Things of the House: Material Culture and Migration from Post-Colonial Mozambique to Portugal 9781800739550

Table of contents :
Contents
List of Illustrations
Foreword
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Chapter 1. Movement, Materiality and Domestic Life: An Anthropological Approach
Chapter 2. The Portuguese Third Empire: Colonialism, Revolution and Late Decolonization
Chapter 3. Migrating to Africa: New Contexts, New Peoples, Old Social Issues
Chapter 4. Life in Colonial Mozambique: A Domestic Material Culture Approach
Chapter 5. Out of Africa: The Materiality of Loss and Displacement
Chapter 6. Life in Democratic Portugal: A Domestic Material Culture Approach
Conclusion
References
Index

Citation preview

Things of the House

European Anthropology in Translation Published in Association with the Society for the Anthropology of Europe (AAA) General Editor: Nicolette Makovicky, University of Oxford This new series introduces English-language versions of significant works on the Anthropology of Europe that were originally published in other languages. These include books produced recently by a new generation of scholars as well as older works that have not previously appeared in English.

Recent volumes: Volume 11 Things of the House: Material Culture and Migration from Post-Colonial Mozambique to Portugal Marta Vilar Rosales

Volume 6 Hunters, Gatherers, and Practitioners of Powerlessness: An Ethnography of the Degraded in Postsocialist Poland Tomasz Rakowski

Volume 10 Almost, but Not Quite Bored in Pula: An Anthropological Study of the Tapija Phenomenon in Northwest Croatia Andrea Matošević

Volume 5 Two Sides of One River: Nationalism and Ethnography in Galicia and Portugal António Medeiros

Volume 9 To See a Moose: The History of Polish Sex Education Agnieszka Kościańska

Volume 4 The Colours of Empire: Racialized Representations during Portuguese Colonialism Patrícia Ferraz de Matos

Volume 8 Heirs of the Bamboo: Identity and Ambivalence among the Eurasian Macanese Marisa C. Gaspar Volume 7 Raccomandazione: Clientelism and Connections in Italy Dorothy Louise Zinn

Volume 3 Developing Skill, Developing Vision: Practices of Locality at the Foot of the Alps Cristina Grasseni Volume 2 Strangers Either Way: The Lives of Croatian Refugees in their New Home Jasna Čapo Žmegač

For a full volume listing, please see the series page on our website: https://www.berghahnbooks.com/series/european-anthropology-in-translation

Things of the House Material Culture and Migration from Post-Colonial Mozambique to Portugal

Marta Vilar Rosales Translated by Marta Vilar Rosales and edited by Lisa Ann Senecal and Richard Wall

berghahn NEW YORK • OXFORD www.berghahnbooks.com

First published in 2023 by Berghahn Books www.berghahnbooks.com © 2023 Marta Vilar Rosales All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Rosales, Marta Vilar, author. Title: Things of the house : material culture and migration from post-colonial Mozambique to Portugal / Marta Vilar Rosales. Other titles: As coisas da casa. English Description: New York : Berghahn Books, 2023. | Series: European anthropology in translation ; volume 11 | Translation of: As coisas da casa : cultura material, migrações e memórias familiares. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022054543 (print) | LCCN 2022054544 (ebook) | ISBN 9781800739543 (hardback) | ISBN 9781800739550 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Portugal--Emigration and immigration--Social aspects. | Mozambique--Emigration and immigration--Social aspects. | Immigrant families--Portugal--Social conditions. | Immigrant families--Mozambique--Social conditions. | Portuguese--Mozambique--Social conditions. | Mozambicans--Portugal--Social conditions. Classification: LCC JV8261 .R6713 2023 (print) | LCC JV8261 (ebook) | DDC 305.896/790469--dc23/eng/20230123 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022054543 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022054544 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 978-1-80073-954-3 hardback ISBN 978-1-80073-955-0 ebook https://doi.org/10.3167/9781800739543

Contents

List of Illustrationsvi Foreword Caroline B. Brettell

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Acknowledgementsxii Introduction1 Chapter 1. Movement, Materiality and Domestic Life: An Anthropological Approach

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Chapter 2. The Portuguese Third Empire: Colonialism, Revolution and Late Decolonization

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Chapter 3. Migrating to Africa: New Contexts, New Peoples, Old Social Issues

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Chapter 4. Life in Colonial Mozambique: A Domestic Material Culture Approach

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Chapter 5. Out of Africa: The Materiality of Loss and Displacement 

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Chapter 6. Life in Democratic Portugal: A Domestic Material Culture Approach

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Conclusion164 References168 Index181

Illustrations

Figure 6.1. Oriental porcelain, current use. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.2. Carved wooden counter. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.3. Wooden desk, gilt metal clock, silver tray, porcelain vases and set of gilt carved mirrors. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.4. African wood furniture. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.5. Hand-carved wooden mask. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.6. Set of three hand-carved wooden elephants. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.7. Wooden spear with a metal point. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.8. Canvas acquired at the Samate Gallery, Maputo, 1976 (artist unknown to the owner). © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.9. ‘Mask’, by Chissano (1969). Sculpture. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.10. Wooden and straw chair with leg support. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.11. Ceramic sculptures. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.12. Set of porcelain pieces (jugs). © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.13. Decorative cloth. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.14. Rice baskets. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.15. Figurine of Our Lady of Carmo. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Foreword Caroline B. Brettell

Things of the House: Material Culture and Migration from Post-Colonial Mozambique to Portugal is an important and ambitious contribution to the scholarly literatures in both anthropology and migration studies. The book addresses a number of different themes and threads. Of highest importance is its focus on Portugal and Portuguese Africa. Portugal is a small country located at the margins of Europe and yet its global engagement is broad across both space and time. Despite its positioning in relationship to the sea (Newitt 2015), Portugal is often overlooked in historical overviews of eastern and western colonial expansion, trans-Atlantic connections across centuries, immigrant resettlement, and processes of decolonialization. Marta Rosales puts Portugal right back into the discussion through a comparative exploration of Goan and Portuguese-origin families who settled in Mozambique during the colonial period and returned to Portugal in the aftermath of the final collapse of the Portuguese empire in Africa in 1975. The Goan case is particularly interesting since some members of this population had multi-generational roots in Portuguese Africa while others, having left their homeland after the Indian Army entered Portuguese Goa in 1961, resettled in Africa only to be displaced again in the mid-1970s. In exploring these two Mozambican populations, Rosales contributes important empirical data to the scholarship on the Portuguese overseas diaspora in particular, and global mobilities, colonialism and post-colonialism more broadly. Another important thread in this book is the engagement with the material dimensions of mobility. The study of material culture has deep roots within anthropology, particularly among archaeologists for whom the artefacts and built structures left behind by past civilizations constitute much of the data with which they must work. But increasingly cultural anthropologists have become interested in the material

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dimensions of social and culture life – and of the social life of things (Appadurai 1986) – or how objects both shape and are shaped by human experience. Equally, and inspired by the work of Daniel Miller (2005, 2010) among others, a renewed emphasis on commodities and consumption has developed within cultural anthropology and informs Rosales work. In migration studies, the ‘material turn’ has resulted in ethnographic explorations of connections between migration and material culture; of domestic spaces that are replete with objects and foodstuffs from native countries; and of the emotions, memories, familial relations, and sense of belonging, identity, and social status that these objects, edibles and even art forms invoke. Material objects clearly circulate within transnational social fields connecting migrants to their home societies as they also root them in the place to which they have migrated. Thus, migration is not only about how migrants relate to other migrants and to non-migrants in a place of destination, but also to migrating objects that carry meaning across time and space. Rosales takes up many of these issues in her ethnographically rich discussion of the lived experiences of houses, things and artistic forms for those who comprised her research interlocutors in both colonial Mozambique and in the Portuguese metropole. It is equally important to emphasize how much of this discussion can also be situated within broader studies of the anthropology of memory. As the late Sabine Marschall (2018: 3) has written, ‘memory is the basis of all human experience and social interaction [and] constitutes the foundation of individual and group identity, as well as a person’s consciousness and sense of self ’. Certainly, this framework is at play in Rosales’s analysis as she traces how mobile populations construct and reconstruct a sense of home wherever they settle with the things they bring with them that arouse old memories as they create new ones. A final thread of significance in this book circulates around the idea of repatriation or return. For some time in migration studies, little emphasis was directed to the study of return but in recent years that has changed as scholars have identified different dimensions of return – temporary or permanent, actual or imagined – as well as the experience and impact of return. Rosales picks up some of these issues as she addresses not only the planning that went into return among her interlocutors – including what ‘things’ returnees would take with them as they ‘abandoned’ the house/home in Mozambique, but also how they reconstructed lives, identities and patterns of consumption in Portugal as part of a process of re-integration. Additionally, this discussion in particular engages with dimensions of post-colonialism and post-colonial studies that have drawn a good deal of attention across a range of

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academic disciplines in recent years. The former colonial populations who have settled in cities across Western Europe are a complex mixture of those who were the subjects of colonial rule as well as those who served in colonial governments or who migrated to the colonies from the homeland to build a new life in everything from farming to smallscale entrepreneurship. Rosales’s interlocutors are among these. Upon return or remigration, she argues, they carry with them memories of Africa, and in the Goan case of India as well, that are manifested in the domestic spaces that they inhabit in the greater Lisbon metropolitan area. Thus, they well illustrate through their actions and decisions what scholar Paul Basu (2013: 382) has emphasized: that ‘through making, using, exchanging, consuming, interacting, and living with things, people make themselves’. I end this preface on a reflexive note because Rosales’s book inspired me to look at and think about the things that occupy my own domestic space: the moves they have made, the meanings they carry, and the memories that they embody. There are the pieces of furniture (an upright desk and an eighteenth-century chest) that my grandparents brought with them when they migrated from Switzerland to Canada during the first decade of the twentieth century; there are the paintings made by my uncle, a well-known Canadian painter, that hung on the walls of the Montreal house where I grew up and that ‘migrated’ to Dallas when my parents passed away; there are the other works of art that my husband and I purchased over the years and that moved with us from place to place within the United States; there is the 1900 Steinway piano that was willed to my husband by his Wyoming born aunt who herself received it from Denver socialite Molly Brown (of ‘unsinkable’ fame), that he played as a child growing up in Denver, and that has travelled with us since then, carrying with it memories of all the music-making across generations; and finally there are the items of a ‘casa portuguesa’ – the linens and ceramic plates that I acquired during field visits to Portugal over the years and that invoke my saudades (nostalgia) for the small European country that faces out on the Atlantic and embraces the world. Southern Methodist University Dallas, Texas, June 2022 Caroline B. Brettell is University Distinguished Professor of Anthropology at Southern Methodist University and a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. She has spent her career studying immigrant populations in Europe (especially Portugal and France), Canada and the United States. Her particular interests are in

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the gendered aspects of migration, issues of identity and citizenship, and the relationship between immigrants and cities. In addition to over 100 journal articles and book chapters, she is the author, co-author or editor/co-editor of nineteen books including Gender and Migration (2016); Identity and the Second Generation: How Children of Immigrants Find Their Space (co-edited with Faith Nibbs, 2016); and Migration Theory: Talking Across Disciplines (4th edition, co-edited with James F. Hollifield, 2022).

References Appadurai, Arjun (ed.). 1986. The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Basu, Paul. 2013. ‘Material Culture: Ancestries and Trajectories in Material Culture Studies’, in J.G. Carrier and D.B. Gewertz (eds), Handbook of Sociocultural Anthropology. London: Bloomsbury, pp. 370–90. Marschall, Sabine. 2018. ‘Memory, Migration and Travel: Introduction’, in Sabine Marschall (ed.), Memory, Migration and Travel. New York: Routledge, pp. 1–23. Miller, Daniel (ed.). 2005. Materiality. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.  . 2010. Stuff. Cambridge: Polity Press. Newitt, Malyn. 2015. Emigration and the Sea: An Alternative History of Portugal and the Portuguese. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Acknowledgements

I would like to express my gratitude to all the families and informants who participated in the research. I would like to extend thanks for their immense generosity and interest in Things of the House. I am equally grateful to my colleagues and friends, Caroline Brettell and Susana Trovão, who discussed important parts of the ethnography and encouraged its publication with Berghahn Books. And thanks to Richard Wall and Lisa Senecal, for their careful editing. I dedicate this book to Francisca and Rosa, who have travelled the world of transnational migrations with their mother since they were babies. Their interest in my research and their good spirits are invaluable to me.

Introduction

Things of the House1 is the result of an extensive ethnography carried out between 2002 and 2006 with two groups of families of the former Portuguese colonial elites who were forced to migrate from Africa after the Carnation Revolution, in 1974. The publication2 of its results fifteen years after its completion is exciting since this passage of time has allowed for the discovery of novel aspects, previously unnoticed, which have enriched this version of the manuscript with a more nuanced discussion of Portuguese colonial and post-colonial circulations. The book explores a still relatively discrete domain in Portuguese anthropology, that of contemporary material culture. It does so in a particular context – the house – and in a field of study that receives considerable attention from the social sciences and the humanities – human migrations. More specifically, Things of the House investigates the materiality and domestic consumption practices of families with a common life experience: a long stay in Mozambique during the colonial period, followed by a period of forced migration to Portugal, shortly after the April Revolution of 1974. My research has always privileged the material culture and domestic consumption practices of migrant populations. This was, however, my only inquiry in the field of Portuguese colonial and post-colonial studies. While preparing my dissertation, I was invited to take part in broader research aimed at exploring the processes of identity construction and negotiation of diverse groups that had circulated between Mozambique and Portugal during the colonial and post-colonial periods. This broad frame determined the selection of the Portuguese and the Catholic Brahmin Goan, the two best positioned groups in colonial society, as research units, as well as the adoption of a comparative approach that decisively structured the research outcomes. These decisions ended up having a profound impact on my future research. The relative lack of comparative studies focusing on the Portuguese

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elites justified, at the time, the focus on these two social groups. And it was this first ethnography that paved the way for later explorations of other contemporary migration movements – with a focus on the circulations of those least welcome and whose voices were less powerful – as a way of promoting a broader discussion of the diversity and complexity that contemporary migrations and migrant populations entail. An analogous argument justifies the preference given to the daily life routines and consumption practices and to the mundane, and often invisible, domestic materiality in contexts of migration. Drawing on Miller’s (2008) material culture perspective, when an object goes unnoticed in the eyes of its subject at work, that object can be understood as all the more effective. In that same vein, priority has been given to everyday things and routinized consumptions, as well as to the families’ everyday household practices (Longhurst and Savage 1996; Mackay 1997a). As the term itself suggests, an approach centred on mundane routines promotes a focus on the ways in which subjects interact and appropriate things and how these appropriations contribute to stabilizing their daily lives (Mackay 1997a), are means to expressing their aspirations and idealizations (Clarke 2001) and for the materialization of their relationships and memories (Garvey 2001; Marcoux 2010). The integration of material culture studies in the field of contemporary migrations illuminated the intersections between the movement of people and the movement of their things (Basu and Coleman 2008), as well as how they mutually established and supported each other (Burrell 2009; Rosales 2010a). Furthermore, it also supported the discussion of the families’ positioning strategies (Bourdieu 1979), identity reconfiguration and belonging (Rosales 2010b), both in colonial Mozambique and in Portugal. The framework of this research began with the premise that material culture and consumer practices provide significant resources for the development of cultural and social activities (Douglas and Isherwood 1996; Baudrillard 2002 [1968]; Bourdieu 1979; Appadurai 2003a; Miller 1987) and in this sense constitute a setting (Miller 2010), that is, an effective context for everyday life. Within this frame, people and things are thought to coproduce the contexts they inhabit, objects establish lines of continuity between present and past, and the impacts of movement on materiality are not restricted to mobile objects or things. Moreover, the contradictions between the gains and losses of displacement are evident in the experiences and encounters with the objects through which they are expressed (Parrot 2012; Rosales

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2017, 2018). Domestic materiality is a particularly effective setting for exploring these experiences, encounters and expressions. Although contemporary material culture clearly transcends the domestic sphere, its significance, as a context for tackling the relationships between people, and between people and things (Silverstone and Hirsch 1994; Gullestad 1995; Mackay 1997a; Warde 1996; Miller 1997, 2001c; Clarke 2001), has been widely acknowledged. Likewise, the home is a vital material setting in all migration experiences. Unlike other more public spaces, homes are somewhat less subjected to the constraints imposed by social structures (Rapport and Dawson 1998), and therefore particularly significant for addressing the evaluation, reorganization and repositioning processes resulting from migration. Homes provide room for integrating objects transported from other contexts (Harbottle 1996; Morley 2000; Petridou 2001), for the expression of loss (Rosales 2010a,b, 2014), for articulating and managing memories, and for maintaining relationships with the past (Marcoux 2001). This book is organized into six chapters. The first chapter summarizes the theoretical framework, object of study and the methodology. The second chapter provides a brief historical, political and demographic contextualization that seeks to explain some of the fundamental features of Mozambique’s colonial history, namely its migration and colonization policies, transition to independence and decolonization. Given the origin of the families, special attention is paid to the characterization of migratory flows originating in Portugal and Goa and their return migration to Portugal, after independence. The third chapter addresses the families’ life experiences in colonial Mozambique. The fourth chapter provides an analysis of the families’ domestic material culture and consumption practices. More narrowly, this chapter focuses on the homes of the past in colonial Mozambique. The fifth chapter discusses the exit of the families and their things from Mozambique towards Portugal. The sixth and final chapter is devoted to an analysis and discussion of the families’ post-colonial life in Portugal. Following an identical structure to chapter four, this final chapter addresses the settling in processes of the families in their new domestic spaces and the way in which material culture and consumption practices contributed to forging their new sense of belonging and materializing, in general, memories of their past colonial experience and, in particular, of their lost African homes.

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Notes   1. This book was financed by national funds through FCT – Fundação para a Ciência e a Tecnologia, I.P., in the frame of the project UID/SOC/50013/2019.  2. A previous version (in Portuguese) of Things of the House was published with Imprensa de Ciências Sociais, Lisbon, in 2015.

Chapter 1

Movement, Materiality and Domestic Life An Anthropological Approach

The social sciences, in the 1990s and the first years of the twenty-first century, witnessed an intense debate around the topic of mass material culture and consumption. The increased visibility of this debate reflected, on the one hand, the recognition of consumption practices in contemporary societies and, on the other, the importance of rethinking the relationships between people, objects and services. The significant theoretical contributions resulting from these debates enabled the integration of this specific field of study into the different social sciences and, particularly, into anthropology and sociology. However, the interest in the topic should not be seen as recent but, rather, renewed. As Campbell (1995) pointed out, mass-produced artefacts, and their consumption, was the key topic of a broad set of classical theoretical productions, which centred discussions on the emergence, impacts and developments of the capitalist mode of production, as well as observations and analysis of it. The importance of the topic in the 1990s thus resulted less from innovative interrogations, than from a cultural turn (Warde 1996) in the social sciences that led to the establishment of the concept of the consumer as a complex and socially constructed entity, allowing its expansion beyond the limits imposed by the hegemonic and economistic vision of the autonomous and sovereign consumer. The result was the consolidation of use (of objects, goods and services) as a complex and plural process, whose functions and purposes needed to be interrogated.

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This theoretical shift emerged as particularly original regarding the previous theoretical frame. Before this shift, consumption tended to be understood as the final stage of the process of production and, consequently, as a secondary or derivative moment of it. Miller (1987) specifically challenged this framing by highlighting the fact that academic production has always paid much more attention to the analysis of production, positioning it as the key moment in the emergence of relations of domination in contemporary societies, therefore neglecting the analysis of consumption and the mutual influences between the two. According to Miller (ibid.), the study of the relations between people and objects was progressively sidelined and restricted to use-value, reflecting a clear valorization of economic aspects to the detriment of social and cultural factors inherent in consumption practices. This argument illustrated, with some exceptions, the existence of a dominant perspective that contextualized material culture and consumption studies within the framework of modernity and, above all, the nature of the capitalist system of production. Moving beyond the devaluation of present-day consumer practices, Miller expanded the discussion of contemporary materiality beyond the contours of a moral framework (Miller 2001b) that deemed it destructive and anti-social. Without questioning the pertinence of discussing the contours of the modern social order, and of its impacts on collective norms, social structures and individual experiences, this research sought to develop an approach which relies upon the effective practices of relating to materiality as the object of study. That is while recognizing the validity of previous discussions that privileged wider and perhaps more comprehensive approaches to contemporary materiality, this research acknowledges the pertinence of discussing the relationships between people and things through – creative, critical and therefore productive – everyday practices. This option was far from reflecting a relativization of the importance of the spheres of production and distribution. As Mackay (1997b) stated, affirming the pertinence of material culture and consumption as an object of study does not deny the importance of production and distribution. This would correspond to an inverse reproduction of the perspectives that tended to privilege them, while relativizing consumption. Thus, although privileging the appropriation and re-appropriation of things from the moment they leave the market, this research understood the relationship between production, distribution and consumption as mutually constitutive from the outset. It is also relevant to note that while the discussion of the impacts of mass consumption surpasses the objectives of the research, it is of the utmost pertinence. It is critical to bear in mind that the notion of the active consumer entails a set of

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implications that are far from positive. Hence, affirming the centrality of consumption practices within the framework of contemporary material culture does not correspond to a blurring of the disastrous developments carried out in the name of the consumer’s freedom of choice. The debate around identity production and reproduction is as intense and visible as the one on the impacts of mass production and consumption in contemporary societies. Since identity topics intersect with all social and cultural dimensions, a discussion of them became imperative in most fields of research including material culture and migration. Social and cultural identity constitutes a vast and complex field of debate; this debate intensified as its basis shifted from relatively fixed and delimited parameters, which were progressively challenged in favour of multiple and fluid definitions (i.e. Beck 1992; Giddens 1994; Bauman 1997; Kellner 1995). To summarize, as opposed to social systems based on tradition, a hallmark of late modernity was that it was increasingly structured around internally referential logics (Giddens 1994), which triggered profound alterations on the level of personal identity, gradually assuming the form of a reflexive project (ibid.). In this context, personal biographies are progressively freed from the external aspects associated with pre-established collective ties and emerge, above all, as trajectories that integrate personal projects for the future and the present. In sustaining this perspective, it is not the intention to claim that others have been removed from the strategic ‘life-planning’ (Giddens 1994: 76) of individuals. On the contrary, it is important to clarify that identity construction, as a self-reflexive process, is not a praise for individualism, since the trajectory of the self acquires coherence precisely through the reflexive use of social contexts. The consolidation of the theoretical proposals that conceptualize identity as self-reflexive processes had a considerable impact on the field of contemporary material culture and consumption studies in the 1990s. Today, however, there has been a progressive shift in the focus of the discussion. This is the result of diversified theoretical contributions and, particularly, of empirical studies, which point towards the importance that structural dimensions play in present-day biographic narratives. Drawing from this perspective, Warde (1996) emphasizes the pertinence of discussing and delimiting the actual control people have over their reflexive identities and proposes an alternative definition of identity as a co-production in which the collective structures work as a conditioning force. During this research, consumption practices were thus conceptualized as resulting simultaneously from agency and contingency or, more precisely, as the expression of a balance between creativity and

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social constraints. This perspective necessarily affected how the relationship between identity and consumption was addressed. The centrality of the latter, as a critical element for identity construction, was relativized as consumption was positioned alongside other key social dimensions such as gender, race, ethnicity, kinship, belonging or nationality (Warde 1996). The importance of social and cultural contexts for identity production and reproduction was positively reviewed and, most importantly, the analytical lens partially shifted from the consumer to the object of consumption and its material dimensions. As a final note to this brief consideration, it is important to reaffirm that this research’s theoretical and methodological foundations stem from a basic, although valid, premise: the ability to contribute to answering the main questions that led the ethnographic fieldwork carried out in Mozambique and Portugal. Given the plurality of present-day theoretical discussions on the topics of migration and material culture, it seemed productive to make use of the frameworks and tools available in the social sciences to work towards the achievement of the research objectives. Theories, as ways of seeing and reflecting on reality, provide understandings and models of interpretation and explanation which draw attention to certain phenomena, their connections with other phenomena, and the wider social context. Theories are constructions, products of specific discourses, practices and institutions, and therefore do not transcend their social fields of production. Hence, instead of assuming a theory as the theory, or seeking to achieve a complex synthesis of various narratives, this research benefited from a multi-theoretical perspective that productively responded to its foundational questions. Things of the House addresses the material culture and domestic consumption practices of two groups of families with a common past – an intergenerational life experience in Mozambique during the colonial period, interrupted by a period of forced migration to Portugal during the decolonization process. Although imprecise and generalist, this statement corresponded to the first delimitation of the research object of study which aimed at integrating materiality and everyday consumption practices within the framework of the particularly complex episode of the return migration from the former Portuguese colonies. This starting point resulted from the progressive systematization of the following theoretical premises informed by the broad perspective presented above: a) the existence of a complex interdependent relationship between cultural contexts, material culture and consumption practices (Douglas and Isherwood 1996; Appadurai 2003a; Miller 1987; Howes 1996); b) the significance of consumption practices both as resources for and as materializations of identity (re)construction

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processes (Bourdieu 1979; Appadurai 2003a; Miller 1987; Lury 1997); c) the understanding of consumption as an activity that, going beyond the acquisition of goods and services, constitutes a social process of using and reusing things, whose meanings transform as they enter specific social contexts (Appadurai 2003a; Kopytoff 2003; Miller 1987, 1998a; Warde 1996); and d) the centrality of objects, and their material dimensions, in their relationships with people. Far from developing neutral participation in consumption practices, things embody social relationships and, in this sense, are responsible for the co-production of the reality in which they live (Miller 1987, 1998a; Warde 1996; Silverstone and Hirsch 1994; Lury 1997). These premises were complemented by a second discussion focused on the specific features of domestic materiality in migration contexts. The families who participated in the research share a long-life experience in Mozambique, which ended with their forced migration to Portugal during the colony’s transition to independence. However, there is a significant element of differentiation between them, since they are descendants (second and third generations) of migrants originating from two distinct contexts – Portugal and Goa. This distinctive feature promoted a comparative approach which allowed for a discussion of the regularities and points of contact in the families’ migratory, colonial and post-colonial experiences. Equally, it allowed for a comparison of the specificities and points of rupture in their positioning as well as belonging strategies both in Mozambique and Portugal. In fact, all processes of self-determination and self-recognition embrace two broad formulations. The first results from the delimitation of a shared culture (Hall 2003), that is, of the core elements that produce the common history of a given group. From this perspective, collective identities fundamentally reflect historical experiences and shared cultural codes, by providing a unitary, stable and permanent framework of representations, meanings, delimitations and contextualization which subsists beyond the fluctuations of the present. The second recognizes that, in addition to the multiple points of contact, there is also a plurality of singularities and differentiations that actively contribute to the definition of ‘us’, or rather, of ‘whom we have become’. According to this second formulation, collective identities should be jointly understood as being, as well as becoming, that is, as something that is not previously defined, transcending space, time, history and culture. As Hall (2003) stated, cultural identities come from somewhere, but like everything historical, they are subject to the continuous action of history, culture and power. Focusing on the families’ strategies of identity affirmation and recomposition from this double perspective implied the identification of

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the more stable and permanent life dimensions, as well as the disruptions and discontinuities introduced by movement, displacement and the need to integrate into a new social and cultural context. The adoption of this perspective was a major contribution to the delimitation and structuring of the object of study by promoting the analysis of the material culture and consumption practices of the families through a triple mediation: the families’ present context of residence (Portugal); their past shared context of belonging (colonial Mozambique); and their contexts of origin (Portugal, Goa). This was coupled with a determination that the home was the preferred unit of analysis, that is, the selection of the home as an ethnographic domain resulted not only from its material culture dimensions (Silverstone and Hirsch 1994; Gullestad 1995; Mackay 1997b; Miller 1997, 2001c; Rosales 2010a) but also from its relevance in migration experiences. The home has always been considered a pivotal setting for addressing cultural production and reproduction in migration contexts. Homes shelter things and support the materialization of practices transported from previous contexts of belonging (Harbottle 1996; Morley 2000; Petridou 2001; Silvano 2002). They are spaces that acknowledge the expressions of loss and reassessment of the past and the present (Morley 2000; Marcoux 2001). And homes frame the management of memories and stimulate the production of original narratives and the rewriting of personal biographies (Miller 2001c,d; Rosales 2010a,b,c,d, 2012). The home, as a unit of analysis, situates the research at the level of daily life (Longhurst and Savage 1996). Addressing migrants’ experiences at the level of everyday life directs the researcher’s lens towards the ordinary dimensions and the routinized practices, as opposed to the exceptional and the episodic aspects of their lives: that is, it promotes an analytical angle that illuminates the modes through which migrants relate to, transform and appropriate diverse materials for stabilizing their life projects (Mackay 1997a), expressing their aspirations and ideals (Clarke 2001) and materializing their relationships, feelings and memories (Garvey 2001; Marcoux 2001). Based on this discussion, the research was designed to discover how and to what extent the families’ homes a) expose their journeys, and integration and positioning strategies in colonial Mozambique; b) represent an expressive and productive domain that is relevant for understanding their original identity, and c) materialize the representations and discourses about their past lives in Africa, and their present lives in Portugal according to the families’ present-day position in Portuguese society.

