by them. On the other hand, I was proud to have been the first black person to openly challenge them.
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