Whoever Feeds the War in Cabo Delgado, Smiles with Hunger

Luís Júnior"

The complicit silence of the authorities no longer surprises anyone. Those who haven't yet noticed this are either distracted or pretending not to see it. In Cabo Delgado, the smell of blood has become commonplace, gunpowder is part of everyday life, and the roar of bullets is the soundtrack for those trying to survive. But there are those who live happily with it—and I'm not just referring to the insurgents with their sly speeches of religious fanaticism and machine guns on their shoulders. I'm referring to the suited and booted, the well-positioned, the ones who sign agreements in air-conditioned rooms while the people bury their children with no time or space to mourn. It must be said bluntly: the war in Cabo Delgado is a business. A profitable, disgusting, and very well-managed business. Each displaced person is a number that justifies more funding. Each massacre opens the door to new "security support." Each burned village serves as a backdrop to reports and political agendas. There are officials who make their careers on corpses. There are organizations that multiply in the name of "humanitarian aid," but live better than those they claim to protect. And above all, there is a state that pretends to fight a war it never really wanted to resolve. And the resources? Yes. Little is said about them, as if natural gas, rubies, and quality timber were mere geographical coincidences. But everyone knows—or should know—that the conflict is less religious and more economic. Cabo Delgado has been transformed into a chessboard of interests, where the people are merely disposable pieces. Those who cry out for justice are silenced, those who try to denounce are labeled enemies. War is not an accident: it is a plan. The displaced live in makeshift camps, under tarps provided by international donors. But food is scarce. They die slowly, ignored. Their misery serves to pad reports, secure invitations to conferences, generate likes and headlines. But concrete solutions are almost non-existent. Meanwhile, those fueling this war toast each other in Maputo and abroad, between dinners and business deals. They sign contracts in technical English and present "environmental impact" reports that have never seen the ground. And they smile, of course. They smile with hunger, with fear, with the certainty that the people remain uninformed, divided, and too tired to react. Because in this country, criticizing has become a crime, demanding has become an affront, and thinking for oneself is an act of courage. But there's one question that won't die: how long? How long will we watch, idly, as an entire province is destroyed in the name of profit? How long will we allow the suffering of a people to be used as currency in the hands of those who claim to be patriots? How long will we pretend this is just "terrorism"? The war in Cabo Delgado is not just a failure of the state. It is a plan, a strategy, a long-term investment. And those who feed it smile—smile with hunger, with death, with silence.

2025/12/3