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This discussion was structured by the following working hypotheses: a) material culture and consumption practices promote the expression of social identity, the display of social integration logics and positioning strategies, and the accumulation of material and immaterial resources, and contribute to the narratives about life trajectories and experiences, as well as reality and life perceptions; b) homes, being formed by material and symbolic dimensions imbued with present and past experiences, can be addressed as contexts for the materialization of family memories; c) migration experiences are a particular form of mobility that entails disintegration (at origin) and reintegration (upon arrival), which must be examined as multifaceted processes that manifest themselves in multiple ways. The ethnography included ten families equally distributed between the two groups under analysis and selected according to a snowball logic (Burgess 1997; Finnegan 1997). Fieldwork relied on multiple techniques for collecting and processing information. In fact, the diversity of material domains is enormous, which makes the indiscriminate application of a general model of analysis untenable. As Miller argues (1998a,b), in a home observations and discussions are possible to, within an hour, move from furniture to decorative objects, anxieties related to food or urban transport in cities with a huge diversity of architectural and infrastructural forms. This particularity demonstrates the enormous analytical potential of contemporary domestic material culture. Thus, it was imperative to transform what – at first sight – appeared to be discouraging and problematic (a plethora of things) into the most interesting feature of the research undertaken. Following previous ethnographies on the subject matter,1 the resolution of this problem involved promoting an analytical perspective that, while aiming to contribute to a general theory of materiality (Miller 1998a: 6), fostered freedom and creativity in determining which objects and consumption practices would be depicted. Miller (1998a) suggests leading the research by a principle of hierarchization based on the meaningfulness of objects, from the point of view of the subject. Adopting this guiding principle made it possible to establish priorities (from the perspective of the subjects) and simultaneously ensure that the analysis focused on consumption and the relationships established between people and things. Its operationalization was, however, complex since the study of material culture must navigate between the voice reporting the experience and the formal application of an analytical scheme; that is, we must have our own criteria for determining why things are significant (ibid.: 12).

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Things of the House

The research involved not only the observation of domestic materiality but also the collection of information regarding the families’ migrations (to and from Mozambique) and their life experiences in the colony and Portugal. As could be expected, the families focused at first on remembering and describing in detail these processes, which seemed to them to be far more interesting than their consumption practices and domestic routines. As Gardner (2002) stated, individual and collective stories play a fundamental role, both in shaping social identity and attributing meaning to life experiences. Thus, narratives are central to understanding others’ experiences, as they constitute history, experience and meaning (ibid.). Families’ histories are a significant device for the contextualization of their experiences since they result from ongoing reassessments and reinterpretations of the past and of the present. In contexts of migration, accounts of origins and destinations assume particular importance (Fortier 2000; Gardner 2002; Ali 2003). They do so not only because they contribute to the stabilization and coherence of the migrants’ experiences but also because, like the migration universe, they are immersed in movement, both in terms of their internal organization and the discursive modalities that are triggered (Gardner 2002). Narratives address the flow between life events, ascribing meaning and coherence to these events over time. Their structure integrates movement by establishing a starting point and an end. Hence, recounting a narrative equates to talking about movement and connecting to the movement (Rapport and Dawson 1998), to move people, objects and events from the past to the present. The material culture and consumption practices of the past gradually emerged; they were contextualized by the families’ narratives of their life experiences in Mozambique. Like the families, their objects, routines and tastes travelled through space and time. Addressing the things from the past was, at first, fundamentally an exercise in memory in which the houses and their contents were remembered and described. The last stage of the fieldwork followed a more restrictive logic and privileged the direct observation of homes. The invitation to the families’ domestic spaces was determined by them. Hence, the materials collected at this stage, being co-produced by the families and the researcher, resulted in a collection that is both significant and revealing of the management logic and hierarchical relationships the families established with their things and their domestic practices. Problems of anthropological representation (Gardner 2002) had to be contemplated at this stage. Methods that enable direct quotations of the informants’ words can sometimes be taken as a strategy for diluting control on the part of the researcher and promoting the idea that

Movement, Materiality and Domestic Life

13

‘subjects speak for themselves’ (Gardner 2002: 28). This can, however, be misleading. Giving voice to the informants sometimes creates the illusion of a more authentic portrayal; that is, the researcher gives the impression, by resorting to the words of the subjects, that she has limited her analysis to what she was explicitly told and given to observe and therefore anthropological generalizations become increasingly difficult to make. Although the myth of the neutral ethnographer (Bastos and Bastos 1997) is outdated, this discussion raised decisive questions concerning the research results and thus implied a conscious methodological turn into a more directive approach to the families’ relationships with their domestic materiality.

Note   1. See Silverstone and Hirsch 1994; Warde 1996; Clarke 1998, 2001; Chevalier 1998; Miller 1998a, 2001a,b,c,d; Hecht 2001; Marcoux 2001.

Chapter 2

The Portuguese Third Empire Colonialism, Revolution and Late Decolonization

At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the Portuguese presence in Africa was unstable and fragile, due to the importance of its coastal possessions in sustaining Portugal’s two former empires: the first in East Asia, in the sixteenth century, and the second in Brazil, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. During this long period, African territories occupied a marginal, supportive position, functioning at first as stopovers on the sea routes to Asia and, after the decline of the Portuguese Asian Empire, as suppliers of slave labour for Brazilian plantations. With the independence of Brazil in 1822, and growing international pressure to eradicate the slave trade, the Portuguese presence in Africa decreased. The people of the territories were mainly heterogeneous Creole populations predominantly settled on the coast, from where they supervised and controlled commerce (MacQueen 1998). The end of the nineteenth century was marked by a context of strong investment in Africa by the main European powers. The need to establish stable borders reflected two conflicting theses: the first was based on the principle of historical jurisdiction over territories, and the second on the principle of effective occupation. Despite being weak and fragmented, Portugal’s long historical presence in Africa would prove to be a negotiating asset. In their struggle to occupy the continent, the European powers (England, France, Belgium, Germany and Portugal) recognized Portugal’s presence as a legal existence that clearly played in its favour. The process of division of the African continent ended with the Berlin Conference of 1885, which established the broad lines

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of geographical demarcation of most colonies and the need for their effective occupation. The Portuguese Third Empire was born from the combination of this international context, which clearly encouraged colonialist policies, and the great internal economic crisis which affected the country in the 1870s. According to MacQueen (1998: 23–24), Portuguese investment policy in Africa was mainly a response to a particularly difficult economic situation resulting from two trends: the fall in European market prices for traditional Mediterranean products; and a protectionist strategy put in place by the more developed European economies which was impractical in Portugal, given the small size of its internal market. African colonies were seen by the Portuguese upper bourgeoisie more and more as a preferential investment, in a world order marked by the strong expansion of European capitalist powers on this continent. The consolidation of the Portuguese empire took place in the last decade of the nineteenth century and the first of the twentieth century. It was necessary to transform the fragile and disorganized presence into an effective occupation, which would make it possible for administrative organizations to develop an exploitation strategy, like those of the other colonizing powers. Effective occupation of the inland colonial territories required, in most cases, the submission of native peoples and economically profitable occupation. This progression from the coast to the interior was far from peaceful. The different populations of Angola, Mozambique and Guinea effectively resisted the Portuguese occupation, as demonstrated by the successive military campaigns in the territories. In Mozambique, military pacification operations started in 1854 and ended in Zambezia only in 1918, with the First World War (Oliveira 1996). The African campaign established effective political and military dominance. Its secondary purpose was to draw attention to the colonies and encourage popular identification with the imperial project. MacQueen underlines the importance of the campaigns in the consolidation of an imperial ideal in Portuguese society. This was fundamental to the development of a colonial project that promoted solidifying the colonizer’s presence and investment in Africa – ‘The discourse on the fate of Portugal, unique, multi-racial and pluricontinental, may have had its most pompous expression during the Dictatorship, but it was circulating much earlier than the Salazar regime’ (MacQueen 1998: 25). Alongside the military campaigns in Mozambique, the foundations of the administrative organization were laid, and the effective economic exploitation of the territory’s economic resources began. The

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Things of the House

administration was entrusted, in large part, to concessionary companies with foreign capital operating in the primary sector (mainly sugar and cotton plantations). The Mozambican Company, created in 1888, occupied the central part of the country (the provinces of Manica and Sofala). The Niassa Company, established in 1891, occupied the north of the territory, and the Zambezi Company, created in 1892, exploited the Zambezi basin, from Quelimane to the province of Tete. This administrative solution had the advantage of simultaneously keeping colonial administration costs low and promoting foreign (especially British) capital investment in the development of the colony. However, it had the disadvantage of weakening the power of the metropolis over the territory of the colony and resulted in a significant lack of economic dividends to Portugal. The development of the Transvaal, Southern Rhodesia and Nyasaland provided the context for the exploitation of a new type of economic potential in Mozambique – its ports, which would function as outlets for the production of those territories. Their role became even more important with the expansion of the railways which established a connection between Lourenço Marques and the Transvaal in 1894 and between Beira and Untali two years later. Subsequently, the emigration of native labour to South African mines became another important source of funds. Within this framework of foreign investment by concessionary companies and the supply of infrastructure and labour to neighbouring colonies administered by Britain, Portugal presented the image of ‘an empire within an empire’, in the words of MacQueen (1998: 26). The dependence on British markets for exports and investment that affected the metropolis now seemed to extend to the colonies. However, and despite this framework of subordination, at the turn of the century, Africa was a source of fundamental wealth for Lisbon. As MacQueen states (ibid.), the wealth exported from Beira and Lourenço Marques might not be Portuguese, but it represented important resources in port fees and customs duties. Likewise, the gold taken from the Transvaal mines was not Portuguese, but part of it went to Lisbon’s reserves, as payment for the labour force. As Mozambique developed economically, based on the exploitation of its ports, the state strengthened its role in governing the territory and eroded the authority of the concessionary companies, thus generating a need for formal models of colonial administration. The republican regime sought to grant the colonies a very considerable degree of autonomy. This decentralization strategy was to be interrupted and reversed, however, from 1926 onwards.

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The Estado Novo and the Empire The military coup of 28 May 1926, which overthrew the First Republic, brought profound changes to Portuguese colonial policy. In that and the following year, Minister João Belo set out a new three-pronged colonial policy: the need for tighter and more effective control of colonial affairs, and the consequent limitation of the broad autonomy given to the colonies by the First Republic; centralization in the metropolis of the fundamental decisions affecting the whole Portuguese Empire; and the need for financial reform and nationalization in economic matters, as a way of curbing foreign interests (Silva 1992). In 1930, Salazar took on the colonies’ portfolio in addition to that of finance, which he had held since 1928, and published the Colonial Act. This document is the fundamental law of twentieth-century Portuguese imperialism. The Colonial Act would later be incorporated into the Constitution of 1933, which institutionalized the Estado Novo, establishing a guiding doctrine of Portuguese colonial policy during the period when Salazar was head of the government. As Rosas (1992), Silva (1992) and MacQueen (1998) point out, the Colonial Act emerged as a response to the economic conditions that globalized the economy after the 1929 depression, which accounted for the re-emergence of centralizing and nationalist doctrines in Portugal, France and England. The pressure exerted on the Portuguese colonies by the great powers, as well as the gravity of the internal economic crisis, also played a significant part in this process. The Colonial Act, in line with the colonial policy advocated by João Belo, firmly emphasized the need to centralize and incorporate the African territories. Republican options granting substantial autonomy to the colonies were unequivocally rejected. At the economic level, a firm protectionist dependency policy was established, both between the colonies themselves and between them and the metropolis. The privileges of the large international concessionary companies were not renewed, and national economic interests were protected in relation to foreign investments. Parallel to the establishment of a set of administrative and economic policies in clear opposition to those of the First Republic, the 1930s also witnessed the appearance of an imperial mystique. In the words of Silva, this represented the ‘coronation of the architecture of ideas of the Estado Novo’ (Silva 1992: 370). According to MacQueen, the Portuguese imperial mystique was less of an innovation than the constitutional expression of many of the elements of imperial mythology

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Things of the House

resulting from the African campaign at the beginning of the century. The Portuguese imperial vocation was promoted and exalted in a series of events, congresses, colloquia and colonial conferences organized during the first period of the Estado Novo, its most significant event being the Portuguese World Exhibition of 1940. In its official discourse, the empire adopted the role of: Counterweight to European Portugal’s small size, the affirmation of the genius of a poor and modest people … It was also the fulfilment of a mission – to incorporate primitive peoples into the parameters of Western civilization, to educate them by work, to Christianize their vision of the sacred. It was, finally, something that the Portuguese should be immensely aware of and proud of, to ensure that the new imperial ideology was adopted from an early age. (Silva 1992: 372)

Unlike the First Republic, the Estado Novo regime benefitted from ideal political conditions for developing and implementing its imperial discourse. The range of actions undertaken, in which the major investment in the holding of the Portuguese World Exhibition (1940) stands out, proves that very consistent efforts were made in this regard. However, as Silva (1992: 372) mentions, and despite all the congresses and the exhibition, the articles published in the press and the organization of a wide range of other events such as competitions and cruises, the Colonial Empire remained, for most Portuguese, a distant and unattainable reality. The economic policy followed by the Estado Novo during the 1930s stabilized the finances of the African colonies, which were further consolidated during the Second World War. During this period, the control of colonial foreign trade and the policy of nationalizing the overseas economies was strengthened through legislation providing for government control of import/export activity. Imports of raw materials increased significantly, together with exports of metropolitan manufacturers. Assuming an openly interventionist role, the Portuguese state intervened directly in the management of the interests of metropolitan and colonial economic actors, establishing precise rules for the protection of colonial production and metropolitan industry. Thus, while the secondary sector of the metropolis saw a ban on the creation of competing industries in the colonies, colonial interests were safeguarded through mandatory consumption and market quotas for their production. As a result of this imperial economic integration policy, trade relations between the metropolis and the colonies grew by 288 per cent and, in the period 1942–1945, the colonies became the metropolitan

The Portuguese Third Empire

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economy’s main trading partners. In social terms, this context provided support for an important social group made up of industrialists, farmers, traders and bankers, who became rich through overseas businesses. It also created a colonial bourgeoisie with its own interests, necessarily different from those enshrined in the Colonial Act. The post-war situation brought new visibility and centrality to the role played by the African colonies, forcing a discussion of the Estado Novo’s colonial policy guidelines. The significant increase in trade between the metropolis and the colonies, the diversification of colonial product markets, with the United States taking on the role of the major trading partner of the Portuguese dependencies, and the growth in demand for colonial goods all served to emphasize the key economic role of the African territories (Silva 1992: 378). In social terms, this economic power was applied, on the one hand, in the discussion of the need to grant greater autonomy to the overseas territories and, on the other, to attract greater attention to them from metropolitan businessmen, who now saw significant opportunities in the colonial markets. The international post-war situation, the creation of the United Nations and the emergence of emancipation movements in several African and Asian regions also deepened the cleavages between the various interests at stake, strengthening trends towards greater colonial autonomy. The Revised Colonial Act of 1945 was the result of this shift. Although it did not make significant structural changes, the Revision of 1945, and the revision of the Organic Charter of the Portuguese Colonial Empire in 1946, signal, in Silva’s opinion (1992), steps on the path to decentralization which would take shape over the following decade. The international context in the 1950s put the Estado Novo’s imperialist project in a particularly difficult position. Since the adoption of the United Nations Charter (1945) and the publication of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948), traditional colonial policies had come under constant and consistent criticism. In 1951, during the revision of the Portuguese Constitution, the Colonial Act was abolished and terminology used concerning the colonies was revised. The terms Colonial Empire and Colony disappeared and were replaced by Overseas Portugal (‘Ultramar’) and Overseas Provinces (‘Provincias Ultramarinas’): With this review, the concept of empire falls into the limbo of oblivion, the colony terminology gives way to the overseas province and even the condition of the indigenous people is presented as transitory. The Organic Law of the Portuguese Overseas Territories, published in 1953,

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Things of the House

and the Statute of Indigenous Peoples of the Provinces of Guiné, Angola and Mozambique of 1954, are the corollary of this attempt to respond to the new winds of the international situation. The model of imperial subordination, in which, according to Bernardino Machado, the metropolis functioned as suzerain and the colonies as vassals, openly begin to crumble and is replaced by another, in which assimilation is the dominant tonic. (Silva 1992: 382)

This review was to affect three major vectors of colonial policy: state investment, Portuguese private investment and indigenous policy. With regard to the first vector, and after a long period in which public investment had fallen far short of needs, a development plan was approved in 1953, providing for the investment of public capital in infrastructure (railways, hydroelectric dams and ports). As for the second, the interest of private economic groups in investing in the colonies took the form of colonial industrialization (in the food, transport, textiles and cement sectors), banking and insurance. On the other hand, although the policy of economic centralization had not been suppressed, the need to resort to foreign capital for the development of overseas economies was slowly being accepted. Changes in indigenous policy will be addressed separately in the following section.

The African Perspective According to MacQueen (1998), there are two particular features of Portuguese imperialism in connection with the relationship between the colonizing state and the colonized African peoples. The first relates to the late abolition of slavery (1876) and forced labour. The second fallout from the limited resources of the Portuguese state, which greatly affected the provision of fundamental social care to the populations and, according to the author, resulted in the indigenous people of Portuguese Africa being, at least until the mid-1960s, unprotected compared to other European empires. Oliveira reinforces this line of argument, maintaining that ‘Portugal had the colonial policy that the country was able to pay for. The hesitant and dependent industrial capitalism of the colonizing metropolis would necessarily have to manifest itself in Africa’ (ibid. 1996: 29). The first sign of formal control over forced labour in African colonies was João Belo’s legislation, permitting it only when it was absolutely indispensable, in the service of public interest, and of pressing urgency.1 The law reflected two dominant ideas: to guarantee the natural and

The Portuguese Third Empire

21

unconditional rights of the indigenous people and the delimitation of their moral and work duties; and to bring to the indigenous people all desirable civilizational advances within the framework of their ‘rudimentary’ culture. In addition to formally regulating the use of forced labour, the law also covered the political rights of African populations, which did not include any rights concerning European institutions. With regard to the so-called ‘compelled work’, the Estado Novo Colonial Act did not add anything substantial to the João Belo legislation. It was committed to protecting populations against all abuses, allowing forced labour only on occasions of exceptional importance for the state, and ensuring that indigenous labour was based on individual freedom and the right to a fair wage and assistance. However, the forced labour, wage exploitation and poor working conditions of the early decades of the Estado Novo, and the export of labour to the Rhodesian and South African mines, which was a significant source of foreign exchange for the Portuguese authorities, continued as in the past. Parallel to the legislation on indigenous labour, legislation was developed to hierarchize the native populations, by defining the condition of assimilated or civilized. The perspective that guided the relationship with the colonial peoples (with the exception of Cape Verdeans, Indians and Macanese, who have always been considered civilized) sought to incorporate them into European civilization. Assimilated status was aimed at differentiating between indigenous people, promoting those who, due to their school education, dress code and social behaviour, differed from the other people of their race. This principle was seen as a part of the civilizing mission of the Estado Novo, which had always sought to develop an active policy of ‘acculturation of the indigenous’ (Oliveira 1996: 24) by imposing Portuguese culture on them. The number of assimilates in the general population was, however, always very low (4,300 in Mozambique in 1950), because of the numerous legal obstacles to granting such status and a policy that, in fact, aimed at slow and progressive assimilation. The management of the colonial school system was also responsible for the slow growth in the number of assimilated people. Primary education developed very gradually, and in the 1960s the African population in Mozambique had an illiteracy rate of 91 per cent (MacQueen 1998: 31). The international political pressure that forced the legislative review carried out in 1951 also brought profound changes in the legal status of the native populations. The condition of the indigenous started to be presented as a transitory condition in the process of civilization, which would culminate with full citizenship and legal rights. This new legal framework did not, however, have major practical effects. The

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Things of the House

system continued to reproduce the integration model of previous decades, as evidenced by the legal innovations introduced in 1961 by Adriano Moreira, who recognized the existence of different treatment with regard to the peoples of the colonies and national citizens. During the short period he was in charge of the Ministry of Overseas Affairs, Moreira implemented a set of legal measures that finally put an end to the classic status of indigenous people, recognizing equal political rights for all individuals subjected to Portuguese sovereignty. In the following year, he also legislated to end the alienation of land, the system of mandatory crops and the elimination of contracted labour, as well as to promote the free movement of the Portuguese in all national territories. These late changes fail to disprove the reality of Portuguese colonial policy concerning the relations established with the African populations, which were essentially guided by the exploitation of cheap and unskilled labour. In 1972, in Mozambique, considered as the most evolved colony concerning the training of local elites, the percentage of Africans attending higher education was 1.1 per cent and high school education 8.3 per cent.

The Colonial War The rise of overtly anti-colonial movements in the Portuguese empire was delayed and developed under particularly adverse conditions. Separated by language from the neighbouring populations of the French and English colonies and unable to organize themselves politically, even if in a limited way, due to the characteristics of the regime to which they were subjected, the Portuguese-speaking African nationalist movements received very little support, even from the Pan-African Movement. Early forms of resistance and protest were disconnected and poorly organized until 1950. The first nationalist movements date from the 1920s and 1930s and arose amongst educated Africans in the largest cities of Angola and Mozambique. At first, these movements did not take the form of explicitly political movements, but more of cultural organizations, such as the Mozambican Centro Associativo dos Negros and the Brado Africano, a quasi-political magazine created in the period between the two world wars. The impact of these movements, made up of a very small urban elite, was very low both among the African population in general and in the colonial state itself. The metropolis had no difficulty in dominating these lightweight expressions of nationalism without resorting to explicit repression. The fact that the Political

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Police2 was only introduced in the overseas territories in 1957 illustrates how politically insignificant these movements were for the metropolis. The development of the anti-colonial movement in the 1950s was supported by the same set of factors that forced the revision of the Colonial Act in 1951. The existing contrast between political development in the British and French empires and the absence of changes in the Portuguese colonies became more and more noticeable, resulting in increased agitation for greater economic and political freedoms. Clashes took place between colonial authorities and African workers (São Tomé, 1953; Moeda [Mozambique], 1960; Pidjiguiti [GuineaBissau], 1960; Malange [Angola], 1961), all over the empire. With the creation of the Front for the Liberation of Mozambique (FRELIMO) in 1962, Mozambique was the last colony to organize a national independence movement. As in other colonies, there were already several movements with regional and ethnic characteristics, such as the  Maconde Union  of Moçambique (Mozambique African National Union) in the north, the National Democratic Union of Mozambique (UDENAMO) in the south, and the African Union of Independent Mozambique (UNAMI) in the central region (Tete). As MacQueen points out (1998: 41), all these groups had been created in exile and were run from abroad. In 1962, under the influence of Presidents Julius Nyerere of Tanzania and Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana, the three movements united to form FRELIMO – Front for Liberation of Mozambique. The choice of its first president fell on Eduardo Mondlane, educated in the US and a United Nations officer who after his appointment returned almost immediately to the US. This contributed to significant internal conflicts within the movement. The national liberation movements of the different colonies were all part of the Conference of Nationalist Organizations of the Portuguese Colonies (CONCP), created in 1962 to coordinate the actions undertaken by the different members. In ideological terms, all the movements were strongly cohesive, with very similar political and economic programmes, based on ‘Marxism pragmatically adapted to African realities’ (MacQueen 1998: 43). By the end of 1964, Portugal, one of the poorest countries in Europe, was involved in a guerrilla war on three different fronts in Africa. Far from seeking a solution to the different conflicts through political means, the Portuguese state responded to this crisis using force. Paradoxically, the beginning of the conflicts had a cohesive effect on the Salazar regime, silencing internal criticism and defusing the weak separatist movements in the colonies, which now needed military protection from the metropolis. In addition, the invasion of Goa by the Indian army in 1961 had created a vast wave of

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Things of the House

indignation both in the metropolis and in the African colonies. The promise of preserving a single and indivisible empire was maintained, in an international context of widespread opposition. FRELIMO’s armed struggle began somewhat hastily, on 26 September 1964, with an armed attack on an administrative post in Xai, in the north of the territory. By the end of 1965, the intensity of the armed struggle in the north had, however, been greatly reduced, and attempts to extend it to other parts of the country (Tete and Zambézia) had failed. At the same time, PIDE successfully managed to dismember the incipient FRELIMO organizations in the south, forcing them to focus their activities on rural areas. The movement continued to suffer from strong internal tensions which hampered the success of the actions undertaken. These internal problems culminated in 1969 with the assassination of Eduardo Mondlane. Initially, the armed struggle was viewed by Lisbon with apparent unconcern. Although the number of military personnel present in the territory had greatly increased, clashes had been rare. However, in the late 1960s, more defensive measures were adopted. In 1966, Lisbon presented the construction plans for the ambitious Cahora Bassa hydroelectric project. Its development required, however, that Portugal unequivocally controlled the territory. General Kaúlza de Arriaga took responsibility for carrying out a military campaign, aimed at eradicating FRELIMO forces permanently from the liberated areas of the north of the country. The operation was initially successful. However, the guerrillas moved quickly across the borders of neighbouring Tanzania and Malawi and infiltrated Mozambican territory again, regaining their previous positions. In 1970 FRELIMO’s leadership was handed over to Samora Machel, who had commanded its armies since 1966, and the vice-presidency to Marcelino dos Santos. Under Machel’s presidency, the movement’s Marxist orientation was now clear, and guerrilla actions intensified. For the first time since the beginning of the conflicts, the colonial community, which had been urged to consider FRELIMO as a group of isolated and disorganized terrorists (MacQueen 1998: 71), active in distant places, became aware of their vulnerability. The reaction to the proximity of the war on the part of the white populations resulted in criticism of the Portuguese armed forces present on the ground, with whom the population had always had a tense relationship. In 1974, FRELIMO was increasingly active in the provinces of Tete, Manica and Sofala, as well as in those areas where they were strongest – Cabo Delgado and Niassa. Limiting the war to the north, which had been relatively successful until the 1970s, was no longer possible. The conflict spread to the south, which was more densely populated by

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Europeans. Although it did not constitute an obstacle to the colonial state as significant as the African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde (PAIGC) in Guinea, FRELIMO’s rise was a significant obstacle (MacQueen 1998: 157).

