Author: David Patrick Lane

The Chappas from Central Maputo to Estadio Machava takes half an hour and costs the same as a loaf of bread. There were no barricades in Maputo on Sunday. All roads led to the Futebol.

It was difficult to detect the unease of recent days as expectant supporters cracked open bottles of “Doshem”, ripped into tetra pak cartons of cheap red wine and exchanged predictions. This was not a day for the usual colonial replica shirt. No Benfica. No Porto. No Sporting. You had to be wearing the Mambas red, and you especially meant business if your scarf or shirt was wrapped around your head.

My mini bus was bursting as it passed the monumental Mac Mahon brewery, home of the 2M, the “Doshem”. City blocks gave way to cabbage fields. Palm trees waved in the distance. It could have been a scene from “The Thin Red Line” were it not for the sight of four floodlight pylons. We were now immersed in a red sea of supporters, not even Moses could part, but the Chappas found a way.

What was it the man said, “Porque Goshem de futebol”. He forgot to add they also like their chicken. The barnyard creature was being crucified overroaring charcoal fires in fields all around the stadium. Coolers crammed with cervejas provided perfect pre match company. The women of Mozambique certainly understood the business of football.