THE TIME OF MY CARNIVAL

Paulo Vilanculo"

What a reminder of the prolonged faras of ka Pfumo.

Our exquisite marabentadas by Fani Pfumo

Me and my sweet, slender muse.

The most famous and beautiful of Maragra

In his piercing, steely gaze, bronzed with bagasse.

In the embalmed dawn of the well, to the song of the chigovia,

She would secretly break through the reeds, among the hare-like leaves of the sugarcane field!

What a brilliant beast he was…

How many times, seduced, have I been reduced to ashes?

Me and her, gas!

We set sail, leaving everything behind. 

with her, my black mixed-race white mixed-race woman

my forbidden love from Xinavani,

already in xilunguíni

She would occasionally hole up in xinhambanini.

sometimes, in Mikanjuíni

He was settling there to understand our African fallacies.

and learn about our Mozambican culture

Uncle Archangel,

made angel

in his bell-bottom trousers

tapered and wide at the top

It flew from side to side, enlivening the sidewalk to the tram-tam-tam rhythm of the chibuto drum.

and on Malangatana's brush 

Ahaa...the deafening, sweet, frantic whistling of the cicadas.

Caressing Grandma Tshambe, tears of joy streaming down her face as she breathed through the capulana...

The sepoys? The police?

Hmm... the riding sentinels...

Those,

They raised their hats.

in reverse

with the edge of their feet

They kicked the bellies of their horny horses and wham!

In stampede

They wandered about in search of their trophies.

the cunning whites

those who, in the fury of desires

They entwined themselves in moist, stolen kisses on the gentle, innocent lips sculpted into coffee-colored mouths.

in the enchanted love hives of the unveiled little girls

the sweat-scented, stilt-toe shoes lined up on Araújo Street

My Carnival Time

It was formidable.

It was a gale.

a bittersweet mix of fury and natural flavor.

a mixture of contagious tenderness amidst the fiery storm of the claws and fury of the colonial terror.

2025/12/3