The 25 April 1974 Revolution and Decolonization News of a coup on 25 April 1974 in Lisbon reached Mozambique that same day and gave rise to a considerable state of tension in political and military structures. Although most junior officers supported the overthrow of the regime, armed resistance to the revolution was feared, especially by PIDE and senior army officers. The replacement of Governor Pimentel dos Santos3 by David Teixeira4 and the support of the military commander, General Bastos Machado, for the new Lisbon regime contributed to a relative state of calm, although the situation continued to be described as unstable in the weeks that followed. A considerable part of the High Command of Mozambique was ambivalent in relation to the events of the metropolis, which caused great apprehension among the population of the colony. According to MacQueen (1998: 158– 59), the existence of a strong and well-organized local Armed Forces Movement (MFA)5 could have succeeded in mobilizing support for the revolution. However, the MFA was weak in Mozambique. FRELIMO’s reaction to the rapid evolution of events was cautious, reflecting well the ambiguities present in the MFA programme about the colonial question (Correia 1994; Oliveira 1996, MacQueen 1998). On 25 April 1974, many sectors of Portuguese society were already very hostile to the government’s colonial policy. The manifesto O Movimento, Forças Armadas e a Nação (The Movement, the Armed Forces and the Nation),6 which preceded the MFA Programme, in line with these positions, refers to the ‘uncontroversial and irreversible reality of the deep aspiration of African peoples to govern themselves’ (Correia 1994). However, this clear demonstration in favour of the independence of the colonies was to be replaced on the eve of the revolution. The statement read to the country on the night of 25 April by the president of the Junta de Salvação Nacional (JSN)7 did not recognize the colonies’ right to self-determination and was ambiguous about the issue of the colonies as a whole. The colonial policy outlined at the time of the revolution did not guarantee the immediate end of conflicts, nor make any concrete proposal to negotiate the independence of the colonies. FRELIMO produced an extensive communiqué in which the movement saluted the

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Things of the House

Portuguese democratic forces that had actively opposed the colonial war, and clearly stated that any solution to the conflict not involving Mozambican independence was unacceptable. To reinforce the ideas expressed in the communiqué, increase the psychological pressure on the colonists and reach the negotiating table in the most advantageous position possible, FRELIMO intensified its guerrilla actions. This escalation was only possible, however, because the Portuguese military presence in the territory was in a state of accelerating disintegration (MacQueen 1998: 160; Costa Pinto 2001: 72). In a context of great uncertainty, FRELIMO consolidated its power. After 25 April, the movement mobilized support in Lourenço Marques, mainly with the patronage of the Democrats of Mozambique, a leftwing group of Europeans which gave them access to and control of the media. Dominion of the media proved to be crucial in extending the movement’s influence in many areas of the territory, as well as to the escalation of the insecurity felt by white settlers, which was increasing day by day. The image of the Portuguese military deteriorated even more among the colonists, who considered it responsible for its disintegration (MacQueen 1998). The incidents and demonstrations continued, creating an atmosphere of instability and insecurity, which also contributed to the appearance of a significant number of political movements willing to dispute FRELIMO’s hegemony. In July 1974, a decisive step was taken towards decolonization, with the publication of Law No. 7/74, which ended General Spínola’s federalist pretensions.8 That same month, the Second Provisional Government, led by Vasco Gonçalves, gave Melo Antunes9 the responsibility for decolonization (Correia 1994). Melo Antunes brought a new dynamism to negotiations for the independence of the colonies. Recognizing that the approval of Law No. 7/74 meant an implicit move forward on the part of Lisbon, FRELIMO proposed another cycle of talks, to take place in Dar-es-Salaam between 30 July and 2 August. Melo Antunes accepted all FRELIMO’s demands, namely: the independence of Mozambique without a referendum; the transfer of power to FRELIMO, after a transitional governance period; and the recognition of FRELIMO as the only legitimate representative of the people of Mozambique. This meeting was surrounded by great secrecy imposed, according to MacQueen (1998: 178, 179), by Spínola himself, to avoid panic in the already tense community of European settlers and their right-wing supporters in the metropolis. The negotiations continued two weeks later in Dar-es-Salaam, this time in the presence of Melo Antunes, Mário Soares10 and Almeida

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Santos.11 The contents of the secret agreement became public. However, several specific issues remained to be defined, including details of the ceasefire, the composition of the transitional government, and issues relating to the long-term arrangement which, due to their specificity, could adversely affect the speed with which a peace treaty might be reached. The latter included several major issues responsible for undermining the relations between the two countries in the post-independence period: the definition of guarantees, property rights and security for Portuguese citizens wishing to stay in Mozambique after independence and the sharing of responsibilities between Portugal and the new state (MacQueen 1998: 179, 180). On 4 September the two delegations met in Lusaka. The treaty was signed three days later. It was agreed that the ceasefire would start that same day at midnight, that the transition period would end on 25 June 1975, and that the transitional government would be made up of a majority of ministers appointed by FRELIMO. It was, in MacQueen’s opinion, a poor agreement that necessarily left many significant topics to be determined during the transition period (ibid.). The signing of the treaty caused a series of events that increased instability in the territory. Between September and October, the massive exodus of the white and part of the South Asian populations began (Costa Pinto 2001). Despite the calls for settlers to stay, in late October approximately 15,000 Europeans had left Mozambique for South Africa, and between 1974 and 1977, 160,000 arrived in Portugal. The exodus of the European and Indo-Portuguese communities from Mozambique will be analysed in detail in the next chapter.

Notes  1. ‘Estatuto Político, Civil e Criminal dos Indígenas de Angola e Moçambique’ and ‘Código de Trabalho dos Indígenas das Colónias Portuguesas em África’, 1928. In Silva (1992: 368).   2. PIDE – The Polícia Internacional de Defesa do Estado (International and State Defence Police) – was the Portuguese political police during the Estado Novo. Between 1945 and 1969, PIDE was responsible for the repression of all forms of opposition to the political regime. In addition to the functions of political police, they were also responsible for foreigners and border control.   3. High Commissioner and Governor General of Mozambique from 1972 to 1974.   4. Acting High Commissioner and Governor General of Mozambique in 1974.   5. The Movimento das Forças Armadas (Armed Forces Movement) (MFA) was the military movement responsible for the Revolution of 25 April 1974, in Portugal, which ended the Estado Novo.   6. Drafted and approved in Cascais on 5 March 1974.

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  7. The Junta de Salvação Nacional (JSN) was a group of military personnel assigned to support the government of the Portuguese state in April 1974, after the coup that overthrew the Estado Novo.  8. General Spínola assumed the Presidency of the Republic after the Revolution, from May to September 1974. His political project aimed at a federative referendum-type solution to the colonial problem and a presidential transition, without any major social and economic alterations.   9. Melo Antunes was the principal author of the political programme of the military movement that overthrew the regime, the Movement of the Armed Forces. Known as the 3 D’s, the programme of the MFA proposed decolonization, democratization and development. After the revolution, Melo Antunes was in the forefront of political power and highly respected. He was a member of the Coordinating Commission of the Movement (MFA), and after the revolutionary period was a member of the Portuguese Council of State. 10. Mário Soares served as prime minister of Portugal from 1976 to 1978 and from 1983 to 1985, and subsequently as the 17th president of Portugal from 1986 to 1996. He was the first secretary-general of the Socialist Party, from its foundation in 1973 to 1986. In the provisional government, which was formed after the revolution, led by the Movement of the Armed Forces (MFA), Soares became minister for overseas negotiations, charged with organizing the independence of Portugal’s overseas colonies. 11. António de Almeida Santos moved to Lourenço Marques in 1952, where he was a lawyer from 1953 to 1974 and a Member of the Group of Democrats of Mozambique. He played an important role as, an independent, in the negotiations for the independence of the colonies. Later, he joined the Portuguese Socialist Party.

Chapter 3

Migrating to Africa New Contexts, New Peoples, Old Social Issues

This chapter addresses the migratory flows of Portuguese and Catholic Goans to colonial Mozambique. It starts with a summary description of the different phases and historical circumstances in which migratory flows from Portugal and Goa to the territory took place and describes the main outlines of Mozambican colonial society. The second part of the chapter is more extensive and deals with the integration of the two groups of migrants into the colony’s communal life. This part will start with a brief sociographic description of the families covered by this research, followed by an intensive description of their arrival in the territory, their understanding of Mozambican colonial society and their positioning strategies and networks of belonging.

From Portugal and Goa to Mozambique The Portuguese Migrations The number of Europeans living in the Portuguese Empire at the beginning of the nineteenth century was less than 10,000 (Oliveira Marques 1986). The situation did not change significantly until the middle of that century. From then on and until 1910, there was a gradual increase in the number of Europeans living in all Portuguese colonial territories. During this period, the ‘white population’ of Angola and Mozambique grew by ‘a factor of … eight or nine’ (ibid.: 158) but remained very low in absolute terms. This population, originally from Europe, was mainly concentrated in the colonies’ cities.

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Despite Brazil being the most sought-after destination in this period of considerable migration in Portuguese history, the European population residing in Mozambique twenty years after the proclamation of the republic1 had grown substantially, and in 1945 the number of inhabitants of European origin residing in Mozambique was 31,000 (Oliveira Marques 1986: 556). This trend accelerated in the mid-century: there were 50,000 European inhabitants in 1950, 100,000 in 1960, and 200,000 by the end of that decade. Urban development in Mozambique accompanied the population growth. As in the first stage of colonization, the great majority of the Europeans tended to settle in cities throughout the territory in general, and in Lourenço Marques in particular, where more than half of the white population resided. The increase in migratory flows to the colonies during the 1950s and 1960s coincided with a profound reorientation of the Portuguese colonial system. According to Pena Pires (2003), emigration to the colonies increased in this period due to the demand for labour as a result of this strategic reorientation. As previously noted, after the beginning of the colonial war, the Estado Novo sought to develop measures aimed at greater control and integration of the African populations. These policies included the progressive abolition of the indigenous status of native people (1961) and the expansion of the education system. Industrialization was Estado Novo’s main strategy for promoting and accelerating the colonies’ economic development. Hence, in addition to increasing migratory flows, this political change affected the social structure, in that it brought new European migrants to Mozambique who had higher qualifications than the average of the population of the metropolis. This summary draws attention to three main aspects of Portuguese migration flows to Mozambique. First, it should be noted that until the middle of the twentieth century, relatively few individuals migrated to the colony. Secondly, the majority of the population from the European continent tended, during the different phases of the countries’ colonial history, to settle mainly in urban centres, which points to their being unevenly distributed throughout the territory. Finally, there seemed to be a difference, in terms of qualifications, between the most recent migrants to the overseas province and other Portuguese who migrated in the same period to central European countries (Pires 2003).

The Goan Migrations According to Gracias (2000), the Goan migration history went through three different phases. The first, which took place in the sixteenth and

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seventeenth centuries, resulted directly from Portuguese colonization policy and the introduction of Christianity and was mainly directed to neighbouring territories. According to the author, these flows mostly involved Hindus who sought to escape both the religious intolerance of the Portuguese and the heavy taxes imposed by the colonial administration. Migration to Portugal, Brazil and Mozambique was also beginning to develop in this phase, albeit discretely. These movements, unlike the main migration flow, consisted predominantly of Goans converted to Christianity who, due to their links to the Portuguese colonial project and their higher social status, were considerably different from the other Goan migrants. The migration of Catholic Goans was mainly of middle and upper-class individuals (Thomaz 1998) who were able to blend into Portuguese imperial society. It is this specificity that leads the author to describe their migratory flows as a ‘quality emigration’ (ibid.: 269), made up of individuals belonging to the ‘cultured Catholic elite’ (ibid.) who strategically sought to associate their condition of landowners in Goa with an academic training that granted them access to the imperial civil service and the liberal professions. Although this phenomenon is attributed to several different causes, the main consensual reason for the exodus of the Catholic Goans was the economic stagnation of the territory, which left the group underemployed and economically more fragile. These migrations intensified during the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century. This second phase had two main destinations – British India (mainly to the cities of Bombay, Karachi, Calcutta and Pune) and the African continent, with special emphasis on Mozambique (Gracias 2000). The colonial authorities in Goa actively encouraged these migratory movements to Africa, given the economic difficulties the territory was experiencing at the time. A fund, managed by the Santa Casa da Misericórdia,2 was set up to provide financial support to families wishing to emigrate to any of the Portuguese African colonies. And, as in the previous migration phase, the majority of individuals who moved to Africa were Catholics. This second migratory flow coincides with the beginning of the effective Portuguese occupation of their territories in Africa. The lack of obstacles to the Goan movements by the Portuguese administration in Goa matched the needs felt by the African colonies to expand their administrative organization. Once again, the group’s academic skills and religious and cultural identity worked in its favour, allowing it to successfully integrate into the colonial administrative and business structure, especially in Mozambique, where the population continued

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to grow steadily until the Second World War (Malheiros 2000). This fact is also confirmed by Bastos (2002). According to the author’s research on the Medical-Surgical School of Nova Goa, many documents persistently underline the central role played by Goan doctors in ‘campaigns to civilize the African territories’ (ibid.: 62). The topic of the specific qualifications of the Goan migrants will be taken up in a later chapter. Except for Bastos’ contribution, which refers exclusively to medical doctors trained in Goa, there is not much information available. Malheiros (2000) also mentions the Goans’ professional and occupational profiles, albeit succinctly, stating that their high qualifications promoted proximity to colonial power and its institutions, even if in the exercise of subordinate functions. The third phase of Goan migration (Gracias 2000) begins in the 1960s, already in the Goan post-colonial period. Although their main causes continued to be socio-economic, the destinations most favoured by migrants (the Persian Gulf, Europe, North America, New Zealand and Australia) did not include the Portuguese colonies, where the wars for independence were already ongoing. This brief description of Goan migratory flows already defines some of the characteristics of the Mozambique Goan community. First, it is worth highlighting the fact that the movements to Africa, and above all to Mozambique, seemed to occur systematically during most of the colonial period and were openly encouraged by the Portuguese authorities throughout the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century. Secondly, and with regard to Catholic Goans alone, it is also worth noting that these flows involved individuals with significant proximity to European cultures (Portuguese and British) and who had higher academic and professional qualifications than most of the population. Thirdly, it should be noted that their academic and professional profiles worked in their favour, allowing them to blend into the colonial administrative structure quickly and successfully.

Mozambican Colonial Society The Portuguese probably owe their reputation for being excellent colonizers to their rare ability to adapt. They find it easy to acclimatize to the most inhospitable skies and quickly understand the mentality, life, customs and activities of foreign peoples. When a Portuguese embarks on an adventurous exploration or settles in commerce, he does not organize his life apart. He participates in life, mixes with it and as he

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finds it … without however abandoning his knowledge, habits, and practices. His work is certainly not that of the man who passes, looks, and goes on his way, nor that of the explorer who feverishly seeks easy riches and then folds his tent to get away. (Garnier 1952: 146–47)3

This quote is an excellent illustration of the supposed originality of Portuguese colonization (Léonard 1999b). Its formulation characterizes a dominant discourse during the Estado Novo whereby the state sought to affirm the singularity of the Portuguese colonial project, through an argument based on the innate capacities of the Portuguese to integrate into the colonies’ local life and live peacefully with the indigenous people. The ideological strength of this construction is well documented in a substantial set of works that, regardless of their disciplinary focus, reassert it as one of the central axes of Portuguese colonial discourse in this specific historical period. The first relevant aspect is the fact that the character of the Other in Mozambique is plural, diverse and complex. That is to say, although most contributions to the Mozambican colonial experience tend to focus on the analysis of the relationships between colonizer (Portuguese) and colonized (African), a considerable number of social groups of different origins were also present in the colony. Thus, in addition to the Catholic Goans who are the object of this ethnographic study, there were also groups originating in other regions of the Indian subcontinent and from different religious backgrounds (Hindus, Ismailis and Muslims) and China, as well as many from different European backgrounds (Great Britain, Greece, Germany and Italy). Since the latter were considered part of the dominant colonizer group, the analysis will focus mainly on dominant representations of the populations from the Indian subcontinent, with special attention to the ones originating from Goa, and China. It will also examine in greater depth some of the topics already outlined in connection with the African population.

The Indigenous Population The relationship between the Portuguese and the African populations was marked by two determining factors: the late abolition of slavery (1876) and forced labour, and limited metropolitan resources, which conditioned the social care policies targeted at these populations (MacQueen 1998). Although these specificities apply to all the territories, the Portuguese colonial project was anything but homogeneous, especially as far as the African populations were concerned (Henriques 1999).

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Relations between colonizers and colonized in Mozambique, despite their specificities, were based on an aspect common to all Portuguese colonial territories, a set of cultural and racial ideologies that imposed and justified the hierarchy of men by labelling them, assigning them and denying them functions, places and statuses. Henriques (1999) identifies four ideological layers in the Portuguese African colonial policy. The first is a discourse promoting the historical legitimacy of the Portuguese presence in Africa. This layer is grounded in the famous affirmation of ‘five centuries of history’, which was intensively taken up in Estado Novo discourse. The second ideological layer is supported by the first and is based on the affirmation of a transcontinental continuity linking all Portuguese territories, underpinning two of the most well-known statements of colonial propaganda: ‘from the Minho to Timor’ and ‘Portugal is not a small country’. The third layer is a logical emanation from the first two and establishes the dichotomy of the ‘civilized’ versus the ‘savage’. These comprehensive distinctions provide the principle (the fourth layer) on which the colonial policy of the Estado Novo was based: confirmation of the civilizing task of the Portuguese. The comprehensive nature of this civilizational task extended to almost all aspects of African life, from work to religion and language and the alteration of most daily routines, according to a methodology that translates a specific adaptation for the Africans (Paulo 1999). The excerpt of a speech given at the inaugural session of the 1st Conference of Colonial Governors, in 1933, summarizes the principles of Portuguese legitimacy and historical vocation for the task that is proposed to be undertaken in Africa: We must elevate the life of the Negro to planes of successively higher moral and material needs. … In schools or missions, on agricultural or livestock farms, in contact with our technicians and demonstrators, the black (person) has learned superior ways of working and unknown needs; he understands that rich and unsuspected landscapes exist beyond the narrow horizons of his existence. … But a large part of black societies … remains immobile along the lines of their old organization. … His extreme nakedness is the mirror of his moral nakedness. Is the European still in time to save these societies from death, which seems to be just waiting for them? I believe that selection will work its effects and that, in a few tens of years, the black races which are unable to climb the rough paths of civilization will have disappeared from the face of the earth. (Armindo Monteiro 1933: 106–107)4

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The formulations to designate the other of African origin oscillate between the stigmatization of difference and indifferentiation, the latter being especially striking. From the end of the nineteenth century, the formal use of the term indígena (indigenous) became commonplace. Its genesis includes, in addition to the impossibility of collective intervention and the management of their personal and family trajectories and projects, an absence of self-identity (Henriques 1999). This ideological framework, legally formalized in 1930,5 had an enormous influence on the life experiences of both colonizers and colonized, decisively shaping relationships between them. In addition to the loss of land ownership, the indigenous peoples were subjected to firm professional, spatial and statutory hierarchies. The city centres were predominantly white spaces (Henriques 1999). Africans were sent to the peripheries. The policy of spatial separation also extended to the countryside, through the creation of settlements where colonists, directly recruited in Portugal, ensured the necessary agricultural production for the colonies, without recourse to African labour (ibid.). This strategy of differentiation was complemented, at the beginning of the twentieth century, by a professional and salary hierarchy which tended to discourage the inclusion of Africans in formal education. School attendance, even at the level of basic education, was regarded as a fundamental element for obtaining assimilated status, but paradoxically it was formally and informally restricted by those who advocated it as the basis for the ‘westernization’ of the Africans.

The Asians The existence of migratory flows from the Asian continent to Mozambique is deeply embedded in the colony’s history. By subordinating Mozambique administratively and commercially to India, Portugal established the conditions for Indian traders to occupy a privileged position in Indian Ocean shipping (Malheiros 1996). The first migrants left India to trade, setting up small coastal establishments in Mozambique. Initially, and for Hindus in particular, their presence was temporary, and they returned to India frequently. In addition to the traders, there are records of the presence of another migrant group of Hindu masons from Diu (ibid.: 127), used as a specialized workforce in the construction of fortresses from the sixteenth century onwards. After these early contacts, growth in numbers and permanent settlement of Indian migrants took place later, in particular from the last quarter of the nineteenth century onwards. The development of the colonial economy provided new business opportunities for both

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Muslims and Hindus, who gradually settled on a regular and permanent basis throughout the territory. Muslim and Ismaili traders went mainly to the north, while the Hindu population favoured the south of the country, especially the city of Lourenço Marques. The presence of these different groups of migrants in Mozambique was, from the beginning, interpreted in an undifferentiated way (Zamparoni 2000). Despite their cultural specificities, all migrants from the Asian continent were known interchangeably as monhés,6 in terms of current discourse, and as Asians,7 in terms of official discourse. There is less information available on migrants from China. The majority resided in Lourenço Marques and in Beira, where they were mainly engaged in trade and crafts (Zamparoni 2000). Alongside the indigenous population, they were the main suppliers of vegetables to both cities, although this was a minority activity in overall terms. Like the different groups of Indian migrants, the Chinese also belonged to the official category of Asians, although informally they were usually referred to as Chinese. As can be seen from the terminology in official use, the Asian populations were, like the indigenous people, formally subject to a clear mechanism of social discrimination, with implications for many aspects of their daily lives. The Indian population started to concentrate in the Baixa,8 next to the old city mosque. Although this urban area was mainly devoted to business, the Indians resisted separating work and home. At the beginning of the twentieth century, several epidemics devastated that region of the city. The Asian and indigenous communities were blamed for the spread of diseases and, therefore, targeted by a public health campaign that led to the destruction of many houses and business establishments and their displacement to peripheral areas. The existence of formal policies and practices of discrimination was also felt in terms of wages, where Asians in general and Indians, in particular, were in an unfavourable position vis-à-vis European workers, but this was also true of their exclusion from professional associations and organizations. Despite their strong presence in the trade sector, Asians were not admitted to membership of the Commercial Association of Shopkeepers and the Chamber of Commerce. These restrictions imposed by the Europeans resulted in the creation of a large number of Asian institutions. Thus, in the early twentieth century, in addition to the immigrants’ places of worship, several professional and/or recreational associations emerged. The Indian Chamber of Commerce, for Hindus only, was created in 1922, and the New

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Hindu Association of Lourenço Marques in 1925. The Muslim Indian institutions were even older and were organized around the mosque, which was built in 1887. The mosque, in addition to being a place of worship, also functioned as a school and temporary shelter for the most disadvantaged Muslims. For Chinese immigrants, the Chinese Pagoda, created in 1903, was one of the most active associations in the city. The Pagoda was mainly intended to promote meetings of the Chinese, help those most in need and educate the new generations. Near the Pagoda, a temple dedicated to Buddha was built in the same year and later (1938) a Chinese school. The first Chinese professional association – the Chinese Workers’ Charitable Association – was set up in 1911. This association, together with the previously established Chinese Nationalist Association (1908), was one of the most important of this group’s non-religious associations.

The Catholic Goans The Goan presence in Mozambique is poorly documented. While a great deal of work has been done on Goan colonial society and on the migrations which took Goans to many parts of the world, their presence in colonial Mozambique is unresearched. Significantly, this invisibility is paralleled in Europeans’ discourse on their life in colonial Mozambique. Existing representations of the Goans are scarce, in many cases imprecise, and tend to be limited to their socio-professional positions at the time. Despite this situation, there are references to the effect that the Brahmin and Chardó Goan elites who had converted to Catholicism occupied a position in the colonial social structure that differentiated and distanced them from the other non-European groups, although this did not prevent them from being seen as other by the dominant group. There are also allusions to the fact that this specific position was understood by the other groups as being rooted in a privileged relationship with the colonizer, resulting from the cultural proximity between them. The Goan presence in Mozambique was strongly influenced by the Portuguese colonial presence in the former Asian territory. Hence, for the current discussion, it is especially important to focus on the ‘processes of proximity’ (Sardo 2004: 93), not only in Africa but also in Goa between the two groups. The Portuguese colonial project in Goa operated in, and was strongly influenced by, a specific framework, based on the one hand on a political, administrative and military organization directly dependent on a smaller number of Portuguese in

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the territory and, on the other, on a ‘fixed, majority, deeply organized population, with consolidated power relations, on which the social and cultural balance of the Catholic and Hindu population of Goa depends’ (ibid.: 92). The Portuguese found a way of overcoming their numeric inferiority by seeking support from the local elite who, in turn, also sought to maintain their privileged position. This alliance laid the foundation for the emergence of a relationship between colonizer and colonized which, although dictated by the former, was controlled by both parties. The strategy for implementing Portuguese culture in Goa began in the sixteenth century, with the training of local priests and, at the same time, with the ban on the use of Konkani, which was replaced by Portuguese in all parishes and Christian schools (Sardo 2004: 93–94). At the same time, an educational system organized along the lines of the Portuguese one was implemented. As an alternative to seminaries, this provided local boys, and later girls, with training in Portuguese at different levels of schooling. After secondary education, students could continue their training in Goa, in the fields of medicine and law, in Portugal (a scholarship system for male students was instituted by the Portuguese government for this purpose), or in British India (ibid.: 95). The main beneficiaries of this strategy were converted Brahmins and Chardós. It produced local professionals, with adequate training, for local government offices and socially privileged professions such as medicine, law and teaching. At the same time, it also encouraged the emergence of a local intelligentsia (Sardo 2004), which would later became prominent in political and cultural circles. Proximity to Portuguese culture was also visible in the arts (Thomaz 1998), especially in literature and music, as well as architecture, food and foodways, and clothing. In the mid-nineteenth century, the combination of a series of historical factors favoured the consolidation of the privileges of the local elites who dominated public life, apart from key posts such as governor or patriarch of the Catholic Church, which were always reserved for Europeans (Thomaz 1998: 266–67). This context produced Nativism, a movement in search of Goan origins (ibid.: 268), guided by approximation to India without, however, abandoning the Western cultural traits adopted in the meantime. This movement found support precisely among those closest to the colonial power and took the form of a claim for an original Goan identity, different from the Portuguese but equally distant from the Indian cultures (Sardo 2004). Defining and structuring an autonomous Goan identity proved to be a particularly

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difficult, complex and conflicting task, because the Goan elite had imitated the Portuguese too much to be able to distance themselves from them (ibid.). The singularity of Goan colonial society had an effect on the integration of Catholic Goans in Mozambique. As in their territory of origin, and despite a dominant representation that in Mozambique the Goans belonged, for the most part, to the converted elite, there is some evidence that theirs was a more diversified community. The best-documented evidence of this group’s social diversity is the transposition of the caste system to Mozambique. This was evidenced not only in matrimonial and sociability strategies but also in the multiple mechanisms and associations created to defend Goan migrant interests. This was why the community created three major associations in Lourenço Marques, reproducing existing social divisions within the group. The first, and most prominent, was the Instituto Goano (1905) which, according to the families who took part in the ethnography, was exclusively intended for individuals of the Brahmin and Chardó castes. The Indian Workers’ Mutual Aid Association was created by Goan artisans and other manual workers in 1925. The Indo-Portuguese Sports Club, which began as a branch of the Instituto Goano but later became an independent association, was created around the same time. A comprehensive study of how all the Goan subgroups were incorporated into Mozambican colonial society transcends the objectives of this research. It is important, however, to describe the main outlines of the context of which the families under analysis were part and in which they lived their daily lives. There are two original aspects to the social space occupied by the Goans in comparison with the other groups described here. First, and as mentioned above, from the point of view of the colonial administration, their academic and/or professional qualifications were an important asset to Mozambican society and materialized in their rapid and successful integration into social and professional life. Secondly, and because of the specificities of the Portuguese colonial project in Goa described above, their proximity to Portuguese culture allowed them to establish a relationship with the colonial elite that was different from that of all other non-European groups. Mastery of many of the Portuguese cultural attributes, fluency in the language, conversion to Catholicism, adoption of westernized practices in their lifestyles, and Portuguese surnames, were all fundamental elements that, combined with the group’s professional skills, worked decisively in their favour. Different interlocutors have opposite views of how this original position was acknowledged. Most discourses (e.g. Thomaz 1998;

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Malheiros 1996, 2000; Sardo 2004) maintain that the Catholic Goans integrated fully and successfully as a result of their qualifications and skills. This view is shared by Catholic Goans themselves, as will become apparent in the analysis of the interviewees’ discourses. These discourses take on a different tone when other voices are brought into the discussion. According to Zamparoni (2000: 218–21), the struggle for social space in Mozambique was marked by multiple affirmation strategies that went far beyond the simple opposition between colonizer and colonized. The author describes the colonial context as slippery in which ‘cronyism and interpersonal relationships, in addition to racial solidarity, were integral parts and complicating elements in the establishment of social relations’ (ibid.: 218). Conflicts between Africans and Asians, but above all between the small educated African minority and Goans, especially over the privileged position that the latter held in accessing colonial administrative positions, were vividly represented in the press. The African argument was rooted in two ideas, clearly illustrated in the colonial newspaper O Brado Africano. The first drew attention to the fact that the Goans, despite being foreigners (i.e. non-Africans), enjoyed a privileged position in accessing public jobs in the colony that could perfectly well be performed, in their words, by natives; the second was based on the comparison of Goan and African Portugueseness. Together, these ideas led to the conclusion that ‘Africa should be for Africans and the races that influence their civilization, and India for Indians with their typical civilization’ (O Brado Africano, 5 November 1921, in Zamparoni 2000: 220). Context and social conflict apart, the public discourse of the literate African population challenged the cultural proximity between the Portuguese and the Goans. Paradoxically, it was this attribute, and not training and competence, that the group used to question the principles underlying the seemingly preferential position that Goans had in colonial power structures. More than questioning competencies, what this public position seemed to seek was to deconstruct, in their words, the characterization of the Goan as averse to Portugal and their typical civilization, as somehow culturally close to the colonizer. The singularities of the Goan Catholic migrants’ position in Mozambique are equally manifest in other aspects of social life. According to the families, Goan Catholic elites were not subjected to a spatial separation policy. This aspect will be further discussed in greater depth in the next chapter, but it is worth mentioning here that the families who took part in the research claim to have resided in the same areas of the city as the families of European origin. This spatial proximity is also mentioned in connection with schooling and some

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public recreation spaces. The reverse happens, however, concerning social networks. The previously mentioned Goan clubs were not only a reflection of the caste system transposed to Mozambique. They also derived from the need to promote the interests of a group of migrants who, albeit being close, did not fully fit in and share the same social space as the European colonizers. This chapter sets out some important aspects of Mozambican colonial society that contradict the supposed originality of the Portuguese colonial project. First, Mozambican colonial society rested on strong mechanisms of social regulation, demarcation and hierarchization. These mechanisms reflected clear norms of differentiation, and their respective principles of legitimation, which sustained the formal and informal distancing logics for the different groups coexisting in the territory. Secondly, Mozambique was a context of coexistence of diverse groups with different origins and positioning strategies, most of them confronting social exclusion in differing degrees. The assertion of this diversity should not, however, be understood as an attempt to relativize the relationships established between the African populations and the dominant colonizing group. The analysis of the processes for the collective definition of Us, and principles of belonging and exclusion that organize and delimit it, tend to emphasize the existence of a dominant, omnipresent and singular Other (Brah 1998). In Mozambique, as in other colonial contexts, the figure of this dominant Other is represented by the African who, in this specific context, takes on an indistinct and markedly negative meaning (ibid.: 190–91). Without contesting the existence of this relational model that opposes the colonized African to the colonialist European, this brief depiction of Mozambican society has sought to identify a plurality of other Others. These groups, although falling outside the official category of indigenous, established among themselves, with the European and with the African populations, a complex network of differentiated relationships in which their positions in the social structure were played out.

