LuÃÂs Paolo’s life revolves around four parked cars. They belong to senior UN staff, and he washes and guards them each working day. For his labour he earns 2 000 kwanzas (R162,50) a month — not much to live on in Luanda, one of the world’s most expensive cities.
Paolo’s hands are blistered from the constant wringing of a wet towel. He wears his usual red baggy shorts, a white vest and plastic sandals. Grey hairs are already sprouting at his temples, even though he is only 22 years old.
The young people on the streets of the Angolan capital all have a story to tell of how they wound up there: out of school, out of formal employment, and battling to survive by their wits. This is Paolo’s story.
”When the war came to Kuito [a central highlands city that was the scene of heavy fighting between Unita rebels and government forces] we fled – my parents, my sister and brother and I. I don’t know how old I was, but it was a long time ago. I knew a boy who worked as a car washer on this street [in Luanda]. He said I could work there too if I wanted.”
Every day is a struggle. The part of the street that belongs to Paolo and his friends is not the most lucrative, although several UN agencies have their offices there.
A car wash by Paolo and partners costs around 200 kwanzas (R16.25). The boys just a block away charge 300 kwanzas, but Paolo cannot encroach on their turf. ”They would beat me up,” he explains, so he sticks to the four car owners he has a contract with.
”I’ve got four amigos. The others have their amigos. We can’t steal [clients] from each other. If someone does that, there might be a fight.”
Paolo is tired of life as a car washer. His ambition, now that peace has come to Angola after three decades of war, is to go home to Kuito. ”I’d like to sell stuff in the market – shoes, pants, shirts. I can’t do that here. The police give everyone a hard time. If you haven’t got a licence to sell they’ll take all your money and the stuff you sell.”
During December the police were even harsher than usual, stopping people for no obvious reason and asking them to help ”take care” of their weekend or the holiday season by slipping them a few hundred kwanzas.
You can buy anything you need on the streets of Luanda – food, clothes, tools, furniture, toys and more. But most of the traders do not have official licenses, which leaves them vulnerable to corrupt cops.
”They lead a dangerous life – the police can stop them at any time. But you have to buy a licence every month. I can’t do that. In Kuito I wouldn’t have to – I could sell things there,” Paolo said.
But Kuito is far away. Right now his priority remains supporting himself in Luanda. His parents are dead, and he lives with his aunt and her two children. No one in the household has got a formal job and everybody has to contribute to the rent and the food. It will take Paolo a long time to save enough money to go to Kuito.
The only things that keep his mood up are the thoughts of his girlfriend, Bela, and the football team he is in, Petro. He shares the dream of countless young men around the world of one day becoming a professional footballer and playing for Real Madrid. When he’s on the pitch he curls the ball like David Beckham, although he plays barefoot.
Paolo does not even own a pair of ordinary shoes. He borrowed a pair from a friend a few weeks ago and three men assaulted him and tried to steal them. They threatened him with a broken bottle and took a knick out of his throat, but he managed to outrun them with the shoes still on his feet.
”I really didn’t want to lose them,” he commented.
The life he can offer Bela, his 16-year-old girlfriend, will be a simple one unless Real Madrid come knocking soon – and not what her family had hoped for her. ”We talk about our relationship and where our love will take us. I want to marry her and have a child. But I don’t know if her dad will accept me as her husband.”
Paolo did not go to school more than a few times in Kuito before the family moved to Luanda. Bela will go to a private school when the new term starts. Her dad will pay for it.
It is midday and over 35 degrees. A yellowish haze surrounds the bay of Luanda. Paolo has had his lunch – the normal ”funge”, as the thick maize porridge is known. He usually gets enough to eat, but not always.
Life in Luanda has not changed so very much since the war ended in 2002, he thinks. The street is just as dirty, the sun just as hot, the towel is still the only tool that brings in any money and the journey to his dreams is just as long. — Irin