Settling in: Routines, Belonging and Positioning Strategies We will now examine the families’ narratives about their arrivals in Mozambique, settlement, belonging and positioning strategies, as well as the underlying logic of those movements and strategies. The discussion starts with a brief description of their sociographic profiles and of

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how they were selected. Since the populations of colonial Mozambique originating from Portugal and Goa were quite heterogeneous, the origin criterion was complemented with more specific conditions that highlighted not only the lived experience in Mozambique as a decisive stage of these families’ present-day identities, but also the fact that both their past colonial and present-day lives diverge from those of most other families which migrated to the colonies and were later repatriated, both in terms of length and intensity. The ten families which took part in the ethnographic study – five of European (mostly Portuguese) origin and five of Goan origin – were chosen according to the following pre-established criteria: a) their migration to Mozambique originated in Europe and Goa, and so was not preceded by previous migrations to other African territories/colonies; b) all these families lived in Mozambique for a prolonged intergenerational period, rendering it central to their biographies; c) and they left Mozambique after it became independent; d) they have relatively homogenous sociographic profiles (age, place of residence, educational and professional qualifications and professional positions held) and occupy similar positions in the social structure both in colonial Mozambique and in Portugal; e) a Christian religious matrix prevails, regardless of effective religious practice. Early contacts followed this pre-established framework. The scope of action was restricted to the Greater Lisbon area (city and surroundings), which is where all the families currently reside. In the initial stage of the research, seventeen families were contacted, from which ten were selected, using the ‘snowball’ method (Burgess 1997; Finnegan 1997). Time and willingness to participate in the research were key conditions for participating in the ethnography, which involved a considerable amount of fieldwork in the families’ homes. Although there had been an effort to involve all family members in the research, it became clear soon after the early contacts that one or two persons would be the main interlocutors for each unit. However, this does not necessarily imply that the narratives collected concern individual rather than collective life experiences. On the contrary, the ethnographic materials are rather diverse and mostly relate to family experiences, although often punctuated by divergent notes and conflicting viewpoints, like most biographical narratives often also do too.

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Interestingly, the existence of opposing views only became evident to the subjects themselves as the research progressed, which reinforces the need to question the apparent uniformity of some family positions and justifies the assertion that all combined stories are necessarily partial constructions, where some voices are louder while others are silenced or reduced to murmurs. The sociographic portrayals of these families reveal significant uniformities among them. The vast majority of the interviewees were, at the time (May 2002), in their sixties and older, which was expected since they were all adults when they left Mozambique after the revolution. This fact also places the vast majority in a situation of retirement, except for two of them, who were still active workers. Also, most individuals were born in Mozambique: the few of them who were not, arrived in the colony very young. This fact is quite significant since it contrasts with one of the fundamental characteristics of the repatriated population, which was mostly made up of first-generation migrants. In fact, for most families, their migratory trajectories began over two generations ago. This aspect is particularly visible in the families of Goan origin, as all of them lived in Mozambique for at least three generations. The academic qualifications of the families are also quite cohesive. Most of the subjects have a higher education degree, and the rest completed secondary education. Although the repatriated population was relatively over-qualified when they arrived, when compared to the resident population in the post-revolutionary period, the degrees held by these family members stand out even in that universe. It is also worth noting the existence of a considerable gender balance concerning academic degrees within the families. That is, both men and women present similar levels of formal education, which can be understood as a clear indicator of the value attached to formal education, regardless of gender. Most informants held/hold jobs in the tertiary sector, in a wide range of professional fields such as engineering, architecture, management, medicine and basic, secondary, and higher education. The combination of professional and academic backgrounds places all families in the Portuguese middle class, more precisely in the subcategories that are characterized by high levels of cultural capital. Finally, it is worth mentioning a relative uniformity of places of residence. Although fieldwork was limited from the beginning to the Lisbon Metropolitan Area,9 it should be noted that most of the families reside in the municipalities of Oeiras and Cascais. This topic will be looked at in more detail during the discussion of the families’ repatriation.

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The Portuguese None of the informants belonging to the Portuguese families was directly involved in the decision to migrate to Africa. However, even if the decision to leave Europe had been taken by their grandparents and great-grandparents, all were able to give precise details of how their families arrived in the former colonial territory, which illustrates the importance of this episode for their collective identities. My mother’s family was one of the first families to arrive in Mozambique. The story of their journey is hilarious. My grandfather was the black sheep of the family because he decided to join the republican cause. So, his parents sent him to Mozambique in his twenties. He arrived in Lourenço Marques in 1892 and never returned to Portugal. … He was already dating my grandmother when he left Portugal …; they got married by proxy, which was quite common at the time, and had fifteen children. My grandmother used to say: ‘When I arrived here, there were only six ladies in town. Six ladies and the women from Rua Araújo’, which was a street that had some seedy cabarets. You see, they were pioneers. (My) great-grandfather was an engineer and was invited to build the Suez Canal. When the whole thing ended, they (the family) decided to go down the coast of Africa on a journey. He arrives in Lourenço Marques and dies within forty-eight hours, of malaria. … My great-grandmother was very disoriented. The locals were very kind …, the boat left, and she stayed (with her children) in Lourenço Marques … My grandmother was born in Lourenço Marques, my mother was born in Lourenço Marques and so was I, and my daughters. My father … went to Africa in 1919, he was eighteen years old. My mother was born in Mozambique. My grandfather (mother’s father) went to Africa in the 1800s, at the age of three. My great-grandparents were the founders of the first primary school in Lourenço Marques. They were people linked to Freemasonry. My grandfather went to Africa with his parents, at the age of two or three; but his sisters, were the first white people born in Mozambique, in 1900, 1901.

These testimonies draw attention to how the families build their collective identities around the ‘arrival in Mozambique’. First, there is always an implicit or explicit reference to the fact that the family belongs to the first contingent of settlers, who arrived in the colony in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In addition to confirming this aspect, the narratives seem to suggest a positive

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representation of this particularity. References to the ‘ancestry’ of the families are emphasized, either as a specific trait of family history and identity or as a differentiating element concerning, in their words, the ‘more recent migrants’. People arrived in small numbers …. When migration intensified (in the 60s) the old guard didn’t accept them well. They were people who didn’t live by our standards. So they had a social life apart. Before the sixties, people arrived, and they introduced themselves to society. But if the old guard didn’t like them, they were kept at a distance. All families knew each other in one way or another. That’s why they were so united. We were very united. … After the sixties, when all the new families arrived, most of the fun was lost.

Mozambican colonial history partially corroborates the families’ statements regarding the relatively small contingent of Portuguese people in the colony, until the 1960s. The main reasons families give for this are the need for a ‘call letter’ for all those who were not civil servants, the great distance separating the colony and metropolitan Portugal, and the high cost of the voyage by sea. These reasons may be correct, but they are also exaggerated and used to underline the second aspect of their distinctive identity as a social class: ‘The people who went to De Lagoa Bay10 at that time were either foreigners or very good people from here (Portugal) because the ticket cost twice as much (as the ticket to Angola). So, the people arriving in Mozambique were hardly the ‘failed nobodies’ that were heading to Angola’. Although dominant, this social class representation of the Mozambican white population is not consensual. One of the interviewees, who felt that the description of how migrants were chosen in this phase was accurate in part (namely when compared with migratory flows to Angola), describes it also as a restrictive representation of reality. According to his testimony, the white population was more heterogeneous as far as class was concerned. It seems that all emigration was elitist, which is not true. The more highly qualified emigrants went out in the 1960s, with the growth of the tertiary sector. There were white people living in the suburbs: mechanics, bus drivers, etc. Some managed to improve their situation in life and left the colony with all their wealth. Others left with little or nothing, but little was what they had there. They had their little house, their life organized, but don’t tell me that all the Portuguese went to the Polana11 and lived in Sommerschield.12

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The reasons for these contrasting views will be taken up below. Invoking them at this point is important, however, in that they are related to a second relevant aspect of family settlement in the colony, which is the fact that it seemed to have resulted from a set of perfectly circumstantial constraints. In fact, most narratives tend to downplay the economic aspects of migration to the colony. The pursuit of upward social mobility strategies takes second place to arguments that tend to value personal, biographical aspects or the coexistence of a set of non-controllable events as the main driving factors for settling in Mozambique. Why specifically did they decide to go to Mozambique? Because at the time my father’s uncle was the attorney-general of the republic and found him a job in the civil service. My father belongs to one of the oldest Portuguese families in the colony. They had been in Cape Verde since the seventeenth century. He went to Mozambique because he fought with his father. My grandfather was a naval officer. When he was shipwrecked (off the coast of Mozambique), he went to Lourenço Marques, took a job, and married my grandmother. It wasn’t planned at all. My grandfather was sent to Africa by his father as punishment. He was a rebel. He ended up falling under the spell of African magic. He never went back to Portugal. He loved it.

The downplaying of economic factors as the driving principle behind migration in no way diminishes their importance to the families in terms of their integration into the colonial society. While the reasons for migrating are described in general terms and linked to arguments which emphasize the casuistic or adventurous character of the first generations, strategies for integrating into the colony’s economic and social systems are described in detail. Thus, in addition to a positive appreciation of work as an activity, and personal commitment and seriousness as attitudes, it is also worth mentioning that these families’ discourse is particularly critical of a dominant representation in present-day Portuguese society whereby life in the former colonies consisted of ‘going to the beach and eating shrimp’. Families’ narratives thus stress how their heritage is the result of their hard work and academic and professional skills and training, without ever mentioning the fact that the colonial economy itself was deeply rooted in almost free and largely abundant African labour.

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The range of work undertaken by the first migrant generations was quite varied. They were integrated into both the public and private sectors of the economy. In the latter, most joined large Mozambican corporations with majority of British capital or formed their own companies. In both cases, the first generation’s investment reflects a strategic commitment to settle in the colony for good. The success of their integration strategies decisively marked the trajectories of future generations. Objective and subjective social positioning (Bourdieu 1979) are important variables for the analysis of material appropriation and the structuring of consumption practices. The argumentation, developed through the concepts of ‘cultural capital’ and ‘taste’, draws attention to the fact that, in a context of statutory competition, individuals expressly use consumption to define strategies of distinction and social identity. Regarding cultural capital, the most relevant fact is the relatively high level of academic qualifications of all generations, but especially of those who first migrated to Mozambique. This specificity was, as mentioned previously, at the heart of the arguments presented to justify the selective nature of emigration to the colony. In this generation, the male members of the families had the highest qualifications, even if most narratives indicate an investment in the formal education of women, especially in terms of complementary training (music, foreign languages). Since the vast majority of first- and second-generation women did not work outside the home, there is no accurate information on their academic or professional training. Hence the relatively high formal cultural capital of the families, especially in the case of men, is part of a strategy of continuity vis-à-vis previous generations. As far as women are concerned, the present-day situation seems to be the reverse of the previous situation. While it seems that there was always a formal concern with their education, in most cases, this investment seems to be directed at the labour market in the last generation born in the former colony. Information on the families’ economic as opposed to cultural capital is sparse and fragmented. The seriousness with which the subject is approached contrasts with the mainstream representation that Portuguese returnees love talking about their lost colonial heritage. Perhaps for this very reason, because there is awareness of this fact, the references made to this subject are cautious, contextually embodied in narratives on other topics, and guided by description. My grandfather was a very intelligent man and a great administrator. He saw that he was in a country with great potential, a very rich

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country, to be exploited. His first investments were based on local agricultural production – rice and oil. Then he invested in the industry: shipping companies and construction companies, and he had an international consortium of various agencies. He had pharmacies, furniture factories, and oil and flour processing plants. He was not a man who earned and saved. He was always expanding his capital. The two major employers in Mozambique were the railways and my grandfather. … He left an empire. I speak of this, not to say I had this or that because I’m not boastful, thank God. I never say a word about it.

Outbursts in connection with the lost heritage are very rare. Even rarer are comments on the ‘injustices’ resulting from a ‘poorly managed’ decolonization process. It is also important to note that, although it has been said that the economic integration of all households was positive and uncomplicated, their financial situation in terms of wealth and assets was hardly evenly balanced. Most families suggested that they were comfortably off when they left, but their situation could not be described as being as exceptional as the one reported above. Their narratives stressed the fact that their parents and grandparents managed to provide a ‘decent’ standard of living for the following generations. Some of the businesses created by the older generations were classified as ‘successful’ and ‘economically profitable’. The same positive discourse can be found regarding career progression in the public and private sectors. According to the families, their ancestors had prominent and even top positions in the colonial government and private company administrations. Hence, and except for the aforementioned case, the data collected on economic capital places the group in the colonial upper middle class. How the economic and cultural capital of families is evaluated and discursively used in terms of self-characterization is reflected in the ways the families position themselves in the colonial social structure: ‘The standard of living, in general, was that of an excellent middle-class lifestyle. … There was a huge middle class, with a great life. Everyone had a good standard of living. Some had a lower standard of living, but even these were living quite well’. The most prominent discourse strategy resembles the one used to address their economic capital. Once again, informants downplayed their position in the colonial social hierarchy, despite all the arguments invoked regarding their high levels of cultural capital. It is interesting to note that only once was there a straightforward reference to belonging to the colonial elites. Significantly, most references tend to avoid the subject of social stratification by describing a homogenously

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affluent middle class, thus encouraging undifferentiated access to the colony’s restricted resources which, as will be discussed below, did not match Mozambican economic reality.

The Goans The Goan families arrived in Mozambique approximately at the same time as the Portuguese families, which means that there were at least three generations of them in the colony. My father was born in Goa and emigrated to Mozambique (around 1900, at the age of twenty). My mother’s parents were born in Goa and emigrated to Mozambique. She is from a generation earlier than my father because my mother was born there. The year my family went to Mozambique, I can’t be precise. My father was very young. He would be nineteen. … He married my mother before he met her. She was in Goa and my father was in Mozambique …. My father didn’t go to Goa. She came to Mozambique. … We are … a large family. We (the brothers) were all born in Mozambique, except for one.

As previously discussed, and unlike that of the European families, the Goan experience in Mozambique emerges from a historical context of large-scale emigration. These movements were directed to different destinations, including Mozambique. In this sense, the migration experiences of the families which took part in the research, although coinciding in historical time with those of European families, are hardly exceptional. The two groups are equally at odds regarding the reasons that triggered migration. All families clearly stated that their ancestors had to leave Goa for economic reasons. Unlike the unintended occurrences that most Portuguese families invoked, the first generation of Goan migrants travelled to Mozambique as a response to the economic difficulties they experienced in Goa. Resorting to emigration was carefully and strategically considered and, as was often mentioned in interviews, this was the main reason why most Brahmin families invested in academic training simultaneously in Portuguese and English. He [the interviewee’s father] had his basic education in English. Then, he continued his studies in Portuguese. In Goa this was the usual practice, to study both Portuguese and English. And why is this? Because British Africa was closer to Goa. All you needed was to cross the Indian

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Ocean and you were in Kenya, Uganda, etc. Or there was also the option of crossing the border to India. Both my mother’s and my father’s families migrated to various places. They had to.

Although no direct references were made to the specific causes of each family’s financial problems, most narratives centred around two closely related topics: the inheritance system prevailing at the time, and the large number of offspring in most Brahmin families. Life, especially for families with many children, was described as particularly challenging. Young educated men were encouraged to migrate as a strategy aimed at preserving the families’ wealth. As you may know, in Goa there are social classes. Well, I suppose as in any other society. So, our social class is Brahmin. In the past, all Brahmin families were very numerous, and it was the eldest brother who inherited the large family house. The other brothers, in short… inherited whatever else there was left. Otherwise, as happened with my father, it was necessary to emigrate.

The topic of caste explicitly emerged for the first time in the context of this discussion. There was great reluctance to address the topic, and this permeated most discussions during my fieldwork. Being a complex issue, with implications for many aspects of the families’ past and present migration experiences, it calls for a more detailed discussion. It has already been said that Goan emigration is sometimes characterized as being highly qualified (Thomaz 1998) since its contingents included individuals with solid academic or technical training. It is also often argued that their integration into migration destinations was particularly successful, due to their qualifications and skills. Importantly, however, this was not the only particularity to play a decisive role in the group positioning strategies in the Mozambican colonial context. Integration of highly skilled Goan migrants in Mozambique was the result of their high levels of cultural capital and a combination of specific characteristics arising from the social organization of the Goan territory during the colonial period. Three fundamental interconnected elements of the families’ specific social subset stand out: religion, caste and colonial mimesis. Goan colonial society was characterized by the existence of a diversified set of social categories, resulting from a combination of three factors: specific colonial policy, compulsory conversion to Catholicism and significant immigration. The combination of these factors resulted in a social structure oscillating between two poles: ‘One was

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the Portuguese born in Portugal, Catholics designated as Reinois, and the other the pure Indian designated as Gentile, which encompassed all those who did not profess the Christian faith such as Hindus and Muslims or Moors’ (Sardo 2004: 79). The social space between these two categories includes three other categories, defined by racial principles (ibid.): the castiços (children of Portuguese parents, born in India), the mestizos (children of mixed marriages) and the canarins (Hindus converted to Catholicism). The territory hosted another significant contingent of African slaves, usually designated as blacks (ibid.) whose presence gave rise to another social category resulting from their relations with the other groups, the mulattoes. This complex system of social categorization diluted over time, and by the nineteenth century, only three major social groups persisted: the Goans, which included all individuals of Indian origin, without foreign ancestry, regardless of their religion; the descendants, made up of descendants of Portuguese colonizers born in the territory; and the Portuguese, made up of individuals who occupied major positions in the colonial administration and who tended to return to Portugal after a period in the colony (Sardo 2004). Alongside this system of social categorization, there was another one which, relating only to Goans, preceded the first: caste. The caste system was maintained in Goa and used, not only by Hindus but also by those who converted to Catholicism, which is unusual (Thomaz 1998), since it was retained despite the loss of its religious value. The significance of caste among the Catholics might have resulted from the particular way in which conversion took place in Goa. According to Thomaz (1998), and even though a ‘policy of religious imperialism’ (ibid.: 252) broadly governed Portuguese colonialism, forced conversion to the Catholic faith was particularly intense in Goa, due to its strategic importance as ‘capital of a Christian empire’ (ibid.: 253). Religion was a powerful ally of political power during colonization, contributing particularly effectively to implanting Portuguese culture, with the necessary adaptation to ‘local idiosyncrasy’ (Sardo 2004: 84). Paradoxically, the caste system may have interacted positively with Portuguese colonial and conversion policies (ibid.: 84). Since in Goa the Portuguese opted for a strategy of mass conversion, they quickly realized that it was vital to attract the local elites to the Christian faith. Hence, the maintenance of the caste system resulted from a compromise between the Jesuits and the local elites, which thus saw their position safeguarded, since the previous social hierarchy remained intact (Thomaz 1998). From the colonial power’s perspective,

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this strategy was highly advantageous, since it guaranteed the expansion of the Catholic faith without openly interfering with the previous social order. On the other hand, it allowed the best positioned castes to ensure their privileged position in the social structure and to continue to profit from it. Conversion brought significant changes in the caste system. The system lost all its religious and ritual significance, which led to the disappearance of food taboos and laws against polluting contacts associated with it in Hinduism. Thus, in colonial Goa caste attributes were mainly transformed into inbreeding and social status rules. They were simplified as a result into three main categories:13 Brahmins, Chardós and Sudras14 (Sardo 2004). Interestingly, the Goan conversion to Catholicism drew attention to the non-religious aspects of the caste system and suggested the existence of similarities between it and the eighteenth-century concept of a tripartite and pyramidal class system. And maybe this fact lies at the root of the families’ discomfort in addressing the topic. Caste remains to the present day a very uncomfortable theme despite its importance for the establishment and maintenance of social relations in general, and especially in marriage, whether in Goa or abroad (Sardo 2004: 88). As previously mentioned, first-generation integration in the Mozambican labour market was successful. Most men had solid academic diplomas, so quickly developed stable professional careers, mainly in the colonial administration or in the private sector. The fact that most of them were fluent in English was also seen as an important asset, especially for positions in foreign companies, not only British but also German and Swiss. Another factor contributing to their success was the colonial government’s positive representation of the academic and professional profiles of the Catholic Goans: ‘The (Goan) community was highly qualified. At one point, most of the senior managers in the public administration were Goans. There were also many doctors in the community. And a lot of people in the colony’s treasury department’. Unlike in most European families, most of the Goan emigration strategies were initiated by young single men. Thus, the first generation only married once they had already migrated. Most families reported the existence of strong networks already in place in Mozambique that provided security for the newcomers and actively contributed to their successful integration. First-generation marriages were structured around three interrelated aspects: caste, family approval and resorting to Goa to find a suitable spouse.

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My father migrated to Mozambique very young. He would be nineteen. … He married my mother without meeting her. She was in Goa. My father was thirty-one and she was twenty-one. My father didn’t go to Goa to meet my mother. She was the one who travelled to Mozambique. I went to Goa in 1954. I wanted to meet my family, you know, my roots. That’s when I met my wife. In Goa, there was also the problem of castes, just like in Mozambique. When I arrived, I met an unsuitable girl that I liked. … I told my grandmother that I had met a girl, but she said that she was no good. Without explaining why. Meanwhile, I went to Bombay and stayed with an aunt who took me to meet several families who had suitable daughters. Everyone knew my parents … and after a while, the marriageable girl would come in, in great style …. After the visit, I was asked if I liked the girl. And if I replied that she was nice, that was a problem …, because it was showing interest. … You know, the ‘cousins’ ​​from Africa were considered good catches. Because in Africa people earned well. And the families were all known. And they knew each other’s faults. That is why there was never great resistance to arranged marriages within the restricted group of Brahmin Catholics. On top of that, we’re all distant cousins, so a cousin could never be bad.

Resorting to Goa to find a spouse became the exception for subsequent generations, who found their wives and husbands in Mozambique. However, caste continues to be mentioned unanimously as a fundamental condition in the choice of a future husband or wife: ‘Mixed marriages were only accepted if they were with white people. We had relationships with other castes at school, but that was it. Brahmins only marry Brahmins. It’s funny that those who converted to Catholicism renounced everything else, but not caste’. Most families resided in cities, namely Lourenço Marques and Beira. As with the first European migrant generations, only the most recent generation of Goan women entered the labour market. However, and in line with what was previously stated in relation to the other group, this factor should not be interpreted as disinvestment in their education: ‘in Goa, girls’ education was taken very seriously. They were home-schooled. … They were interesting people, cultured, not very “academic”, but very educated’. Investment in formal education was part of upper-caste males’ validation strategies from an early stage, and was later extended to women, with two consequent changes: on the one hand, women gained access to formal higher education for the first time and, on the

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other, they were integrated into the labour market. In fact, all women of the present-day generation had strong professional careers, either in Mozambique or later in Portugal. Investing in formal education was described as ‘natural’, emphatically: Goans carry in their genes a very ancient culture. All Goans have always had a great fondness for languages and music. Here (in Portugal) there were always Goans in the courts and medicine. You know, as far as traditional Goan families were concerned, one child had to be a doctor, another a priest and another a lawyer. Hence, for me, it was unthinkable not to go to university.

Most interviewees went to university in Portugal. As with the group of European families, going to university represented, in most cases, the first contact with the colonial power centre. After completing their degrees, all of them returned to Mozambique. To sum up, the Goan families came from relatively homogeneous backgrounds. With broadly similar migratory experiences in Mozambique, they shared another core characteristic: caste. Being Brahmin proved to be central to their life trajectories both in Goa, before migration, and later in Mozambique. Some authors have argued that Goan Catholic migration was a homogenizing force, but the importance of caste in matrimonial strategies suggests otherwise. As will be discussed next, social differentiation and demarcation logics based on caste are fundamental to the group’s positioning strategies and permeate all spheres of their daily lives in the former African colony.

Everyday Life in Mozambique The daily lives of the families in Mozambique will be examined at this point from a dual, yet related, perspective: their positioning strategies and networks of belonging, and their main activities and routinized practices in both the private and public spheres. Drawing on the discussion in previous sections, the first line of inquiry sought to situate the two groups of families in the Mozambican colonial context, not only in relation to each other but most importantly all the other groups who shared the same social space. The second line seeks to outline a comprehensive portrait of daily life in the colony. Although aiming at a general description, this review focuses particularly on the home and all domestic activities, with a special emphasis on sociability practices.

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The Portuguese Daily life in the colony was the most intensively discussed topic during fieldwork. The families’ narratives primarily focused on their experiences in the colony, invariably depicted as easy, pleasant and privileged, rather than on the political and economic aspects of colonialism. My father didn’t want to go back to Portugal … he said he didn’t want to be buried in Portugal. But he was Portuguese, wasn’t he? When we went to university in Portugal, it was very difficult for us to adjust to the metropolitan lifestyle. We would usually stay with relatives. And the cultural differences were huge. I hated it. The cultural contrasts were tremendous. … We came in as a group and we continued as a group. … We were not considered Portuguese by the other students. I remember thinking: so, what are we? Foreigners? Great. I didn’t feel like a foreigner. I felt I was Portuguese. It didn’t make any sense to deny my Portuguese culture and identity. I think all of us who lived in Africa feel that way. Now, I’ve always felt I was a different type of Portuguese… People were much more open-minded in Mozambique than in Portugal. When I was eighteen, it was statistically assessed that Lourenço Marques was two hundred years ahead of Portugal. And this was due to the English influence, which, as you know, is a much more sophisticated culture than the Portuguese culture. There was a large foreign community in Mozambique that influenced our culture there, and we were also influenced by South Africa and Rhodesia, of course. The railways, at first, were owned by the British, and the same was for Barclays Bank and the phone company. There was a significant British community, coming from Rhodesia, South Africa, and Tanzania, of people who lived and worked in Mozambique. To work in their companies, one had to be fluent in English. And the same rule applied to working in the finest stores in Lourenço Marques, such as the LM Bazar.

These pieces illustrate the most prominent aspects of the families’ identity narratives. The first is their self-identification as Portuguese, confirming a solid relationship with the Portuguese collective identity and culture. The second aspect is the distinction between being Portuguese in Portugal and being Portuguese in Africa, which points to the existence of original identity features amongst the latter. The third aspect is the effects of permanent and significant contact with the British community based in the territory. Since Mozambique was an integral part of the Portuguese world, national identity was, for the Portuguese families, produced and promoted according to the

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dominant ideological logic that marked each generation’s life in the colony. Given that the interviewees’ generation was born and lived in Mozambique during the Estado Novo regime, their narratives resonate with the regime’s ideological logic as far as national identity is concerned. As previously mentioned, since 1930 Portuguese colonial policy had been seen as a problematic area of internal policy, the resolution of which involved the consolidation of a Portuguese ‘imperial mentality’ (Paulo 1999: 307). Hence, the regime adopted a form of discourse that, alongside the consolidation of the relevance and exaltation of the nation’s colonial mission, sought to establish a secure basis for the reproduction of the ‘Portuguese cultural heritage’ (ibid.: 325). The schooling system, being a key instrument for the socialization of younger generations, worked as a particularly powerful ally to a form of ideological discourse aimed at consolidating a colonial policy which was markedly nationalist and patriotic. As Paulo (1999) points out, the elevation of the regime’s colonial ideology took advantage of the fact that it incorporated a strong nationalistic component that permeated most education levels, in both metropolitan Portugal and the colonies. The assertion of Portuguese nationalistic discourse in Mozambique should therefore be understood in the light of the specific political nature of the regime. The unifying and exalting aspects of the discourse generated by the Estado Novo, in addition to promoting the historical purpose and urgency of the colonial project, established a genuine project of identification within the Portuguese empire and nation: We fearlessly placed Portuguese nationalism at the indestructible base of the Estado Novo; first, because it is the clearest imperative in our history; second because it is an invaluable factor in progress and social improvement; third because we are a living example of how our country, through actions carried out on all continents, served the interests of humanity. A missionary vocation is the call that supports this universalist tendency of the Portuguese people, a profoundly human call, due to its spirituality and disinterest. (Salazar 1936, in Léonard 1999b: 31)

However, despite the ever-present evocation of the Portuguese imperial identity, most families pointed to a collective identity that was at the same time ‘very Portuguese but somehow different’. The existence of a specific way of being Portuguese in the colony was demonstrated in material form in how the newcomers arriving from metropolitan Portugal were described as ‘people with different social values and practices’, as they were when families visited Europe. Since

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most interviewees were either born in Mozambique or migrated to the colony as young children, they had no direct points of reference concerning life in Portugal, and their representations of it were fundamentally derived from what their families and school conveyed on the matter in their childhood and youth. It is not surprising that they described their first contact with Portuguese reality as an episode which had a remarkable impact on them. In most cases, the first time the interviewees visited metropolitan Portugal was just before they started university. They described Portugal as a ‘backward’ and ‘poor’ country, in contrast to the Mozambican reality: When I first arrived in Portugal, I could not believe what I was witnessing. I was eighteen, and the family wanted to show me the country. I went to Trás-os-Montes.15 People there lived in caves, their noses were constantly running, and their feet were cracked. I said (to the friend of the parents who accompanied her): I am profoundly impressed by seeing how these people live. … We were so much more innovative than Portugal in all aspects. Industrial and agricultural production methods in Mozambique were much more sophisticated.

The families’ discourse on the Portuguese mentality at the time is particularly negative. The Portuguese people were described as ‘sad’, ‘guarded’, ‘narrow-minded’ and ‘poorly informed’. These assessments were once again made in contrast to the Mozambican social reality, which they described as ‘more open’, ‘liberal in customs’ and ‘informed’. These contrasting portraits were particularly evident for women, who also addressed the topic of gender in their comments. When I arrived, it was April, I was wearing flowered trousers and a T-shirt. But my godmother wouldn’t let me go out into the street, dressed like that. I couldn’t wear trousers and had to wear gloves. My uncles were very conservative. Whenever I wore trousers, they were frantic. And everyone was looking at me. It was all very strange. Girls spent most of their time outdoors. They were very into sports. We had a very healthy, open-minded society in Mozambique regarding gender. In Portugal, men and women couldn’t be friends. Society was profoundly sexist, and women always had their heads down.

The Portuguese in Portugal, on the other hand, reacted to the presence of those from the colonies with distrust and discomfort. As becomes apparent in the families’ discourse, the reasons behind the misunderstandings between the two groups were largely related

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to the influence of the British in Mozambique. The presence of a significant British contingent in Mozambique had a profound impact on the colony’s economy. Their influence, however, extended to many other aspects of Mozambican society, decisively contributing to the institutionalization of a distinctive ‘way of being’. According to the interviewees, the permanent contact with the ‘English’ residing in Mozambique and the proximity of the former British colonies in Africa (South Africa and Zimbabwe) gave to their discourse and practice some original features which complemented, interfered with and, in some cases, contradicted the ‘Portuguese ways’. Assessed positively, the British community worked as a reference group which influenced both the collective and personal identities of the Portuguese in Mozambique, thus creating noticeable differences between them and the Portuguese in Portugal. People always differentiated the attitudes of Europeans who have lived in Angola from the ones who lived in Mozambique. I do not doubt that they were different people. To understand why we must get to the bottom of the question: Mozambique had a strong British influence. And the Portuguese very much imitated the British, not necessarily the South Africans, but the practices that were genuinely English.

There are numerous signs of the importance of ‘the English’ for the social life of the colony. Describing it as ‘a more developed and sophisticated culture’, many of the interviewees stated that the colonial elites particularly valued the education in English schools, as a way of appropriating their culture. Proficiency in the language was also highly valued, not only as a professional tool but also socially, since the British community did not learn Portuguese. The former British colonies of South Africa and Rhodesia also provided Portuguese families with access to a more diversified market. Cultural products were particularly important since the Estado Novo’s censorship considerably restricted access to international literary, musical and cinematographic productions. In Mozambique …, many Portuguese ladies spoke English. They learned the language to be able to socialize with the English ladies. … In Beira, their influence was even stronger. We all went to Rhodesia very often, to go to the doctor and for shopping. At the time, South Africa and Rhodesia were more advanced in everything. Children would also go to study. In sum, it was another expression of elitism – sending your children to an English school so they would learn to speak English fluently.

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Although mentions of the English influence permeate most narratives, the most persistent examples revolve around what the families called ‘mentality’ and, above all, daily habits. A different mentality was significant because it contrasted strongly with Portuguese conservatism. The British culture is invariably described as being more innovative, modern and liberal, especially when compared to the traditionalist ways of metropolitan Portugal. And the influence of the British was invariably seen as positive, especially for young Portuguese women who were subject to strict forms of social control in Portugal. Significantly, the existence of contrasting mindsets between those in the colony and those from metropolitan Portugal is rooted, not in a set of specific features of the Mozambican culture, but mainly in the influence of the British and the Portuguese cultures. Intensive contact with the British colonial culture is the key to establishing a differentiated cultural framework and an important point of reference, especially for those who spent a long time in metropolitan universities. Nevertheless, the fact that the originality of being Portuguese in Mozambique is attributed to a foreign culture should not be interpreted as open defiance of the Estado Novo colonial ideology. That is, if Mozambique was indeed dissimilar from Portugal, all families agreed that the territory was also different from the British African colonies. Even if most contacts with Portugal were described as a less positive experience, the families always unquestioningly identified as Portuguese. In other words, identification of a specific way of being and a different mindset did not correspond to a new form of collective self-identification: ‘We were Portuguese. There is no point in denying it. Our roots are Portuguese’. Although the British influence was relevant for forging families’ representations of identity, it was most persistent and significant at the level of daily practices. Most of the distinctive practices that the families identify as specifically Mozambican result from the appropriation and integration of British domestic consumption practices. This will be discussed in the next chapter. Cultural encounters with the British were not the only forms of interaction with other cultures. As has been seen above, the families described the social reality of the colony as being ethnically stratified: each group occupied a precise and structurally delimited space. Interestingly, their discourse mentions professional skills and tasks performed by each group, as well as religion and associative practices, rather than race and ethnicity. While this is a key topic for analysing daily life in the colony, the information available on it is scarce, fragmented and often imprecise.

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There were many Indians in Mozambique …. They were very different. Their parties were great fun. They had those beautiful saris … and then, they had that palace… there was a school and everything there. And they had their parties there. … There were two groups: there were those from Pakistan. They were a little different, they wore trousers and then a sari over them. The others didn’t. They only wore the sari. Indians normally engaged in commerce. The Indians were all traders. The Muslims, but also the ones from India itself. Theirs were family businesses, where the mother, the father and the children all worked together. And there were the ones from Goa. They came to Mozambique because of the language. It was easier for them to find a job. Some worked in the civil service. Many in the treasury department and the post office. These Indians were called Indo-Portuguese. When India invaded Goa, those who were better off financially left and went to Portugal or Mozambique. They worked for the state. That’s why there are so many Indians in the civil service here. There were many, many Indians in Mozambique.

The ‘Indian’ category included Hindus, Muslims and even Catholic Goans. This apparent uniformity was, however, partially revised when the relationships between the different ‘Indian’ subgroups were described. If the apparent uniformity was maintained regarding the Hindu and Muslim Indians, Goans were portrayed as a group that distanced itself from the other two. They were completely different from the others. Even because the ‘canecos’,16 the Indo-Portuguese that we called ‘canecos’, I don’t know why… were generally Catholic, very Catholic even. And they had a lifestyle that perhaps identified a little more with the Portuguese culture than with Indian culture. And they were, in general, people with high levels of culture. The Indians all played the violin, and the piano and they had a great appetite for music.

The categories Indo-Portuguese and Goan, which were used as synonyms, seem to refer to the elites of Goan origin who converted to Catholicism, leaving out all migrants from other Indian regions under Portuguese administration (the Indo-Portuguese from Daman and Diu) and the Hindus from Goa. The use of this differentiating mechanism derived from their proximity to Portuguese culture and religion. However, it is interesting to note that, despite being described as very Catholic and educated, their inclusion in the undifferentiated category of Indians persisted. This implies a dominant representation

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which overrides the differences, thus tending to place them in the social space of the Other. In the Chinese community, the families tended to value their professional occupations and the fact that they had their associations and places of worship. They were mainly described as a large community, even more closed than that of the Indians, who were primarily shopkeepers. In addition to these groups, the families mentioned there were several other European communities, such as Greek, German and Italian. There were other seemingly unlikely communities. For example, there were a lot of Italians. And why is this? They were Italians who took part in Mussolini’s war in North Africa. So, there were many who, when the war was over, and because of their political positions, took refuge in Mozambique. There were also many Greeks. … The Greeks got along well. They had their specific business – bakeries. They met in their Orthodox church. There were also many Germans who took refuge there after World War II. Theirs was a very large community.

Mozambican colonial society was unanimously characterized as very diverse. Social diversity did not, however, result in social conflict or disputes over power. On the contrary, the families agreed that collective life was peaceful and ordered, even if the lack of social tension resulted from a strongly regulated model of social organization. It is also worth noting that they did not mention establishing relationships with non-Europeans, beyond professional contacts. Even concerning the Catholic Goans with whom the families shared residential areas, schools and workplaces, there were no references to the existence of relevant interactions. Relationships with Africans are the most complex topic addressed during research. Discourse on the representations and relationships between colonizer and colonized is marked mainly by the families’ awareness of their colonial past and what it represented for their integration into Portuguese democratic society. It is possible to identify three main topics that cut across most narratives. First, there was no evidence of the families denying the existence of a strong stratification system that placed the Africans at the bottom of the social scale. Although downplaying the rigidity of the Portuguese colonial policy by comparing it with the South African apartheid regime, most interviewees did not deny the existence of extreme inequality in Mozambican society.

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Discrimination against the non-white, as in South Africa, did not exist. In Mozambique, there were no separate bus stops, benches in public gardens, etc. (like in South Africa) – that was racist, and it was legitimized by the political power. In Mozambique, if there was any form of discrimination, it was informal. When we say that things were not legally imposed, it does not mean that there was not, in essence, a lot of discrimination. It was softer, but there was discrimination against the black. That’s how I see things. Others will say that I am wrong. They’ll say there was only a strong social hierarchy. But it was not like that. Native Africans couldn’t own land. When the state granted land concessions, Africans were excluded. They did not have property rights. … they lived there until someone came and said that those lands were theirs. … and if they were useful for labour, they were absorbed. If not, they had to get out. … You can’t just talk about the pleasant things of colonialism. I also had my pleasant moments there. But, what about the other unpleasant aspects of colonialism? They never existed? No one noticed them? The society was not an integrated society. Life was very good, very pleasant. There was room for everyone, and everyone benefited. I can’t hear bad things about colonialism. I can’t because the entire history of the world is based on colonialism. It exists everywhere. In a room where a more educated person is present, he is subduing the less educated with his knowledge. Only now there is this connotation that colonialism is a terrible thing. We were colonized by the Arabs, and that was positive. They were a great culture. Do you see anyone screaming at the Arabs? I am glad they came to the Peninsula. They were great doctors and great mathematicians. Now, this idea that all colonialism is bad… they must be joking. There are good and bad witches everywhere. … In Mozambique, they learned from us, and we learned from them. I have a very pleasant memory of the Africans. … Their culture has precious values, such as respect for children and the elderly.

Using arguments that express opposing standpoints, these quotes illustrate how the families related to the colonial forms of formal and informal segregation. In the first, an attempt is made to demystify the originality of the Portuguese colonial policy as put into practice, drawing attention to the existence of mechanisms that resulted in a highly stratified social organization according to parameters that transcended a class-based hierarchy. In the second, the distinction between the colonial social order and other manifestations of stratification is not only questioned but the importance of the cultural exchanges between colonizer and colonized is also promoted. This corresponds with the formal discourse of the Estado Novo concerning Africans.

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The second dominant topic reveals how these two groups had little knowledge of each other and maintained each other at a distance, in social terms. Although some of the interviewees recalled that the invisibility of the black population and their culture were partially reversed from the 1960s onwards, the families’ accounts testify otherwise. The music on the radio was Western music. There were no drums. The few times that an African cultural demonstration was seen, it was in an official celebration. The Marimbeiros de Zavala17 came dressed as warriors, just as in Gungunhana’s18 time, and this was the folklore group representing Africans. They acted when a minister or someone important arrived in the colony. Other than that, there was no contact with the Africans. Nobody thought of going to an indigenous neighbourhood to listen to drums. … On the other hand, one of the most impressive things that I witnessed was, when we arrived at … , in 68, the parish had organized a party. Folklore groups were dancing. When I saw black kids dancing the Vira19 I thought, there’s something that isn’t right.

Most interviewees agreed that during their time in Mozambique the only ones interested in knowing what they vaguely described as ‘African culture’ were a small group of left-wing intellectuals. There were some young (white) people, who participated in the war against the regime. They would go to the suburbs to hear the drums, the timbales, and the African choirs. But I don’t remember there even being any records of African music. I liked the choirs a lot, but my parents didn’t consider it art. The same with painting. It wasn’t regarded as real art.

The third topic draws attention to the centrality of the domestic space as the main context of interaction between the families and the African population. All families emphasized the significance of their relationships with their domestic staff. Regardless of whether they had their own home or not, domestic staff were seen as part of the household and, in some cases, even as part of the family. The fact that most domestic staff started working in their youth and remained in the house until old age certainly contributed to this situation. Permanence and continuous interaction over a long period promoted intense relationships that often extended to other members of the staff’s family. The families pointed out that they profoundly trusted their employees, who oversaw most domestic chores, including household management and childcare, an aspect that will be further discussed in the chapter

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devoted to the analysis of the colonial home. They also mentioned that all their staff had access to health care and education. School attendance is particularly significant, since the Estado Novo discouraged schooling for Africans, even though it was essential if they wished to overcome the limitations of indigenous status. Families were more guarded and formal when it came to discussing affective ties between them and the Africans who worked in their homes. The only mentions of this matter were made when speaking about the exodus from Mozambique after the revolution. Families expressed their concern about the future of their employees and said that they had actively tried to secure their financial and housing situation. Most also mentioned continuing to stay in touch with their staff by letter for a long period after they had settled in Portugal. The positive note regarding relationships with African domestic staff was not however universal. Families did not deny the fact that some Europeans were violent, but they associated this behaviour not with their social group, but rather with the Portuguese working-class and petit-bourgeoisie. The distinction between old families and newcomers, especially in terms of their cultural capital and habitus, again comes into play. The apparent social homogeneity of the Portuguese population is partially contradicted by a description that highlights the coexistence in the group of structurally differentiated practices and ways of being. We had a very pleasant life, with a lot of mutual help between the whites and the blacks. We all helped our servants. We tried to help them with their problems. At least in our social circle. One of my servants had tuberculosis and I drove him to the hospital by car, and I visited him weekly. … Now, when I visited Portugal in my youth, I saw things that shocked me a lot. The maids would stand in the kitchen, giving birth, because a glass of water might be needed. This never happened in our homes in Africa! We had dinner early, so the servants could be at school by eight o’clock. My grandfather worried a lot about their future. He gave scholarships to many of his employees’ children, and they all went to school. Where did you sometimes see a less than correct attitude? In the homes of those who came from metropolitan Portugal and were rough, uneducated people. They were the ones who beat their wives, their children, and of course the blacks. They’re violent to anyone and arrogant! They had never had servants. I never met anyone who mistreated the servants.

This narrative reinforced the distinctive position of the families within the white, and most of all, Portuguese community in

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Mozambique. This conclusion will be further emphasized during the following part of this chapter, in which daily contexts, routines and practices will be depicted. All the informants lived a period of their lives in urban contexts, namely the two largest Mozambican cities – Lourenço Marques and Beira. This fact is significant for discussing their memories of daily routines and practices since there seems to be a consensus that rural life, or ‘life in the bush’ as the families usually described it, was ‘totally different’. The descriptions of the great outdoors were highly romanticized and sensory, even if based on factual experiences. The families’ narratives make numerous references to sounds, smells and landscapes, in an attempt to describe their ‘unique experiences’ of ‘true contact with nature’ and with the ‘real Africa’. These experiences were not attainable in the colony’s cities. For me, the term Africa denotes time, space, and quality of life. I’m talking about an Africa that is different from that of the urban centres. My Africa is more tropical, wilder. … You can’t even imagine what it’s like to fall asleep to the sound of cicadas. There’s nothing like Mozambique. … The smell of the savannah… It’s a very different Africa. … There’s something magical about it. Whoever has been ‘bitten by the mosquito’ doesn’t forget it.

Despite the suggestiveness of these recollections, there were not many descriptions of what daily life was like in the bush. According to the few interviewees who lived in a rural area in their childhood, their days were passed between school, sometimes quite far away, home, and some moments of interaction with a restricted group of nearby residents. Life was spent between school and the garden at home. … At the end of the day, my father and two or three friends, because there weren’t many people around, would sit on the porch, in the old colonial way, drinking whiskey and chatting. I remember it very well. All of them are in shorts. People gathered to chat. Conversation was a key element in our way of life.

This routine contrasts vividly with reports on life in the cities and towns. In the cities, and especially in Lourenço Marques and Beira, daily life was more agitated. In addition to work and school, interviewees were involved in many other activities, especially those of a playful and convivial nature. In fact, and despite the value attached to work, leisure and sociability practices stand out as being particularly

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frequent in the families’ narratives, especially compared to work and school. The first relevant aspect concerning daily life in Mozambique is the fact that there are no negative representations of it. Everything was great, healthy and easy. A lot of time at the beach, swimming and a lot of outdoor life. People had no great problems and concerns. They were always in a good mood. Life was great. Everything always went well. People got married, had their houses, and had jobs. Families had help to take care of the children and the elderly. All very organized and simple.

According to the families, there were two core features governing most of their daily practices in Mozambique: outdoor activities and the considerable number of sports and leisure clubs and associations. Once again, these features are explained as resulting from the British influence. The existence of numerous clubs, especially in the largest cities, sheds additional light on the idea that there was social differentiation among the European and, most especially, the Portuguese colonial residents. Arguments favouring a representation of the white population as a significantly homogeneous group gave place, once more, to a stratified portrait of the colonial society. The most important clubs in Lourenço Marques were the Clube Militar, which had military and civilian members, the Grémio, which later became the Clube de Lourenço Marques, and the Associação dos Antigos Alunos de Coimbra. These were the top clubs. Then, there were many more clubs: the Clube Naval, the Associação dos Velhos Colonos, etc. These were exclusive clubs. … And there were also the regional clubs, such as the Clube dos Lisboetas, or the Casa de Trás-os-Montes. Now, the first three were only for the elite. Indeed, the youth was very into sports, but most only had access to them at the Mocidade Portuguesa.20 Just like in Portugal itself: horseback riding, fencing, sailing… Many loved soccer. All the main soccer clubs had a branch in Lourenço Marques, and all Portuguese regions had their ‘casa’. Socially speaking, it was a diverse society. It was far from being just the Polana. … The Polana was not for everyone.

Most narratives identified both public and domestic spaces as favoured contexts for social interaction and networking. The first was key for the public confirmation of social status and positioning and

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the second for the consolidation of social bonds and belonging strategies. Homes were invariably described as open houses, where everyone was welcomed, even if they showed up unannounced. Visits by friends and family were frequent, a mark of spontaneity, in contrast to the formality of social relations in metropolitan Portugal. Lunch and dinner parties were regularly organized, as were games, reinforcing the idea of a broad, cohesive, integrated society. Alongside these narratives, homes were also portrayed as a key context for more formal meetings, often involving a considerable number of guests. All families confirmed that they entertained regularly in their homes and invested a considerable amount of time and resources in such activities. The home as a context for conviviality was rooted in logics of social distinction. Narratives on the domestic space are more subtle than remarks on the social clubs which explicitly mention the rigid criteria for admission. The families often resort to descriptions that stress the refinement, good taste and precision of these social events. And even if many of the social gatherings were depicted as informal, the information gathered confirmed that, on most occasions, these events were strategically organized to confirm the families’ social position: ‘The middle class knew how to entertain. The lower middle classes didn’t care so much, but we did. The bottle of wine was not on the table… there were protocols that all of us followed. There was a lot of planning and refinement when we organized a party’. A more careful analysis of the families’ accounts on the topic denoted the existence of a specific habitus at play in their social group. Once again, this aspect revealed that their Portuguese cultural background underwent a major revision and incorporated new practices and standards in the colony. Without openly devaluing the Portuguese gastronomic heritage and hospitality, both were associated more with the working classes, and their clubs, than with their own domestic practices, which they described as being more cosmopolitan. The British culture was again the leading influence here. People naturalized certain typically English practices. Five o’clock tea, with scones, for example. Here (in Portugal) tea was also a common practice, but it does not have the same meaning or social weight that it had in Mozambique. For another example, on Wednesdays, in the afternoon, banks and many other services were shut down. Wednesday afternoons were to play tennis or golf. Now, not everyone went to play tennis or golf. It was an elite who could afford to. There was no way to escape the English influence. There was no chance. Five o’clock tea was mandatory. All the ladies served it in their homes.

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And no one didn’t serve a ‘drink’ before dinner. Missing tea at my grandmother’s house was considered unforgivable. In addition to tea, there was the tradition of the ‘baby shower’, which doesn’t exist here. There, it was very common. It was usually organized by a friend, who would surprise the mother. All friends would attend with gifts for the baby.

The appropriation of these new practices resulted from a continuous learning process conducted, not so much through direct relationships with the British community itself, but fundamentally through the first generations of migrants who formed the local elites. The characteristic influence of British culture on this first group of colonizers was naturalized to the point that they transmitted it to newcomers as the proper way of being Portuguese in Mozambique. There were principles that I always thought were distinctive. When people arrived, although they were also used to a certain level of refinement, there was a tendency to copy what other friends did. And the old colonial elites had impeccable manners, very, very refined manners. I learned a lot from them, although my mother also taught me a lot of things. … There was a lot of etiquette, which passed from one person to the other. … [Knowledge] was passed from mother to daughter, although the British also influenced us directly. … We had a very refined way of living.

Described as a very friendly, very welcoming society, but at the same time demanding and focused on defending their ways and standards, the old guard elite of European origin established a set of markers of social distinction based above all on their differentiated habitus. As one of the interviewees stated, ‘people arrived in small numbers and so quickly learned our habits and customs’. By invoking seniority in the colony as another significant feature of their identity, families established a dual mechanism of social differentiation. On the one hand, they claimed to belong to the restricted group who arrived in the colony before the major migrations of the 1950s and 1960s. On the other hand, they claimed that their specific collective identity, in addition to their economic and cultural capital, positively demarcated them, both from the rest of Mozambican society and the metropolitan Portuguese. To sum up, the topics addressed so far in this chapter draw attention to significant aspects of the families’ colonial daily lives. Concerning their positioning strategies, the first significant note was

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their identification as ‘Portuguese’, even if they saw themselves as being significantly different from the metropolitan Portuguese. Being Portuguese, but being simultaneously different, was the formulation found for sustaining an original identity resulting from life experience in Africa, while not denying their belonging to the dominant segment of the colonial society. According to their narratives, the original aspects of the colonial elite’s identity resulted less from their colonial experience per se than from the cultural encounters it promoted. The families portrayed the colonial society as a strongly stratified one, according to principles that legitimized the formal separation between groups, races and classes. Moreover, they also revealed a significant lack of knowledge of other groups’ cultures and practices. That is to say, their narrative points to a colonial culture of denial (Gosden and Knowles 2001) of the social ties between themselves and the population as a whole, and thus to a refusal to recognize the impact of their privileged position in the structuring of others’ positions. The expression ‘we didn’t get along’, frequently used to describe the groups’ relationships with others, accurately translated the existence of mechanisms that encouraged separate daily routines for all groups. Moreover, it also illustrated what Gosden and Knowles (2001) described as an inability to develop conceptual tools which might promote understanding and contextualization for the cultural encounters inherent to life in the colony. The families failed to recognize both the interactions taking place around them and their privileged position. Hence, and as in most colonial societies (ibid.: 12), the Portuguese elite had a rather partial view of the social context in which they lived. There was one exception to the social distance between the families and all the other social groups: the British community. The fact that the Portuguese elite represented the colonial power in Mozambique did not prevent a clear sentiment of reverence for this long-established foreign group. Taking an overall view, the British influence was, as noted, always considered significant, especially in promoting an original way of being different from that of the other Portuguese, namely those from metropolitan Portugal. Described as a learning process, the appropriation of British ways of life corresponded to a progressive alteration and reframing of the families’ habitus (Bourdieu 1979). In a colonial context characterized by multiple examples of mimicry, which Bhabha described as ‘the desire for an Other recognized and remade, … bearer of an almost imperceptible difference’ (2002: 86), the fact that it was the dominant group which was involved in this appropriation gives it markedly distinctive characteristics. Considered superior and more advanced, the British culture in Mozambique, as in

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the neighbouring colonies, was an important legacy, a significant resource that, when appropriate, the families could deploy to reproduce and display social distinction. According to the families’ narratives, during the colonial period this tool was fundamentally used to establish, legitimize and reinforce their social distance, not so much from other ethnic groups, but from the broader Portuguese community. This first approach to families’ everyday practices sheds new light on the discussion of class. The dominant note, which tended to downplay their own cultural and economic capital, was partially contradicted by the group’s habitus. To be sure, families described their habitus according to parameters that underlined the exceptionality of their characteristics and thus established a dominant logic of differentiation and stratification vis-à-vis all other groups in the colony. The combination of their belonging framework, their groups of reference, and their everyday practices, with the data emerging from their sociographic characterization, gives us a clearer view of their position in the Mozambican social structure. As mentioned above, the families’ sociographic profile at the time of their return to Portugal allows us to formulate the hypothesis that they occupied a privileged position in the colonial society. This chapter reinforces and legitimizes this argument. The one distinctive note in the families’ narratives – belonging to the ‘old guard’ – was complemented by other features which point to their privileged position. Their privilege, however, is once again depicted in a veiled manner, mainly through the assertion of the exclusiveness of their social circles and confirmation of social practices which embodied a habitus rooted in principles of social demarcation.

The Goans This segment discusses significant aspects of the life experiences of Goan families in Mozambique. Despite being manifestly restricted and partial, it will focus on the particular position of these families in the colonial social structure, as compared to other non-European groups; their privileged relationship with the colonizer; and the existence of a dominant representation, by the European population, of the Goan population as an ethnically and socially undifferentiated group. Our community wasn’t black. But it wasn’t white either. On the other hand, we were highly qualified people. At one point, the top

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management of the public administration in Mozambique included many Goans. We, the Goans (in Mozambique) were neither meat nor fish. You know, we were very discriminated against. Blacks complain a lot about discrimination, but there was a lot of discrimination against Goans. First, we were not allowed in the military. They only started to call us up when the colonial war started. Second, we were not allowed into the Polana Hotel. Likewise at the best social clubs in town: the Clube de Lourenço Marques, Clube de Pesca, Clube Naval. At school, our report cards were marked with brown race. All this despite being the mainstay of the colonial state. We were third-class Portuguese. Those from the so-called metropolis were first-class Portuguese. The children of the white people born in the colonies were second-class Portuguese and the Goans were third-class. It was very difficult to get promoted. And we were insulted: they called us canecos.

Except in some cases marked by very specific trajectories, the families emphasize their proximity ‘to the Portuguese people, culture and lifestyle’ without, however, mentioning any form of belonging to the dominant social category. They are not so explicit in relation to formal and informal mechanisms of subordination and distinction on the part of the colonial power. The majority opted to describe their collective self-representations by privileging the elements of proximity to the Portuguese, without directly mentioning the existence of any mechanisms of differentiation and exclusion by the dominant group, but also implicitly suggesting that the Goans, somehow, formed a distinct collective. This realization calls attention to the complexity of Goans’ self-definition. As previously discussed, in Goa, proximity to the ‘Portuguese model was, from the identity point of view, evidence’ (Sardo 2004: 107) which resulted in difficulties in identifying and affirming an original and autonomous Goan identity. The data collected points to an analogous situation in Mozambique. Hence, and despite the differences between the two former colonial contexts, which had differing implications in the positions occupied by the Goan elites, families’ discourse indicates similar difficulties and inconsistencies that partially resonate with the Catholic Brahmin in colonial Goa. Being closer to the Europeans did not prevent the existence of an informal policy putting the group in a social space which was marked off and different from that occupied by the Europeans. Within this general framework, it was possible to identify three main aspects in most of the discourse: affirmation of their Goan origin, the

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importance of the privileged relationship with the Portuguese, and caste. Stating their Goan origin was central to all families. All families, including those based in Mozambique for three generations who had never visited Goa, closely followed their ancestral connection to the territory: ‘funny thing. I had never been to Goa, and the first time I visited I felt at home. We have a great sense of family. I still have family there. So, when I got there, I and everyone knew who I was. I, despite not knowing them, also knew who was who. So that was a fabulous thing’. Contacts between relatives were maintained by letter or through people in transit between the two territories. The younger generations were taught about their families’ identities through family stories and descriptions of daily life in Goa. These oral registers were always punctuated, as can be seen below, by very positive notes. Mother told us many stories of her childhood. … She spoke of the family, of the great friendship that united all her cousins and brothers. You know, Goan families are very large. Hence, the relationship I have with Goa is through kinship. My mother was very attached to Goa and talked almost all the time about her family. … In that sense, she gave us a Goan education and throughout her life, she transmitted to us everything that happened in everyday life and festive moments in Goa. And we incorporated and lived everything that our mother told us.

This treasuring and preservation of family memories relates not only to their own families but also to those of closest friends, extending over many generations and branches. In the context of these intricate descriptions, all the close relations existing between the families, however distant they might have been, were emphasized, which justified the expression recurrently used during interviews: ‘we Goans are all cousins’. The importance of this identity referent is reinforced by the families’ social networking and sociability practices. Specifically created by the Goan Catholic elite and particularly important in Mozambican urban spaces, these practices reinforced pre-existing bonds and, as one of the interviewees mentioned, at the same time preserved their culture. Mozambican club life made it possible to discuss in a more comprehensive way the second central element in the self-definition of the families under study: their relationship with the Europeans in general and the Portuguese in particular. All my friends were from an elite Catholic school, which few Goans attended. I was one of the few Goans. So, all my friends were Portuguese. And that’s probably why I assimilated more European customs. For example, when I was young, I didn’t like Goan spices. Only after I got

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married and because my husband was very Goan did I start to learn to cook Goan food. I had an education closer to the Goan culture than my husband. In Lourenço Marques we practically only knew Goan families. We were all related, that is, distant cousins. These were bonds that were from Goa. When we moved to the north, there were no Goans there. Or rather, they were very few. However, we mostly got along with European families. They liked the same things that I liked: going to the club, playing canasta, and drinking tea.

Family discourses on their relationship with the Portuguese revealed, at first, both the existence of effective relational proximity and a positive appreciation of their ‘habits and customs’. This finding was particularly revealing and confirmed the hypothesis that the process of mimicry in the relationship between the two groups in Goa found continuity in Mozambique. At the same time, the way in which the families described their closeness to the Portuguese confirmed that there were no formal or informal boundaries between the two groups. However, a deeper discussion of conviviality practices uncovered a distinctive logic at play. We got along mainly with Goan families. Our families knew each other in Goa and that’s why we got along. For example, when we lived in …, as there were almost no Goans, we all got along. In these places, where the (non-black) population was very small, there were few families, so they generally got along. But not in Lourenço Marques. We had our institutions. Socializing with Europeans was normal. They went to our club and we went to theirs. We went to theirs way less, to be honest. Maybe in the younger European generation not so much, but in the older, there was some latent racism. Anyway, for example, how many interracial marriages were there in Lourenço Marques during all those years? … When you asked me if the communities (Goan and Portuguese) were close, I said yes but it is not true. They didn’t mix. Maybe because there was a strong influence from South Africa. … Many young white Portuguese went to school in South Africa and Rhodesia and, whether we like it or not, they came from there influenced by their racism.

These quotes illustrate most of the families’ strategies of positioning and belonging. Their social networks were formed mainly by Goans to whom the families were previously connected in Goa or new acquaintances who shared the ‘same cultural identity’. The latter category

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could include, in smaller towns, Portuguese families. Goan Catholic families were well integrated into local colonial elites, according to the families, on account of their high levels of cultural capital and their occupations, which were overall positively evaluated by the communities. However, the families recognized the existence of initial resistance from the Europeans. As one of the interviewees ironically stated, ‘at first they didn’t invite us to their homes. Maybe they thought we didn’t know how to behave’. There are few negative references to Portuguese self-distancing strategies. Most of them resulted, according to the families, from the ‘cultural influence’ of the former English colonies rather than from Portuguese colonial policy. Identified as unilateral, these strategies ended up reinforcing the arguments that positively identified the Portuguese community as familiar and welcoming to the Goan elites, despite the different positions the two occupied in the colonial society. Within this general framework, there are significant nuances in discourse on the relationships between these two groups. The first significant aspect of Goan narrative concerning the Portuguese is that they portrayed the community as significantly diverse. However, and unlike in the discourse of Portuguese families, this diversity did not reflect ‘how long they had lived in the colony’, but rather the existence of different forms of social, cultural and economic capital within the group. Many people who came (from Portugal) were worthless. That’s why they emigrated to the colonies. I worked for a shipping company and saw how the Portuguese arrived. Most of them came in the so-called fourth-class, or supplementary third, which was the basement. They were very poor and humble. However, a year or two later they were already setting up their grocery stores and robbing and mistreating the blacks. A disgrace.

The Goan families’ middle to high levels of cultural capital gave them a relatively privileged position in relation to some segments of the Portuguese population, as can be seen from the excerpts above. Hence, and without devaluing their closeness to the colonizers, they explicitly portrayed them as a socially stratified community. In light of this, it is possible to speculate that the Goan Catholic elite took as a referential group not the general population of Portuguese origin, but only its better-positioned fractions, those who had an ‘education and cultural levels’ equivalent to their own. This topic is closely related to the third main element of the groups’ identity – caste. Previous chapters explored the fact that their former

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system of stratification in Goa persisted in those who converted to Catholicism. The topic of caste always caused discomfort within the group. The families vaguely addressed the subject when explaining the ongoing marital strategies within the community and, in an even more discrete manner, their more intimate social networks. The attributes of the Brahmin caste were structured around strong investment in formal education, mastery of the Portuguese language and cultural heritage, appreciation of the fine arts in general and music in particular, and devout Catholicism. Konkani21 was not spoken at home, so I never learned. My father knew how to speak the language, but he didn’t speak it with us. Even in Goa, Portuguese was always spoken at home. Konkani was spoken with the servants and, eventually, the boys in the street, among them. This is still the case in Goa today. You know, my mother’s family excelled at speaking Portuguese. My grandfather mainly read our Portuguese authors. Mother used to say something that I think was quite right: the best book one can read is the dictionary. My grandparents gave my father a Portuguese education. My mother spoke Konkani because she lived in Goa until she married. My husband too because he went several times to Goa with his parents. By force of circumstances, he learned. Although he only spoke when he had to. I don’t know a word. My parents only spoke to us children in Portuguese. … Christians did not wear a sari. My mother never did. I don’t remember seeing anyone in a sari. The sari was commonly worn by Hindus. … In Mozambique, it was never used. In Goa, the new generations are already using it, but the previous generations, never. There was a marked differentiation between Christians and non-Christians. As I told you, Goans have a penchant for music. In Goa, it was part of the children’s education, parallel to school. Even in the villages. … In my house and many other Goan houses, recitals were held at night, when there were visitors. I played the violin, my sister the piano and my brother the cello. We had a real trio, with rehearsed numbers. My parents made us play for their friends. … We are a very religious family. My mother held many activities in the church. She went to mass every day. … When it was time for afternoon prayer, the trinities, which in my home were sacred, it was time to go home.

Whether through language, clothing, literature or religious expression, identity references point to the reproduction, in Mozambique, of cultural processes initiated in Goa. So it is possible to state that

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the Catholic Goan elite’s integration strategies involved asserting their proximity to the dominant group and simultaneously maintaining cultural distance in relation to any specific identity trait recognizable as ‘Indian’, especially in the public sphere: ‘we never adopted our Indian origin, so we don’t speak Konkani. It used to be shameful to speak Konkani. We were never told anything about India. … Women didn’t wear the sari. Especially after the invasion of Goa. Wearing a sari meant not being Portuguese. Woe to us. We didn’t want to have any connotation with the monhés’. Similar lines characterized the group’s relationship with the other social groups in Mozambique. Regarding Goans of other castes, most families stated they kept themselves clearly apart. This framework becomes particularly apparent in the marital strategies at play and in the families’ sociability circles. There was a special concern to restrict children’s relationships from a very early age, thus promoting the reproduction of lasting social relationships between families, many of them already established in Goa before the migration: ‘we spent a lot of time together. Our mothers themselves were the ones who encouraged us (to spend time with other Brahmin families). Normally, we always looked for people with the same type of education. This was a big concern (for parents)’. The same principles governed organized social life. In their general description of the Goan population in the territory, families mentioned three associations, which were differentiated along caste lines: ‘the Indo-Portuguese Club was for the Brahmins, and the IndoPortuguese Recreational Club was for the middle class. We liked to go to CRIP balls, which were much more fun than those of the Brahmins, which were boring. But, while we could go to CRIP, they could not enter our club’. The community was very organized. So organized that, and this happens wherever there are Goans, there were three associations in Lourenço Marques. One was the association for the elite. This was the association for the more evolved, all Brahmins and some non-Brahmins from the Xardó caste, immediately after the Brahmins. Then there was another one that started as a sports section of the first one. Many members were non-Brahmin, and one could play volleyball, football, etc., there. The third one was a class association, … which was called the Association of Indo-Portuguese Workers.

Brahmin Catholic Goans were selective in how they established both informal sociability networks and formal organizations and adopted

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in Mozambique mechanisms of differentiation which were very similar to those which had existed in Goa. Thus, despite the breaks and ruptures (Hall 2003) resulting from migration, and the positions acquired in the new context, the new identity of the Goan elite vis-à-vis other groups that shared their origin rested on the principles which governed the caste system in Goa. This strategy was also reproduced in relation to other groups of migrants from the Asian subcontinent. Regardless of geographic origin and professed religion, contacts were described as ‘strictly institutional, mostly at the sporting level, revealing the existence of a relational model based on a friendly distance’ between the group and other Asian migrants. Once again, as with families of Portuguese origin, the justification for the ongoing social distance rested on the so-called principle of social autonomy for all, a characteristic of Mozambican colonial society, which promoted an ‘organized collective life with no hostilities or frictions. A peaceful existence with no mixtures and where everyone knew their place’. The families’ relationship with the African population takes after that of the Portuguese. Goan families’ narratives also portrayed a well-signalled social distance between themselves and the ‘Africans’ and a generalized lack of knowledge of the latter. Again, as reported by the European families, relationships with the Africans were restricted to domestic staff and, in some cases, to work. Discourse on domestic staff denoted a close and affectionate relationship with all their servants: ‘only later, in Portugal, did I feel that I would have liked to have known the African population better. I didn’t have the time or the opportunity. I know I cared more about them than most because I worked directly with Africans. The African culture was misunderstood by most. They lived in a world apart. Unfortunately’. The second relevant aspect of the families’ relationship with the African population is linked to the colonial social stratification system. Once more in line with the other group, the Goans reported that their interactions with the African people took place in a demarcated framework of social organization which prevented closer proximity. The truth is Goans felt some sort of racism on the part of the white population. But Goans were also racist. We must be honest. Although there were some Goans in FRELIMO, as well as some Portuguese, I cannot say that there was no racism in Mozambique. There was a lot of racism. Especially regarding blacks. In their land, they were nobody. Some people don’t like to hear this, but it’s true. They were just employees and

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had no access to anything. I fought hard for my native nurses, who were great. I had the greatest confidence in their work. I was sure they did their job impeccably. And as such, I wanted them to live in the city. It was never possible. No one would rent a house to Africans. That gave me great displeasure. I must have committed many injustices in my youth, but as I grew up, I saw that it was not fair, and I changed my behaviour.

As this quote suggests, the Goan families acknowledged, as did the Portuguese families, the existence of an ongoing logic of social distinction and exclusion. However, contrary to some of the arguments presented by the Portuguese, the group did not try to justify them by resorting to context or history. That is, although it was not possible to identify a common critical position on the colonial policy adopted in Mozambique, the fact was those arguments that promoted and legitimized them were also absent from the families’ discourses. As mentioned by one of the interviewees, the fact that the Goans felt some racism on the part of the white population did not prevent them from reproducing it with groups which were less well-positioned in the colonial social structure. In short, the integration and positioning strategies which Goan families developed in Mozambique highlighted the permanence of the logic of approximation and mimicry that the group started in Goa. Being a cultural and social point of reference for the Catholic Brahmin elite, the Portuguese colonial elite was, in the eyes of the Goans, their ‘closest community in Mozambique’. This trait constitutes an effective example of a process of colonial mimicry, that is, ‘the desire for a reformed and recognizable other, as a subject of a difference that is almost the same, but not quite the same’ (Bhabha 2002: 86). Initiated and promoted by the Portuguese colonial policy in Goa, this process matured and took on precise contours that served the interests of the colonial power, but also the Goan elites who managed to maintain the privileged position they had held in Goa. Hence, migration to the African colony did not interrupt this process but added some specificities to it. In Mozambique, despite their high cultural capital and appreciation of Portuguese culture, they were the social group that strategically best positioned itself regarding the colonial elite without, however, being a part of it. Bhabha’s (2002) analysis of British colonial policies seems pertinent here, to illustrate the dominant model of the relationship established between the two groups. The families mentioned, albeit in a veiled manner, that distancing policies were present between the Portuguese and the Goans as well. Hence, their intermediate civil service and private positions, as well as the shared

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residential spaces, schools and churches, were not reproduced at the level of everyday sociability practices or marriage. The second important feature regarding the families’ strategic position in the colony is caste. Apart from in small, isolated villages, all the Goan social activities, networks and sociability practices in Mozambique were organized according to a delimitation logic based on the caste system. Again, this topic was not directly addressed. It emerged when families revealed the importance of promoting and securing spaces ‘for people with the same level of education’. By this principle, most Goan cultural and professional institutions and associations were structured in such a way as to restrict access to non-Brahmin Goans and the rest of the Mozambican colonial population. The combination of these two specificities portrayed the Goan elite as a social group that in different colonial social spheres adopted a clear strategy of distinction regarding most of the population. This strategy was two-fold, being based on the affirmation of their high levels of cultural capital and on the specific characteristics of their habitus, which promoted the incorporation of a set of Portuguese cultural traits and legacies and replaced any Indian influences. At this point music, unanimously identified as a ‘Goan heritage’, seemed to be the only positive exception to this strong identification with the Portuguese culture. However, analysis of the families’ domestic materiality would reveal the existence of other key aspects that shed light on the Catholic Brahmin collective identity at the time. Like the Portuguese, Goans were extremely positive in their discourse on daily life in the colony. For all or most of their lives all the families lived in the two largest cities. Urban life is described as ‘pleasant, free and happy’, mirroring days in which work time and leisure time were equally significant. Although the families constantly stressed the centrality of their professional practices, their most outstanding descriptions were those of sports and other leisure activities and time spent together. In fact, all interviewees described their social life as intense and exciting, punctuated by many different activities. Sociability and leisure practices took up a great deal of time in the lives of all family members but were especially important for the younger generations. Parties, outdoor activities and other forms of informal and formal interaction between peers were considered vital for both children and adults. As with the Portuguese, Goan families had time to devote to and enjoy these types of activities, because they had been successfully integrated into social and professional life and so benefitted from a lack of organizational constraints, combined with the free time resulting from not having to perform domestic work.

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Clubs and associations had a significant impact on the extent to which families valued outdoor activities and sports. The home was also regarded as an important context for social life, albeit to a lesser extent. The families visited each other regularly, and the reproduction of social networks and alliances amongst the young was actively pursued. In addition, the home was also a space for special events like the commemoration of relevant dates, such as the patriarch’s birthday. Goan discourse on everyday life was, once more, very similar to that of the Portuguese families, although with two original features. The first is the distinctively ‘Goan way of being’ in the colonial context; the second materializes the value attached to specific activities identified as Goan leisure traditions and which were therefore detached from European mimetic influence. As previously mentioned, Portuguese families’ portrayal of daily life in the colony revealed the existence of rigid mechanisms of social distinction. These were made visible through an argument that underlined the composition of the families’ social networks and their contexts of belonging. Families’ descriptions of everyday practices included terms such as exclusivity, refinement and prestige which differentiated their habitus from that of other social groups. This logic was only partially reproduced by the Goan families. While references to mechanisms of distinction were frequent in the discourse of both groups, the same cannot be said of their accounts of daily routines. Although always reinforcing the existing proximity to the colonial elites, Goan discourse did not include the glamorous aspect of colonial life. We lived in a posh area. We got along well with our (Portuguese) neighbours. Our life was very similar to that of other families. You know, we have a western education, adapted to Goans. My parents were very strict in matters such as punctuality, honesty and respect (more than the Portuguese parents, in general). Then, we have a certain posture that results from our excellent education.

This excerpt illustrates the families’ particular positioning strategy. Elements such as ‘posh residential area’ and ‘western upbringing’ are combined with an irreprehensible education that favoured honesty and respect. Analysis of everyday life in the colony reveals a second significant aspect: for the first time, the families mentioned the existence of a particular set of typically Goan practices. This original trait, which collides with the identity discourse promoted so far, is evidence that several aspects of Goan culture were reproduced and highly valued.

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Only later, when I got married, and because my husband was very Goan, did I start to learn to cook Goan food. My mother-in-law taught me how. Sometimes I would ask my mother and she sent recipes. My Goan friends from Lourenço Marques also taught me a lot. My husband was much more attached to Goa than I was. … I think it was due to the influence of his parents and later due to his own will. And, we had the Indo-Portuguese clubs where there were parties where Goan songs were sung – the Mandó22 – and Goan food eaten. All this helped to preserve the culture. Goan food was always served on special occasions. You know, Goan food is really good. There (in Mozambique, at Christmas) there was a tradition of visiting the older family members. We’d all go, all dressed up, in that heat. Me, in my best dress, my husband in a tie and all the kids. It was mandatory. In each house, there was always something being served. So, it really proves that Goan cuisine is very rich and very varied.

Appreciation of Goa’s original cultural heritage was evoked in multiple contexts, which contrasted with the arguments presented so far. According to the families, practices such as those described above took place in public (clubs and associations) and in private locations. Furthermore, it should be mentioned that the greater or lesser participation in activities organized by clubs and associations was interpreted as indicative of Goan culture’s centrality as an identity trait. The same did not appear to happen at home, where references to the preservation of traditions were more spontaneous and naturalized. This topic will be further explored in the following chapters. However, it is important to stress that the apparent appreciation of Goan culture should be interpreted as a dominant note of the families’ lives in Mozambique that is particularly evident in areas as diverse as food, sports, certain decorative options and outdoor activities. A detailed portrait of the daily lives of the families would require deeper analysis, going beyond confirmation that these families gave material form to their connection with Goa through a set of practices in Mozambique that partially contradicted their discourse on identity and belonging. In brief, the daily lives, contexts and sociability practices of these Goan families illuminate specific features that, in conjunction with those presented in the previous chapter, provide a foundation for explaining their positioning strategies in the colony. Once again, the positions of these families were quite similar to those of the Portuguese group. However, our discussion of everyday life routines also revealed distinctive practices for the first time. While not denying their proximity to the

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Portuguese, Goan families showed that they have a complex and intense relationship with their Goan ancestry. This finding did not diminish the importance of the Portuguese as a reference group. Rather, it evidenced and illustrated, albeit partially and superficially, the complexity involved in the processes of negotiation, affirmation and identity construction in a context involving migration and reintegration into a colonial framework. Finally, this feature should not be interpreted as illustrative of a relativization of the group’s strategies of distinction. On the contrary, it reaffirmed the presence of a significant distinction logic regarding the wider Goan community, through caste, as well as all the other non-European groups in the colony.

Notes   1. The Portuguese Republic was established on 5 October 1910.  2. Santa Casa da Misericórdia is a secular Christian organization founded in 1498 to support the weakest and poorest social groups in Portuguese society. It was based at first in Lisbon but soon spread its work and influence to other regions, including the colonies.  3. In Léonard (1999b). Extracts from journalist Christine Garnier’s 1951 interview with Salazar.  4. In Paulo (1999: 312–13). The discourse of Armindo Monteiro (1933), Para Uma Política Imperial, 1ª Conferência dos Governadores Coloniais, Lisbon, Agência Geral das Colónias.  5. João Belo Law and the Colonial Act (1930). This legislation formally defines the status of the assimilated and the indigenous in the Portuguese African colonies.  6. According to Zamparoni (2000: 192), the origin of this term is not precisely known, although the author adopts the definition proposed by Daniel da Cruz in Terras de Gaza (1910), possibly associating it with ‘muenhe, patron sir’. Notwithstanding this possibility, Zamparoni clearly states that the term monhé was disparaging in its connotations, as it still is today.  7. This category also includes the Chinese population.  8. City centre.  9. The Lisbon Metropolitan Area comprises the municipalities of Alcochete, Almada, Barreiro, Amadora, Cascais,  Lisbon, Loures, Mafra, Moita, Montijo, Odivelas, Oeiras, Palmela, Seixal, Sintra, Sesimbra, Setúbal and Vila Franca de Xira. 10. Maputo Bay was formerly known as Delagoa Bay. This designation was used by foreign colonial powers (especially the British) during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as the name for the city of Lourenço Marques. 11. Hotel Polana, a five-star hotel built in 1922 and located on one of the city’s main avenues. 12. A recent residential neighbourhood (1960), regarded as one of the most prestigious residential areas in the last decades of the colonial presence. 13. The Hindu caste system comprises four large strongly hierarchical partitions, formally without communication between them: Brahman, Kshatriya, Vaisya and Sudras. In Sardo (2004: 82).

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14. According to Sardo (2004: 82), the designation ‘caste’ was introduced by the Portuguese as a synonym for jati and not varna. Jati designates social groups based on kinship, marriage and dietary practices, while varna refers to four social functions (priesthood, royalty, commerce and services). The reference to the concept during the research is based on this original definition which is, as will be discussed further on, the designation used by all the Goans when referring to their own system of social organization. 15. A mountain region in north-eastern Portugal. 16. Canecos: mugs, in English. 17. Marimba players from Zavala. 18. A tribal king (1850–1906) who rebelled against the Portuguese. He was defeated by General Mouzinho de Albuquerque and lived out the rest of his life in exile, first in Lisbon and later on the island of Terceira, in the Azores. 19. A Portuguese folk dance. 20. The Mocidade Portuguesa was a Portuguese youth organization founded in 1936 under the right-wing regime of Salazar’s Estado Novo. 21. The official language of the Indian State of Goa. 22. The Mandó is a musical genre linked to the Goan Catholic elite, with a musical composition that fully reproduces the models of Western music from the harmonic, rhythmic and melodic point of view, as well as vocal interpretation. On some occasions, the Mandó can also be danced (Sardo 2004). The lyrics are written and sung in Konkani and their composers are ‘invariably individuals of the Brahmin caste, coming mainly from the Taluka of Salcete, and from the villages of Loutolim, Corturim, Raia and Benaulim’ (ibid.: 159–60).

Chapter 4

Life in Colonial Mozambique A Domestic Material Culture Approach

This chapter focuses on the analysis of the families’ discourse on their African homes. The discussion conceptualizes the home as the outcome of a permanent creative process (Silverstone, Hirsch and Morley 1994; Putnam 1994; Gullestad 1995; Miller 1997, 2001c; Clarke 2001). This perspective stresses homemaking as, on one hand, an ongoing activity and, on the other hand, as reflecting the families’ ability strategically to choose, transform and incorporate material resources to give material form to, in their own words, their taste and lifestyle. From a historical point of view (Clarke 2001: 24–25), the representation of the domestic space as an expressive context is associated with the consolidation of a middle-class identity, in the nineteenth century (ibid.: 24). Decorative practices, furniture, the progressive consolidation of specific home routines, and home caretaking gained significant importance as expressive cultural practices that reflected bourgeois individuality standards (Clarke 2001; Putnam 2002). Above all, this transformation was set in contrast to the working-class domestic spaces that were regarded at that time as resulting from essentially normative and instrumental practices. This perception was progressively revised during the twentieth century and today homemaking, as well as its organization as a practice (Clarke 2001: 25), is considered a particularly productive research domain for addressing how people deal with their pasts, project their futures and negotiate their social positions. As Putnam summarized, during the twentieth century, the aesthetics of home construction articulated domestic life and defined a place for the home – and through it for the domestic unit – in the world (2002: 77).

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The families’ discourses strongly reinforced this perspective. Homes were considered particularly significant for their affirmation in the colonial society and therefore submitted to continuous scrutiny and investment. Although mainly focused on domestic materiality, this chapter offers a general framework for the families’ African homes. As Buchli notes, research focused on the home must also contemplate that, in addition to corresponding to a context where material culture is used, placed and understood (2002a: 207) as an architectural entity it is also a complex and particularly significant artefact. Thus, the analysis also took into account the locations and interior and exterior physical features of the houses, and the families’ domestic management modalities. This position stems from the previously presented theoretical discussion on the concepts of ‘house’ and ‘home’. As was mentioned, the ‘house as an artefact’ (Wright 1991; Birdwell-Pheasant and Laurence-Zuniga 1999; Miller 2001b,c) is a very significant element for the study of consumption practices, since its material (physical) dimensions interact with and, to a certain extent, intervene in and condition ongoing processes of appropriation. The ethnographic fieldwork was designed to enable comparison of the families’ lost homes and their present-day homes. The analysis resulted from a permanent dialogue between past and present discourses and representation, involving both family groups. The discussion starts by focusing on the location and structure of the properties, followed by a brief explanation of the dominant domestic management logic in play. The second part of the chapter addresses the families’ material culture and consumption practices, revolving around three broad topics: decoration logic and practices, food, and a restricted set of other specific forms of cultural consumption identified as highly significant by the families due to their centrality in the domestic sphere (e.g. painting, sculpture, music, literature).

African Houses: Location, Configuration and Management The Portuguese The first significant note about the Portuguese families’ African homes is their centrality in the narratives of the past. The theme of the lost home(s) is recurrent and is found in most of the recollections on the colonial past. This aspect resulted from two factors: the fact that most families lived in more than one house and one place during their time in Mozambique, and the importance of their parents’ and

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grandparents’ homes in their lives in Mozambique. Thus, the information gathered covered, in most cases, a plurality of memories, records, and descriptions: (First home) I have an amazing memory of that home. It was one of those colonial houses, with a big front porch. My father would sit on the porch with two or three friends … in the old colonial way, drinking whiskey and chatting at the end of the day. I still have pictures of that house. (Second home) The house was spectacular. It was located on a little hill, … there was a large garden with mango trees …. My parents had rabbits and chickens because there were no grocery stores nearby. (Third home) was like our second. In the back, there was a back yard where we built a hut where we kept the bicycles. (Fourth house) It was an apartment. A nice apartment, but an apartment. …. It was the only home that was owned by my parents, but it didn’t mean much to me. (First house after getting married) it was an apartment. It was close to the former governor’s palace, in the Polana area.

Based on this record, two recurrent formulations stood out. The first is the distinction between ‘urban houses’ and ‘bush houses’. The second is the subject’s life, especially his or her independence vis-à-vis the older generations – ‘my home’ versus ‘my parents’, and/or ‘grandparents’ home’. Regarding the homes’ locations, the families invariably described their urban houses as representative of ‘European architecture’, and their bush houses as ‘typically colonial’. Although families reported that colonial architecture was also present in the cities, and especially in the capital, their memories clearly emphasized the location in the countryside. The descriptions of the colonial houses stressed the simplicity of their architecture and their strong adaptability to the climate and landscape: thatched roofs, waxed cement floors, and balconies facing south where the family spent most of the day. In contrast, the descriptions of the European houses tended to emphasize their excellent architecture and suitability for a modern and sophisticated urban lifestyle. The fact that most families recurrently refer to both their ancestors’ and their own homes as ‘home’ is particularly significant for the analysis. In some cases, the comparisons are used to establish a clear distinction between the domestic routines and management models of different family generations, while in others they aimed to reinforce the reproduction of practices. This feature of the families’ discourse became very clear in the context of consumption practices. Moreover, the number of records where the reference to domestic life and Mozambican homes was structured around not one but multiple contexts (grandparents,

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parents, friends, neighbours, etc.) was significant. Due to their relevance throughout the analysis, whenever possible, the families’ African homes will be identified according to the above-mentioned categories: urban/bush; owned/ancestors. The urban homes of the families who lived in the capital were all located in the upper part of the city, most of them in the Polana quarter. Most families regarded the Polana quarter, a largely residential district, as the best residential area in the city, only surpassed by Sommershield, a recent and even more splendid new residential area, built in the 1960s. The families’ picture of Beira was similar. Although there were no explicit references to a specific urban area, the homes’ location is made clear by expressions such as ‘we all lived on the same street, in a neighbourhood that would correspond to Estoril’1 in the Lisbon area. In contrast, the houses located outside the urban areas are mostly described as dispersed in the territory and extremely isolated. We had goats, to have milk in the morning, …pigs, potatoes, and cabbages in the garden. … And there was something very curious: we had machilas2 to travel great distances. The machilas were carried by a black person on each side if it was a child, or two if it was an adult. We all had machila backpacks. In the nearest village, there wasn’t even a school. We had a tutor at that time.

As for the architecture of the houses, most families emphasized the generous sizes of the rooms in general, and of the living and dining rooms in particular, and the large outdoor spaces, in most cases including a swimming pool and billiard rooms. The families mentioned that employees’ quarters were usually located at the back of the garden, with no direct connection to the house. Interestingly, the data on the architecture of the houses is scarce, especially when compared with the records on other domestic topics. There are no depictions of architectural elements such as the composition and structuring of the rooms and facades or even visual representations (photographs, drawings) of the buildings. Although most families mentioned having photographs of their past homes, they downplayed their relevance during the ethnographic study and did not grant access to them. This issue will be taken up again at the end of the current chapter. The topic of domestic management encouraged the women to have particularly long and intense conversations. This particularity was a significant feature in itself since it revealed that in Africa this was a predominately feminine task, which must have been central to the lives of these women, given the many memories it evoked. As mentioned

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previously, the women who took part in the research had full-time jobs in Mozambique. This fact was highly valued by most of them and used to establish a distinction between their life experiences and those of previous generations of women in the colony. However, the organization and management of their homes remained a key aspect of their daily lives. Domestic servants and the social importance of the home as a context of sociability and networking were the most debated topics in connection with the families’ domestic routines. In the colonial tradition, domestic servants were mostly men. According to the families, ‘at that time African men left their homes to go and work in other people’s homes and the women stayed in the villages because they were the ones who had to take care of the machamba’.3 This fact was perfectly naturalized in Mozambican society and, according to the women, the men who worked in their homes were perfectly capable of performing multiple domestic functions including, in some cases, taking care of the family’s babies. In Mozambique, most children, boys, and girls, were raised by men who even knew how to change diapers. Of course, when they reached a certain age, the mothers no longer wanted them to bathe their daughters. But, traditionally and in most families, it was always the servants (men) who were responsible for childcare.

Male servants arrived at the families’ homes at an early age – ‘everyone wanted them to move in very young, so they could be trained according to the family’s routines’ – and often several members of the same family would work at the same home. The number of servants grew according to the family’s needs, and it was usual to ask for another boy to be sent from the village when a new baby was born and the domestic work increased. Although this was the most common way of admitting new domestic staff, it was not the only one. A few exceptions were pointed out, especially within the better-positioned social groups: ‘very high society people liked to hire servants who already had a lot of experience because they didn’t have to be teaching them anything. They already knew how to do and organize everything’. In most cases, the servants remained for long periods (many all their lives) in the service of the same family and travelled with them from place to place whenever their personal and professional paths so dictated. This was considered decisive in the establishment of strong bonds of affection and trust. According to the families, all European families living in the colony had at least one servant. Employing several

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servants was considered an exceptional privilege, for the upper classes, that is to say, it was not available to the white population in general. Hence, in most cases, the African servant performed multiple domestic activities, which included cleaning, shopping and taking care of the children. In the upper classes, the narrative that stressed the versatility of the African servants gave way to detailed descriptions of multiple tasks performed by different people, according to a rigorous and well-defined organizational model. Many people had only one servant, who was called moleque.4 It was he who cleaned, tidied the house, and helped with the errands. … He was so versatile. He would also pick up the children from school. He was an element of great importance in the family’s life because he gave them most of the support needed. In the slightly better homes, there was the cook, who was usually a man of a certain age, and the mainato,5 who only did the washing. … He was inside the home and served at the table too. … In homes where there were many children, there was also o pequenino.6 The pequeninos were usually kids between the ages of twelve and fifteen whose work was to play with the family children. A cloth or a mat was put on the floor, the pequenino was called, the toy bag was put on the floor, and everyone played. He was responsible for the playing because he was older, but he also played. … He had a mission, which was to pick up and put away the toys and clean the children’s shoes. … When it was necessary to babysit at night, he would come, bring his mat, and sleep in the hallway. Some even slept in the room with the children (on the floor). … Then, there were homes where, either because the pequenino was very young, or because there was more work to do, there was the mamana.7 The mamana was a woman whose only task was to look after the children. This was more common in families with working mothers. They were usually quite fat, very motherly, very calm, very good-natured, that idea of ​​the loving black woman. The mamanas just took care of the babies. They fed them, took care of their clothes, supervised the preparation of their meals, walked them, and went to the beach with them. … They were a very important element because they allowed the mothers a more restful life. They were excellent at taking care of the children. … They were very complete and careful substitute mothers. … They were also the ones who took the children to the other children’s parties. Many people were raised by mamanas.

All the families reported having a cook, a mainato and a pequenino as their regular staff, and most also mentioned having a moleque at home. Additionally, some families also mentioned having ‘white servants’. The latter was seen as exceptional in the colony and was therefore an important status symbol, since it implied considerable financial

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resources. White servants took on the general coordination of daily domestic tasks (governantas)8 and they could also be hired as replacements for the mamanas (the nannies).9 Nannies of English descent were favoured, although some families pointed out that nannies of French and Portuguese origin were also considered a good choice. The dominant argument justifying the hiring of Europeans was not based on the devaluation of African domestic workers. As stated earlier, families were unanimous in stressing the capabilities of African men and women. Having European servants was, above all, a function of social distinction. In my social strata, almost everyone had white servants. My grandmother had two spectacular white maids. My grandmother moulded them spectacularly. … We always had white maids and, then, other (African) servants. … But the black servants also learned very well. Not everyone could afford a white nanny. They were expensive, and normally those who employed them were people of great refinement and with a lot of money.

The servants’ routines generally followed a pre-established schedule designed for organizing and carrying out the different daily tasks, but which also included breaks for meals and a period of night study. Food and clothing were normally provided by the lady of the house. At ten in the morning, everything stopped so they (the servants) could have tea. … The moleque, who had done the house cleaning in the morning, would take a shower at eleven, and then would set the table and serve lunch. The pequenino, who usually had lunch earlier than the others, was responsible for making lunch for the mainato, the moleque, and the cook. At night they all went to school. … The servants normally wore shorts and a loose khaki blouse. The cook was always dressed in white: white trousers, a white blouse, white apron, from morning to night. When serving at the table, the moleque would wear khaki pants, a white blouse, and a khaki or white apron. On festive days, they all had their white suits with yellow buttons and sometimes white gloves. The Indians made all these uniforms, that we would buy at their stores downtown.

Once the daily routine had been established and household chores had been taught, the role of organizing and managing the house became relatively insignificant in their daily lives, according to the families’ accounts. Their absolute trust in their servants’ technical skills and morals was constantly stressed. The families not only delegated the tasks that involved handling money (shopping for the house) but also many of the day-to-day household decisions. In some cases, training

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would take place without major direct interference from the family, since the older servants were considered capable of training the younger ones in their assigned domestic tasks. This was a central aspect of exploring the home as a key context for sociability and networking. Homes were one of the most important sites for social gathering and consolidating the families’ social positions in colonial society, in both urban and rural contexts. Accordingly, all families described all Mozambican homes, in general, but most particularly their own, as open. There were two types of socialization activities, which were permanent and intense. The first, which was more informal, routinely involved visiting friends’ houses on the spur of the moment. Having unannounced guests for lunch or dinner was considered normal practice in colonial life. The second, more formal type applied to specific social events, especially dinner and tea parties. In both cases, the quality of the domestic staff was considered a decisive aspect. Some families controlled their employees’ work. These were usually people who didn’t have an intense social life, and the wives didn’t work. But those families who had professional cooks, with a lot of experience, didn’t have to worry about anything. Money was given to them, they went shopping, presented the bills, and cooked. We only had to sit at the table for lunch and dinner. … They knew how to handle everything. All I had to do was say: ten people are coming for lunch tomorrow, or there’s a cocktail party at the house at such and such a time, and the servants knew how to organize everything. All they asked was: ma’am, what aperitifs do you want to serve? Is there anything special you want to prepare? These instructions were sufficient because they knew how to do everything. My mother was very refined, but she worked in the family’s companies. She was a dynamic woman, but she had a great housekeeper to whom all you had to say was I have sixty people for dinner, and she would take care of everything. The servants were impeccable. I would often call the cook in the morning and say: we have twelve people for lunch. He took care of everything. Then, he would call back and explain to me the menu he had thought of. It was a gem.

The fact that women did not have to invest much time and effort managing their homes should not be interpreted as a lack of interest in household tasks. Almost all interviewees explicitly stated otherwise. According to them, ‘Mozambican ladies’ devoted considerable time and thought to establishing the perfect home, that is, a home that

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would correspond to the strict criteria of colonial domestic life. Hence, the independence of domestic staff was a great example of their abilities and not the opposite. That is to say, the significant investment women made in the home was measured by their competence in maintaining the complex scheme of functions, schedules and performances of their domestic staff. Moreover, the general decoration of the house and establishing the right everyday atmosphere, always described as exquisite, were also their responsibility. Overall, ‘the ladies of Mozambique were very well prepared, they were very complete housewives. … They liked and paid a lot of attention to their homes’.

The Goans As in the case of Portuguese families, the discourse of Goan families on their African homes is wide-ranging. Although their lives in Mozambique were more stable in residential terms (the different generations lived, in most cases, in the same place), references to different homes are also quite frequent, especially regarding the parental houses. The resemblance between the two groups of families persists in terms of how the houses are described, with one exception: since Goans families lived exclusively in urban contexts, there are no remarks or comparisons of bush houses and urban houses, as with the former group. Thus, the most visible feature in the group’s narrative is, once again, the dominant stress on the ‘European style’ of their houses, which are generally described as ‘spacious villas with a garden’. Most of the families’ narratives are vague and limited to a brief yet detailed explanation of the structure and composition of the indoor and outdoor areas. It was a one-storey house, with a large garden and a patio at the back. The entire house was surrounded by large balconies where there were tables and armchairs. Inside was spacious. It had an office, a large living room, a dining room, a kitchen, and a pantry. The bedroom area was separated by a door.

Although there are indications that these memories are very persistent, especially of the last house lived in before the exodus, the fact that the dominant note in these recollections is evasive is particularly significant, especially when compared with the intensity of their accounts of domestic consumption practices. As with the previous group, only one family was interested in showing photographs of their past homes in Mozambique, the others being limited to mentioning their size, which allowed ‘freedom of movement and provided space for all family members’.

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Regarding location, there are again clear similarities with the information provided by the Portuguese families: ‘Our (parental) home was very large, in a very beautiful neighbourhood. We lived in a neighbourhood that at the time was very chic. It was the Polana quarter. Later, a fancier neighbourhood appeared, Sommershield, but in my time it didn’t exist. We lived in a very nice house’. In the city of Lourenço Marques, where all the families lived for many years of their lives, all the houses were located in the upper part, more precisely in the Polana neighbourhood and in the central area next to the cathedral and the City Hall building. In the case of families who lived in other locations, the references are more imprecise. Both in Beira and Porto Amélia,10 references to the location of the houses are limited to notes such as ‘residential area’ and ‘very quiet area’. However, it was possible to determine that the families’ houses were located in the same areas of residence as the Portuguese families. Explicit or implicit references to this fact, that is, living in ‘privileged’ and ‘exclusive’ residential areas, where most of the population was white, is an important issue for the families in explaining and reinforcing their proximity to the Portuguese. Interestingly, many of the descriptions of the locations include a mention of the houses of other Goan families that lived nearby. Hence, the existence of strong cohesion and daily contact between Brahmin families is, once more, reinforced. On the other hand, effective proximity to the Portuguese, in terms of location and architectural style, is contradicted by other aspects of the families’ home materiality and everyday domestic consumption practices. Goan narratives on domestic management are similar to that of the Portuguese families. Once more, it is clear that women were responsible for this activity, even if all of them worked full time. As with the other group, being out of the house all day did not diminish the importance of domestic life, which meant a great deal to them. Although most of the women mentioned that in Mozambique they ‘sometimes liked to do some of the household chores, especially cooking’, the families’ servants were responsible for most of the domestic activities. As discussed in a previous chapter, Goan families were unanimous in underlining the prioritization of formal education for girls in their upbringing. Thus, it is no surprise that all women mentioned that they only learned how to manage household chores after getting married – ‘It was not up to the ladies to carry out household chores. Girls were not trained for this and therefore often got married without knowing how to do anything. Above all, we were encouraged to study’.

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Once more, the quality of African domestic staff is strongly underlined: ‘we taught them, and they did everything. They learned well and were very handy’. The families stated that they trusted their African servants, and their relationship was based on profound and mutual respect. Unlike Portuguese families, Goan families, when referring to their domestic staff, clearly prioritize this topic over others. In this sense, there was no precise information as to how many employees there were in their homes, how the tasks were allocated, or whether there was a pre-determined time for carrying them out, as in the case of the Portuguese families. Nevertheless, it is possible to advance some hypotheses. First, all families had more than one servant, since they always refer to them in the plural. Secondly, some of them mention that some servants lived permanently with the families (on their premises, usually isolated from the main building) and others commuted from their residences, always located outside the urban perimeters. Thirdly, and unlike the Portuguese families, all the servants were African. In Portuguese homes, servants played a decisive role in the families’ social life. In Goan homes, however, that task was not emphasized as much. The servants did, however, still take part in organizing social events. As in the previous case, the families’ narrative points to a very intense social life both inside and outside the home. For Goan families, however, unlike the Portuguese families, the most relevant aspect of their social life and leisure practices at home was their connection to the Goan culture, that is, to Goan music and especially Goan food. This does not necessarily imply that the African servants did not contribute to these events simply because they stemmed from what the families called ‘Goan tradition’. On the contrary, there are numerous references to the fact that the Africans quickly learned how to prepare ‘the complex and time-consuming Goan cuisine’. What the families fundamentally meant was that to prepare a proper Goan event at home, all the family (servants included) had to participate: ‘Most parties were held at home. All according to our tradition. It wasn’t just the food. We would sing and dance the mandós.11 In Mozambique. For example, on Christmas eve, we spent the night like that, singing the mandós, all together’. Goan festivities and social events involve a variety of consumption practices that will be further discussed in the next chapter. For now, it is especially important to emphasize the centrality of the home as a context for collective production, reproduction and display of Goan culture, as well as the originality of these social events, especially regarding the dominant model conveyed by the other families. As this is a fundamental aspect of home life in Mozambique for both groups under analysis, the brief discussion presented here so far indicates that, in

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addition to many similarities and convergences, careful observation of the domestic context is equally revealing of the existence of significant specificities in both groups. The coexistence of common and singular aspects in Portuguese and Goan families will permeate the analysis of their domestic material culture and consumption practices.

Domestic Materiality: The Things of the House Homes contain many objects. This analysis intentionally did not distinguish between the different objects and goods that formed the families’ African homes. The approach to the data gathered here was comprehensive and integrated. It is important to note, however, that three categories of domestic materiality predominate: decorative objects (furniture, tapestries, ceramics), food and foodways, and artistic consumption practices (paintings, music, literature). This broad categorization serves only to help organize an extremely varied set of records and should not be interpreted as a sign of specific organization of each of the resulting sets. On the contrary, and despite the occasional emergence of original aspects related to particular consumption practices, most of the records indicate that several common principles underly and organize the domestic consumption practices of the families. The significance of these principles warrants further discussion at the end of this chapter.

The Portuguese The Portuguese families invariably began the discussion of their domestic material culture with a common and revealing statement: ‘all the houses were decorated in the European style’. The explanation of what was meant by ‘European style’ mainly took two forms. The first, more restricted, described their interior decoration options as a reproduction of the styles of the Portuguese mainland. The second, more widespread, did not limit the influences to mainland Portugal, and suggested a wider interpretation of the term European, to include in particular objects and styles defined as ‘British’ and/or ‘French’. Occasionally, either one of the abovementioned options is further defined by the term ‘Western’, used as a synonym for ‘European’. All my family’s homes were decorated with objects and furniture imported from Europe, many bought from antique dealers in various countries. They were originals. In the other houses, the decoration was in the European style, but frequently the items were replicas produced either in Portugal or Mozambique.

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The upper classes attached great importance to decorating in the European styles: ‘Louis XV’, or ‘Rococo’. Later, there appeared what we called ‘TAP’ fashion, which is back in vogue, the ‘Art Deco’ style. … There also was a lot of decoration in the ‘British taste’. Many things were bought in South Africa.

Aside from illustrating the many meanings of the term ‘European’, the families’ discourse contains other significant aspects concerning their colonial experience. The first is the explicit connection between options on interior decoration and position in the social structure – ‘the upper classes attached great importance to decorating in the European styles’. The second points to the existence of a relative diversity of forms of access to and acquisition of the objects needed to put this same aspiration into practice. Closely connected, these two aspects are a significant contribution to understanding the differences within the initial general description. The families stated that the choice and purchase of furniture and domestic objects depended on a wide set of resources: shops that imported them from mainland Portugal and other European countries; the possibility of placing direct orders with national producers, or international producers and retailers; availability on the neighbouring South African market; the existence of a local furniture industry that, based on original templates (mostly Portuguese), produced replicas of ‘European’ furniture in local materials (especially wood). Despite a widespread, very positive representation of the quality of African wood used in furniture making, and of the craftsmanship of local artisans who produced furniture and other objects, the distinction between originals and replicas was explicit. Hierarchies among the objects present in the homes decorated in the ‘European style’ were based on this distinction in particular. As well as clearly appreciating western aesthetic standards, the upper higher classes were concerned with their ability to create and sustain a demarcation between the authentic and the reproduction. There are many types of wood, very beautiful, and everybody was having furniture made in them. But the houses ended up all looking the same. … My parents never bought anything in those woods, and I just have one piece of furniture. … Well, European things certainly were the most appreciated. People came to Europe on holiday and bought much of what they needed.

The second element within this topic is related to the first and concerns how the families chose to express the comparison between their

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objects and ‘African stuff’. In most cases, the appreciation for one’s choices is matched by a widespread disdain for what is usually defined as ‘African objects’. We used none of that. The only thing you could have, and many did have them, were elephant tusks, and even so, it was considered a bit ostentatious. Or a table with elephant feet. I don’t know, I never liked it much. Ivory upset me, and the indigenous villages, I thought they were horrible. And nobody had that. We all had European-style homes … Using African wax cloth… to dress, never! Now that would be ridiculous. What we sometimes did do, was to adapt the prettiest ones as beach pareos. But we wouldn’t use them there. We came to Europe and used them here. Not there, it wasn’t proper. And we didn’t use them for decoration in the home, batiks, wax cloth, none of that. There were many houses, and they weren’t exactly the poorest ones, where they had this idea of putting animal skin on the floor. There were many houses with the skin of an animal right at the entrance (leopard, zebra, and antelope). Then there were tall ashtrays in African blackwood. … And mats could be used in the hall, as flooring. But this was not common.

As the families’ narratives indicate, ‘African objects’, if present at all, take second place to other objects in the home. This is especially apparent when they are compared to ‘European objects’, but also emerges in comparison to a different set of objects, especially those identified as ‘Chinese’ and ‘Indo-Portuguese’. According to the families, the category of ‘African objects’ includes an extremely diversified set of elements, such as animal skins, feet and tusks, as well as objects resulting from the craft production of African populations like bone and wood sculptures, masks, tapestries and textiles. The objects included in this wide category – defined as common in the colonial period – were appreciated mostly by European colonists of the lower social strata – ‘the people from the Alto Maié’12 – and later by the Portuguese military during the colonial war. Even in such cases, as one interviewee remarked, ‘I’m afraid that they mostly bought them because they were made of blackwood, and not because they were Makonde art. People mostly looked for Last Suppers and Our Ladies to send to their families back home.’ The families’ attitudes to most objects included in the ‘African’ category tended to change somewhat in the last decade of the Portuguese colonial presence in Mozambique. As will be explained later, the cautious affirmation of a very limited African artistic production in the fine arts brought about a subtle change in the discourse of some families. As a result, several African objects are interpreted more broadly,

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a distinction being made between ‘objects sold on the streets’ and the production of a small group of African artists. ‘Oriental’ or ‘Chinese’13 and ‘Indo-Portuguese’14 objects were appreciated in the colony. Access to such objects was at times described as a ‘privilege’ resulting from the presence of a considerable group of immigrants from China and Goa. There were shops with very beautiful things, jade, and china, that weren’t available or known here [in Portugal]. You could say we learned to like them there, with the Chinese. And then it was very peculiar, because in certain houses great importance was given to having Chinese items, and later most houses did have them …. The Cantão [Canton] sets, the Bago de Arroz [Rice Grain] tea sets, the Mandarins, the Clazonêz. They were all included in trousseaus.

Most references to Chinese objects are to porcelain. Despite the existence of other things of ‘daily use’, the narratives underline the existence of ‘pieces of excellent quality, which were difficult to find in Europe’. The accounts regarding furniture of the same origin is often very similar, while in many cases also described as ‘antiques’. As for the ‘Indo-Portuguese’ objects, most families mentioned the existence, in their homes, of few things, mostly chairs and armchairs with woven straw backs, tables and wooden chests. As in the case of Chinese objects, their quality and design also warranted a positive evaluation. The positive representation of these non-European products, however, should not be interpreted as a departure from the interior decoration options previously described. According to the families, the ‘Chinese’ and ‘Indo-Portuguese’ objects were not a concession in terms of style as they perfectly incorporated the dominant logic of ‘European-style’ interior decoration. Rather, their presence should be understood as the capacity to incorporate elements long appreciated in the West: ‘When they visited Portugal, people almost always brought Chinese porcelain and Indo-Portuguese chests to give as presents. Everybody did. Relatives asked for them, either because they weren’t available here, or because the prices were exorbitant. Thousands of such items came here from Mozambique’. The last relevant aspect of this topic is the families’ acknowledgement of an explicit investment in objects of social distinction. The resources employed previously to describe their life experiences in Mozambique in general are revisited in observations of their domestic material culture. The use of similar adjectives to describe in detail one’s investment in the decoration of the home is representative of how domestic spaces served

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as the prime arena for defining and confirming group social differentiation strategies. That is, as well as revealing the families’ social position in the colony, objects and how they were used was also a significant resource for asserting and reinforcing families’ logics of distinction. Food and foodways were widely discussed during fieldwork. Food played a very significant role in the narratives about domestic daily life, and in more general references to the ‘Mozambican experience’. Furthermore, the use of terminology directly related to foodstuffs and tastes is frequently employed to express nostalgic feelings about colonial times. Discourse on food partially overlaps with that on the management of the domestic space. The first original note is a formal distinction between ‘daily food’ and the preparation of menus for specific social events. Most families mentioned that everyday food consisted mainly of ‘typically Portuguese meals’ that required simple but careful preparation. Portuguese cooking is, however, interrupted at two key moments: tea, always described as ‘typically British’; and Sunday lunch, ‘traditionally consisting of a curry dish’. Beyond these two exceptions, the reference to Chinese food is also noteworthy, not at home but in restaurants. Portuguese food was adapted to the climate or the relative difficulty of sourcing certain ingredients on the local market. References to cod, cozido à portuguesa15 and beef are frequent. The relevance of the Portuguese culinary heritage becomes particularly clear on certain dates of the year, such as ‘São Martinho’ (St Martin’s Day), and the ‘Os Santos Populares’,16 celebrated with all pomp and circumstance, and in line with the popular tradition: On Saint Martin’s Day, in November, in Africa, we ate roast chestnuts, all ordered from Portugal, cornbread, caldo verde17 soup, while listening to fado and guitar music. … In the garden, we served grilled sausage and grilled sardines, and everybody loved it. Even people who had been born there. It was very Portuguese. In those times, liking and valuing Portuguese food was a good thing.

According to the families, food clearly reinforced their connection to Portugal. This feature contrasts with the generally critical statements about the country previously discussed. Further investigation of this apparently paradoxical exception revealed a second significant aspect: ignorance of, negative opinion on, and refusal to accept foods defined as ‘African’. That is, the positive value given to ‘Portuguese food’ mainly functioned as a counterpoint to ‘African food’, usually labelled as ‘their food’.

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The negative evaluation of African material culture, which was already apparent regarding furniture, decorative objects, textiles and tapestries, is reinforced in the case of food and foodways. Rather than demonstrating resistance to and dislike of the products and forms of consumption identified as ‘African’, the narratives are characterized by a generalized lack of knowledge of the daily eating habits of those in their immediate vicinity, in fact within their own houses. Let’s see. When we lived there, it was Mozambique, but it was also Portugal, so we did not identify much with Mozambican culture. We were Portuguese, and very proud of it. We cooked according to our cultural traditions. That was their food, and we did not even want to know if it was good or bad. We did not even taste it. The blacks cooked many peanut curries, with rice or cornflour. … They made little balls with the flour, dipped them in sauce, and ate them. We did not eat any of that, except for curry. And curry was Indian, not African. Now, all that – yams and all that – I don’t have the faintest idea how all that is. I’ve never eaten it. And I’ve never seen it in anybody’s house, and rest assured that we had lots of formal dinners.

The demarcation from African eating habits is a key element in understanding the constant reference to Portuguese gastronomic traditions, which therefore takes on a fundamental instrumental function: the affirmation of a clear distinction from the African population. While important, this is not the only noteworthy factor concerning food consumption in the colony. While partially divergent from the dominant expressions regarding Portugal, food and foodways are one of the areas in which connections to Portugal are made particularly clear, even when the overall relationship tends to be explicitly negative. Sometimes I ask those who say they are Mozambican: why do you say you are Mozambican? Because you like green mangos and cashew nuts? If that’s being Mozambican… If I had to relate to a humble Portuguese family, whom I’ve never met before, but who nonetheless invites me to have some soup in their home, I will probably recognize that soup. It’s the cultural roots I identify with. Now, if a black man invited me to have dinner in his hut, I would be equally grateful to him, but I won’t be able to identify what they were eating. I did not grow up eating and recognizing those things.

Given this framework, tea and ‘Sunday curry’ were two important exceptions, resulting from two interconnected factors: first, their originality within daily food consumption, and secondly, their relevance as

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key elements of the families’ ‘Mozambican colonial identity’. Despite their divergent origins, tea and the preparation of the ‘Sunday curry’ attain the statute of tradition in the discourse on food consumption in general (they are the two most frequently quoted elements), and are, in the opinion of the families, two fundamental points of reference in their experiences of life in Mozambique. Tea is described as an ‘institution’ or a compulsory ritual and is referred to as one of the clearest examples of ‘British influence’ on the colony. Usually depicted as ‘totally different from the teas here (Portugal)’, it played a significant role in the context of women’s social practices in the upper classes, as previously mentioned: ‘Tea was a practice imported from South Africa. The ladies organized many tea parties where they played cards. This was a habit of the elites. Those who worked could not spend all afternoon having tea, especially on weekdays’. Accounts of the curry tradition tend to be different from that of tea. Despite being described as a ‘Mozambican practice’, the connection of tea to British culture is almost invariably cited. The same does not happen with curry. Frequently described as the ‘national dish’ or ‘typical Mozambican food’, it is given the statute of a culinary practice shared by all those of European origin, and even by Africans. The Indian origin of the dish is mentioned by all families. However, this aspect does not have the same symbolic relevance as in the case of tea, and therefore the families could not clearly explain the root of its appropriation and extended popularity as a ‘Sunday meal’: ‘the Mozambican dish we usually made was curry. It was very popular as a Sunday meal. It was a tradition in Lourenço Marques that most families kept when they moved here’. The differences of these two specificities ‘of the past’ are connected to the third notable factor. As mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, most families defined their daily diet as being different from the meals prepared for social events. The centrality of the home as the privileged locus for entertaining and spending leisure time has been already discussed. The descriptions of meals that supported those occasions are as important – if not more so – than daily food practices. ‘To host at home’ was something mostly associated with planning special meals, at times for a considerable number of guests. The preparation of food and, in some cases, the elaboration of the menu were left to be done by the domestic servants, while the women organized and supervised a multitude of tasks, which they carried out with great care. The central role of this aspect of domestic life is explicitly confirmed by all families, who mention that there was ‘actual competition among the ladies’ to assert their qualities and originality as hostesses.

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A comparison of daily food practices with the meals prepared for social events provides two relevant observations. The first is that ‘typically Portuguese traditions’ were somewhat marginalized, in favour of a more ‘international’ – but still firmly western – food repertoire. The second confirms once more the strategic importance of the home in the affirmation and strengthening of families’ social positioning within the colony. In the case of the main meals (lunch and dinner), the reference to the Portuguese heritage, while not completely absent, is combined with others that signal the incorporation of other culinary referents, especially British and French. Everyday food (including curries) is taken over by other, more sophisticated elements. This trend is particularly visible in the descriptions of the menus for tea, always prepared according to the British tradition. Investment in the selection and preparation of meals is complemented by careful presentation, according to the families’ sophisticated, elegant and tasteful habitus. In a somewhat formal dinner, you wouldn’t just include anything. … When you hosted someone more formally, … you would serve a soufflé, or something like that, more sophisticated. I remember very well the elegance of meals in my grandparents’ house. … The tables were something to be seen. Flowers, orchids, everything very well arranged, all with great taste and enjoyment in receiving guests.

Unlike in the case of decorative objects and food, the families do not have a common position regarding their artistic consumption practices. This originality is clear in connection with their final years in Mozambique. The consumption of art, music and literature in Mozambique was defined by two main features: the existence of formal mechanisms of censorship imposed by the Estado Novo; and the actual possibility of eluding them. Going to South Africa and Rhodesia to shop was common. They had everything there. They were already part of a ‘consumer society’. We had access to many things that were forbidden or did not exist at all in Portugal. Before books were banned by censorship in mainland Portugal, we’d already read them there. For the longest time, we ordered things through foreign publishers. The censors did not realize this. Only the mail of people with a record in the political police was monitored. Normal people had no problem.

All families confirmed that while the limitations imposed by censorship during the Estado Novo era were indeed felt in Mozambique, as in any other Portuguese territory, the proximity of South Africa and

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Zimbabwe made it possible to deal quite effectively with the limitations imposed by the restrictive policy, which was culturally ‘closed in upon itself ’. As pointed out by one of the interviewees, ‘in South Africa, you did not just find British and South African things. You could find everything: French, American, Italian things’. This aspect is once more used by the families to distance themselves from ‘the ways of thinking of the mainland’. While most families did not refer to their artistic consumption practices, the fact that they were not limited to the market controlled by the Portuguese government was frequently cited as a sign of the colony’s cosmopolitanism, which contrasted with the rigidity imposed by the Estado Novo. This is hardly an original argument. The subjects’ discourse on their cultural consumption practices matches their representations of other aspects of life. The resort to the former British colonies’ markets was frequent and diversified. However, as with education, it takes on special significance in the case of literature, music and in some cases painting and sculpture, since it materializes their distinctive form of cultural capital, in contrast to that of most of the Portuguese. We frequently went to Rhodesia and South Africa. … At that time, they were both so advanced, in everything. We went to see a doctor, to see what was new, and to study, too. It was another way of acknowledging a different kind of elitism. It was important for children to study there, and more than that, that they learn to speak English. Just the fact that one was studying in a more evolved civilization, and spoke English, gave them very high status. … all my brothers studied in South Africa.

The last significant note on artistic consumption practices relates to what the families called ‘African artistic expressions’. There are two noteworthy aspects to the discourse here. The first, shared by most families, reflects a systematically negative evaluation of African artistic productions until the mid-1960s. The second, less consensual, reflects a partial change in the formerly negative representations over the last years of colonialism. Mirroring those on the inclusion of ‘African objects’ in home decoration, the first statements on the artistic production of the African populations reveal a dominant attitude of ignorance and rejection. From an aesthetic point of view, the dominant aesthetic was certainly European. So, it was rare for people to have African art in their homes. For example, my parents had several pieces by Jacob,18 considered by critics as the father of Mozambican painting. But they had them because my mother was a teacher and, frequently, he paid his tuition

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with a painting. He knew that my mother liked art. But it was very uncommon. … I remember that we had many painters and sculptors of Portuguese and Indo-Portuguese origin. Some, such as Eugénio de Lemos,19 even had a very freestyle. But it wasn’t the same as what then happened with Malangatana.20 The nucleus of art was made up of white artists. António Quadros’21 work is still very much linked to the Beira region, but he uses colours that reflect the fact he lived with us. … The same happened with music. I don’t recall there having been any recorded, published black music, for example. I liked African choirs very much, but my parents never even considered that to be art. It rarely happened, but I did love dancing a good marrabenta.22 So, as a joke, at the Polana, they played a marrabenta, and I would be one of the first to dance. … But it was only occasionally, a little bit. Playfully. Nobody had that music at home, to listen to. On the contrary. The popular singers were all white. … Marrabenta was just to goof around.

This picture changes in part from the mid-1960s onwards. The colonial policies of the Estado Novo underwent significant revisions, and changes were made to the legal status of the indigenous population. Despite its very limited impact on the lives of most Africans, this change had significant repercussions on the level of the visibility and status of a small number of African artists: Things changed when Mrs Maria das Neves, the wife of Governor Baltazar Rebelo de Sousa,23 began bestowing and arranging scholarships for several African artists. She began visiting these artists’ studios, and intellectuals and those who wanted to appear enlightened then began paying more attention to painting and literature. This was in the sixties when, in the colonies, there started to develop a feeling for Africanness. It was all on the same wavelength. Exhibitions no longer included only artists who lived and painted in the Portuguese style, with their culture. Artists with genuine Mozambican paintings began to appear.

While most families recognize the names of African artists who made a name for themselves at the time (Chissano24 and Malangatana Valente in the fine arts, and Craveirinha25 in literature are the most frequently named), only a minority claim to have paid attention to these emerging productions: ‘it was mainly the most advanced intellectuals. University professors, with a different openness of spirit’. The fact that it was a very limited field of production, whose visibility was partial and recent, meant that the appreciation of African art was, in the opinion of the families, restricted to a small group that, despite its good position in the social structure of the colony, was not representative of its elites.

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The Goans The Goan families’ homes reveal the same ambivalence and mimicry that characterizes their positioning strategies in colonial society – on the one hand the existence of a habitus based on a strong adherence to the lifestyles of the Portuguese colonial elites and, on the other, the maintenance of a very particular and equally valued set of cultural references closely linked to origin. The analysis of the families’ material culture and consumption practices is particularly revelatory of their original positioning strategy. My parents decorated their house almost exclusively with objects from Goa, especially furniture. … Not out of necessity, but because they liked it. It was family stuff. I have almost nothing from their home because men inherited everything. In the past, it was like this: girls got their dowry, which was in cash, and boys the property and the furniture. [talking about their parents’ home] It could easily pass for a European family home. There were no major influences from Goa [decoration]. … We did not inherit Goan pieces. Just the odd thing my dad bought and nothing else. This desk came from Goa, from my parents’ family property. It is IndoPortuguese. It arrived in Mozambique in very poor condition and was restored there. And nothing else. My parents didn’t bring much [from Goa].

Regardless of the dominant logic, the duality found in the families’ descriptions establishes two main trends regarding their prevailing consumption logic. First, no home is described as having been furnished with objects that were exclusively Goan or European. Even where there is a clear prevalence of objects that the families relate directly to context, Goan and European furniture occupied the same domestic spaces. Secondly, the families do not privilege one set of objects over the other, based on their origin. That is, the families are unanimous in considering that the similarity between their homes and the homes of the European families, which was a significant indicator of their trajectory in the colony, apparently did not imply a devaluation of Goan domestic objects: ‘some homes had furniture from Goa. But most didn’t. The best furniture stayed in Goa, in the families’ ancestral homes. Goan migrants arrived here with just one small suitcase’. Unlike the Portuguese families, furniture from ‘home’ did not seem to be considered mandatory for the Goan families. However, both groups share a set of similar representations concerning the contents

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of their African homes. The first, and perhaps most visible, relates to ‘African objects’. Our homes did not have those things. They were considered vulgar and were not valued at all. Of course, everyone had two or three things like the common blackwood floor lamp or the panga-panga boxes. Ivory sculptures were also common. My parents didn’t, but many of their friends did. African furniture was by no means common. There was no African furniture, so to speak, for sale. And there was almost no contact with African art. An ivory sculpture or two, and that was it. There were also small African villages, carved in wood, which we bought a lot to offer here [in Portugal]. And that was it.

This standpoint regarding African furniture and art is shared by all families. Although they are not so openly dismissive as the Portuguese families are, most Goan families underline the ‘banality’ of African objects, especially when compared with European and Indian objects. This position was however revised, as in the case of Portuguese families, in the last years of their stay in the colony. Goan families presented vague descriptions of their decorative options. Their accounts show a prevalence of ‘classical’, ‘Western’, and ‘European’ as the most frequently used terms. This generalist formula gives way to a more precise description in the case of the IndoPortuguese or Goan objects such as oratories and figurines: ‘the oratories were beautiful. I had a very beautiful Saint Anne, which belonged to my mother-in-law. There were also many family photographs, old photos from our families in their ancestral houses in Goa’. Alongside references to religious objects and a few family heirlooms, there are frequent allusions to specific artefacts, many of them used in food preparation, such as the stone for grounding spices, and some objects of everyday use such as trays and tea tables of different sizes. Finally, there is one significantly original trait in Goan families’ discourse on their African homes in connection with Portuguese families. Interestingly, the instrumentalization of consumption as a mechanism of social distinction is absent from their narratives, except for their clear devaluation of African objects. In a formulation partially contrasting with that used to refer to their home’s location and size, home interiors are described as ‘simple, comfortable, with everything needed, but no luxury’. Since this formulation is recurrent, it is possible to advance the hypothesis that there was relatively little investment in home

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decoration and furnishing, unlike in the Portuguese homes, especially when compared with other domestic material culture and consumption practices such as food and art. Food consumption is a central field of analysis for the discussion of the families’ relationship with their Goan origin in Mozambique. In contrast to furniture, food practices are intensely discussed and described. This is a clear indication of their centrality to this research: ‘In Africa, my mother cooked Goan. She was very fond of Goan food, she cooked very well, and got us used to it. It seems to me that food is my umbilical cord with Goa. And I think it’s not just me’. Described as rich and varied, Goan cuisine held a privileged position in the families’ everyday meals and on festive occasions. Although some families mentioned the incorporation of food practices described as ‘Portuguese’, these were devalued in favour of the affirmation of their food heritage, through a set of diversified arguments. Goans revised and improved Portuguese cuisine. For example, if a traditional Portuguese feijoada has chorizo ​​from India, made with spices from there, it tastes fantastic, much better than the one made with chorizo from Portugal. We made rissoles and feijoada, but with adaptations. I remember the roast beef, always seasoned in our way, with cumin. So much better.

According to the families, most ‘Portuguese’ food practices underwent an adaptation, especially in terms of seasonings. Although there are also references to ‘non-revised recipes’, such as steaks, chicken, cafreal chicken, cod and grilled sardines, the families see these as secondary in the overall context of their food practices. Non-Goan food is usually described as basic, or children’s food, and its significance is downplayed when compared to the excellence of Goan cuisine. This argument is reinforced by the fact that meals prepared during formal festive moments and informal family gatherings were exclusively made up of Goan foods. On festive days it was unthinkable not to make exclusively Goan food. … We made Pulao Rice,26 which has raisins, almonds, fried onions, and chicken; Sarapatel,27 which is a traditional Christmas recipe that we can’t do without; Bebinca.28 Halvah,29 which my mother made very well. I also learned how to make it: it takes wheat semolina, almonds, coconut milk, and sugar. It’s so perfect, so light. Then it’s all covered with grated almonds. … It was always Goan food. Goan food is indeed very good. It was mandatory.

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On Sunday there was always curry. The others [non-Goans] made curry too. They imitated us. Other things were also made, such as Sarapatel or Xacuti.30

Although the families recognized and referred to the different influences on the Goan gastronomic heritage (with special emphasis on the Portuguese), its originality and intrinsic value were always stressed. The ambivalence that marked the families’ discourse on other aspects of domestic life is replaced by the affirmation of an original cultural trait expressly described as ‘ours’. This particularity is underlined in how Goan cuisine is designated (‘our heritage’), and the claim of having introduced into Mozambique the ‘Sunday curry’, that is, the colony’s national dish. For once, the incorporation of ‘Portuguese habits and practices’ is explicitly downplayed and replaced by an argument that highlights precisely the opposite. As one interviewee stated, ‘it was the others who imitated the Goans’ by incorporating into their daily lives a set of food practices (with special emphasis on curry) that they also claimed as their own. I remember a shop owned by an Indian in Lourenço Marques who sold a seasoning mix and had a huge European clientele who didn’t understand anything about spices. They bought the seasoning mix there for the curry. It’s not like my wife who makes the seasoning at home. She asks for so much of this, so much of that, and the seasoning is homemade. Europeans would arrive there and say they wanted a kilo of curry powder. And he had something prepared, which was called curry powder.

Another significant aspect relates to the representations of ‘African food’, which are like those expressed by the Portuguese families. Goan families reaffirmed a general lack of knowledge of and interest in ‘indigenous food’, with which they only established effective contact after the colony’s independence. The first time I tried Mozambican food – Matapa31 – was after independence. Before, we didn’t eat any of that. My servants in my house ate cornmeal. They made balls and dipped them in a sauce they called curry, but it wasn’t curry. It was a stir-fry of dried fish. Sometimes they invited us, the children, to eat with them. And we would go out to the backyard to have lunch with them. We sat with them in front of the cauldron and ate.

Hence, the consumption of food described as ‘African’ was limited to a restricted set of products, with a special focus on the local fruits –

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mango, papaya and passion fruit – which entered the families’ diet in their natural state or as jellies and desserts (made from Goan recipes) nostalgically recollected due to their quality and flavour. The Goan families’ position on English food influences in the colony is again original in that they say nothing about it. Even concerning tea, which the Goan families also considered ‘an institution in Mozambique’, there were no explanations that suggested that its incorporation into family daily food practices resulted from the ‘English influence’ in the colony. On the contrary, the habit of ‘Chá das Cinco’32 was not, in the opinion of some of the interviewees, a practice acquired in Mozambique, since it was already a daily habit in Goa: ‘in Goa, tea was mandatory’. This argument is in line with the discourse on how the relationship between their group and the English was perceived at the time. As mentioned earlier, references to contact between Catholic Goans and the English are scarce. Although the presence and recognition of the position the latter occupied in the social structure are mentioned, most of the Goan families tended to downplay their role as a reference group in the colonial society. The incorporation of new domestic consumption practices resulting from the encounter with this group thus ends up reinforcing one of the structural principles that anchored the families’ positions, belongings and references in the colonial context. The great British cultural influence, claimed by the Portuguese families, was nuanced by the Goans when they subtly identified tea as typically Goan. There are both original patterns in Goans’ artistic preferences and similarities with those of the Portuguese families. The first thing that stands out in the Goan narratives is the fact that, unlike the Portuguese, they did not see the neighbouring colonies as offering an effective way of accessing forbidden literature and other artistic productions. Their discourse reflects the same organizing principle that applied to other consumption practices, that is to say, a positive appreciation of western artistic production in general, although restricted to what was available in the colony’s market. Goa was also considered a good literary market, although its offerings were mainly made up of works by traditional Portuguese authors approved by the regime. So it was not surprising that all families depicted their home libraries as mainly ‘Portuguese’, a fact that was considered fundamental for the education of the younger generations. The families’ discourse on music is somewhat similar to those on their literature preferences, except for a significant particularity: their clear appreciation of Goan music, which runs parallel to a strong knowledge of European classical music. It was mentioned before that

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musical education was an important component of the Goan upbringing. It came as no surprise that most individuals studied music and played at least one instrument, and there are abundant descriptions of musical events and occasions at home during social gatherings or just as an informal domestic practice. The relevance music seemed to have for the Goan families is not paralleled in the Portuguese families. Their recitals included both European classical music and Goan music, which was praised and highly regarded: ‘I have always known Goan music. Since I was a little child. My father was very musical and played both Goan and European classical music. He had this band with other Goans and they would play the Mandós. Everybody danced… I grew up hearing the Mandós’. Goan families’ attitude to African artistic productions is similar to that of the Portuguese. Once again, the families’ narrative on the topic is distanced and demonstrates a generalized lack of interest in and knowledge of this category of objects. The development of African art only happened after the revolution. Before, there was almost nothing. We did not have any contact with African art. It was the ivory (sculptures), which was bought for its monetary value, and that was it. There was no room for African artists. I could never say that I am a Mozambican by culture. … We were Portuguese. … Of African culture, I only knew the Marimbeiros de Zavala.33 That was it.

As was also pointed out by the Portuguese families, this dominant representation of African art underwent a degree of change in the final years of the regime. In the end, it was convenient [for the regime] to say that there were two African painters and one or two writers in the colonies. … However, the recognition of their works was mainly here, in Europe. For example, in the case of Malangatana, it is the European public that recognized the quality of his work. In Mozambique, he had no audience during the colonial period.

The ambivalent inflexion of the regime concerning the African populations and their visibility in the Portuguese colonial space is noted in the families’ depictions of the last stage of the Mozambican colonial period. Some families stated that this inflexion was evident, especially in the intellectual and artist community, while others affirmed that things remained unchanged. As in the case of the Portuguese families, the

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effective integration of African art in the domestic space was a restricted practice among the Goan families. The analysis of the Goan and Portuguese domestic spaces and consumption practices in colonial Mozambique reflected the continuity and the strengthening of earlier arguments concerning the families’ colonial life experiences. The locations of their homes, their domestic material culture, and the modalities for managing and organizing domestic life are in line with the families’ descriptions of their social position in the colony, as well as their daily activities and routinized practices. The Portuguese discourse on the houses of the past reveals a social identity based on principles of clear differentiation from the other groups present in the colony. This observation is related to Glover’s (2004) findings, in the context of his study of the social function of British colonial houses in India, on the importance of domesticity in the maintenance of colonial power. According to the author, when Europeans brought to the colonies the ideals of the home as a context of personal expression and a refuge from the public sphere, they were not merely reproducing middle-class representations of the domestic space, but also defining a clear boundary about the ‘outside world’ (ibid.: 62) and preventing the contamination of character that could result from the ‘exposure to the tropics’ (ibid.). In colonial Mozambique, the families carried out this task by clearly valuing European and western objects and aesthetics, as well as by reaffirming the specificity of their economic and cultural capital (Bourdieu 1979) through an explicit preference for ‘authentic’ objects rather than the reproductions produced in the colony, and the integration of practices and objects from other non-African cultures, especially the British. This picture aligns once more with Glover’s description of the British colonial logic which not only rested on a visible separation from all non-European, and especially non-British groups by ‘making the bungalow an island of Englishness’ (Glover 2004: 68) but simultaneously promoted distance between colonists from different social classes. Hence, in Mozambique, as in India, the home was a ‘critical site for cultivating the distancing postures, refinement in taste, and bourgeois moralities that underwrote inter and intra-racial relations in the colonial city’ (ibid.: 66). This analysis of domestic materiality has revealed the positioning strategies of both groups in colonial society and has also been particularly productive for the discussion of their relationships with origin. The Portuguese families’ discourse on their origin is characterized by a distancing from, and possibly even criticism of, the Portuguese social reality at the time. However, this dominant representation is partially

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contradicted by their domestic consumption practices. On the one hand, the incorporation of British material culture and consumption practices partially contributes to objectifying the families’ claim to be different from the ‘Portuguese of the homeland’. On the other hand, their testimonies also reveal a strong reproduction of the Portuguese culture, through a multiplicity of objects and consumption practices. The persistence of the families’ ‘Portuguese heritage’ is particularly clear in their eating habits. The analysis of food and foodways also made explicit other relevant indicators of their adherence to the Portuguese popular culture, such as the celebration of traditional holidays and festivities described as ‘typically Portuguese’. The last significant assumption stemming from this analysis is that many, sometimes contradictory identity and positioning strategies are in play. While there is a dominant line in the families’ discourse, through which principles of social distinction are stated and legitimized, it was also possible to observe other significant traits. The materialization of sophistication and prestige is, from time to time, permeated by statements suggesting less strategic forms of consumption. The same applies to the hyper-valorization of European aesthetics, which is contradicted, for example, by the choice of curry as the national food. Although the dominant note on the home is similar to that which structures the families’ on their lives in the colony, it also promoted the emergence of other, less prominent but equally significant identity features that will be further discussed during the analysis of their homes in Portugal after independence. As for the Goan families, it is worth noting a relative continuity between the ways in which they described their position within the colonial social structure and the assertion of their proximity to the European lifestyle. This proximity is complemented by an emphasis on the families’ connections with Goa. Although they see this connection as being less significant, it reveals that they continued to uphold a set of Goan cultural traits, materialized in domestic practices that, due to their variety and visibility, are a decisive factor in understanding the positioning strategies developed by Catholic Brahmins in Mozambique. The relevance of including private spaces within the scope of studies on identity restructuring in migratory contexts is well established (see, for example, Harbottle 1996; Morley 2000; Petridou 2001). The domestic space, being an environment relatively free of constraints (especially when compared to the colonial public space), became an important context for the reproduction of practices linked to origin and is, therefore, a significant domain for understanding the complexity of colonial Goan identity positioning and restructuring strategies in a new colonial setting.

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The second assertion emerging from this analysis is related to the first and concerns how the families expressed the changes to their domestic consumption practices in Mozambique. The emphasis on Goan things and practices does not clash with their continuous appreciation for the ‘Portuguese way of life’. Hence, the European families and their options concerning residential areas, home organization and management, as well as a generalized devaluation of all things African, continue to set the norm. Like the Portuguese, the Goan families describe the location of their homes by stressing the fact that these were reserved for the colonial elites and depict their homes ‘as very similar to those of Portuguese families’. The proximity between the two groups is made clear in the way in which homes were organized and managed. Moreover, the systematic devaluation of most objects and consumption practices related to the African populations further reinforces the Goan mimetic relationship with the colonial power. The same thing occurred with other objects originating in the Indian sub-continent, such as the sari. The fear of being perceived as Indian deeply affected the families’ material cultures and reinforced their policy of social distancing. Finally, as in the case of the Portuguese families, Goan homes contributed to their statutory affirmation in the colony, although in a more nuanced and discrete manner. Although the location and physical size of the houses illustrated the privileged position they occupied in the colonial structure, the families clearly stated that their lives in Mozambique were ‘comfortable, but not luxurious’. Goan descriptions of their furniture, meals and decorative options are punctuated by references to the quality or the artistic value of some of their possessions, without stressing the elitism they objectified. Moreover, investments in the home are often put into context by reference to other family expenses (formal education of the younger generations deserves particular attention), thereby reinforcing the significance of the groups’ cultural capital. This particularity does not correspond, however, to an absence of instrumentalization of the home as a statutory display. If, as previously stated, the homes of the Portuguese asserted their dominant position in the colony’s social hierarchy (Glover 2004), their role is no less significant for the Goan families. In addition to reinforcing the existing proximity between the two groups, made visible through the homes’ locations and size, they also confirmed the internalization of a way of managing and appropriating the domestic space that effectively resembled that of the European families. The home has always been considered, by European colonial powers, as a powerful instrument of socialization from which native habits and customs could be moulded and reformed (Glover 2004: 63). In this sense, in affirming

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the similarity, in general terms, between their homes and the homes of their Portuguese neighbours, the Goan elites also reinforced one of their most significant identity traits: the incorporation of a westernized concept of domesticity.

Notes   1. A town in the municipality of Cascais, Portugal. Estoril is one of the most expensive places to live in Portugal. It is home to a sizable foreign community and is known for its luxury restaurants, hotels and entertainment. Cascais is consistently ranked for its high quality of living, making it one of the most livable places in Portugal.   2. A hammock slung on a pole used for carrying passengers in many parts of Africa.   3. Small plots of land, usually planted with vegetables.   4. From the Kimbundu mu’leke, which means ‘little son’ or ‘boy’. Kimbundu is one of the most widely spoken Bantu languages (from the Niger-Congo language family) in Angola.   5. A term used in Mozambique, India and Angola for the man who is responsible for the washing.   6. Literally, ‘the little one’.   7. The mother, married woman.  8. Housekeepers.   9. The families used the English term to refer to all white nannies, regardless of their nationality. 10. A city near Pemba, in the Cabo Delgado province. 11. Mandó or Manddo (Konkani mānḍô) is a musical form that evolved during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries among the Goan Catholics. It represents a meeting point of local Goan and western musical traditions. 12. A working-class neighborhood in Lourenço Marques. 13. The families use the two terms interchangeably to define the same category of objects. The objects identified as ‘Oriental’ during fieldwork were exclusively those imported from China. 14. According to Thomaz (1998: 272), Indo-Portuguese furniture is an example of the hybridism characteristic of all artistic productions of Goa. The Portuguese influence is especially clear in the introduction of a series of pieces (tables, chests of drawers, chaise-longues, settees), of which the Hindus made very restricted use. In general, the conception of these pieces denotes a strong Portuguese influence, while their decoration is characterized by an Indo-Muslim influence. The author (ibid.: 1998: 272) also writes that Indo-Portuguese furniture attained considerable popularity, and its production was therefore partly geared towards export. 15. Cozido à Portuguesa, which translates as ‘Portuguese stew’, is a traditional dish whose ingredients include various meats, vegetables, sausages and potatoes. 16. The days of the ‘Popular Saints’ or ‘Saints of the People’ – Anthony of Padua, Peter and John the Baptist – are all celebrated in June; Anthony and John are the patron saints of the two main cities of Portugal, respectively, Lisbon and Oporto. 17. A soup made of potato (puree), green cabbage and sausage. 18. A Mozambican artist, born in 1933. 19. A Mozambican artist, born in 1930.

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20. A Mozambican painter and poet, born in 1936. 21. A Portuguese painter and poet, born in 1933, who lived and worked in Mozambique from 1968 to 1984. 22. A popular music and dance style, combining Mozambican and Portuguese influences. 23. The governor of colonial Mozambique between 1968 and 1970. 24. A Mozambican sculptor, born in 1936. 25. A Mozambican journalist, writer and poet, born in 1922. 26. Pulao is a rice dish whose recipe usually involves cooking in stock or broth, adding spices, and other ingredients such as vegetables or meat, and employing some technique for achieving cooked grains that do not stick. 27. Sarapatel is a dish of Portuguese origin. The word ‘sarapatel’ literally means confusion, referring to the mishmash of ingredients, which include pork. 28. Bebinca is a traditional layer cake from Goa, India derived from Indo-Portuguese cuisine. 29. Halva is a type of confectionery originating from Persia and widespread throughout the Middle East. The name is used for a broad variety of recipes, generally a thick paste based on flour or semolina, finely ground seeds or nuts, and sweetened with sugar or honey. 30. Xacuti is a curry prepared in Goa, with complex spicing, including white poppy seeds, sliced or grated coconut and large dried red chilies. It is usually prepared with chicken, lamb or beef. 31. Matapa is a typical Mozambican dish, prepared with young cassava leaves, which are usually ground in a large wooden mortar and pestle before being cooked with garlic, onion and coconut milk. 32. Five o’clock tea. 33. A traditional music and dance group.

Chapter 5

Out of Africa The Materiality of Loss and Displacement

As discussed previously in the chapter on the revolution and the transition to democracy, these events were seen with apprehension by the majority of the colonial population. According to most interviewees, the revolution forced the non-African population, most of them for the first time, to examine the continuation of their lives in Africa, despite nearly a whole decade of armed conflict. We would go out of the house, and the streets were packed with crates. Lourenço Marques looked like a boxed city. It was an impressive sight. Everybody fighting for wood to make crates. … I once went to the pier and the atmosphere there was degrading, it was humiliating and so sad. I can never forget what I saw. I think most people lived with their heads ‘buried in the sand’. Nobody believed that the war, which was something that happened in the north, would reach down to Beira, much less to Lourenço Marques.

Surprised by the speed of events and the instability caused by the lack of a well-defined decolonization strategy, the families described this phase of their biographies in detail and considered it particularly remarkable and complex. Their accounts produced a substantial amount of empirical material that could not be included here, given that the revolution and decolonization are not the main object of the research in this book. I therefore decided to include only a brief note on this specific phase of the recent Portuguese history, prioritizing the fact that the families had to abandon their African homes before migrating to Portugal.

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Contradicting the dominant logic throughout the book, I chose not to analyse the two groups independently, because no significant group particularities were observed in the way in which the departure from Mozambique was described. The impact of the events surrounding this stage of the families’ lives is common to the Goans and the Portuguese. The first significant note concerning the families’ descriptions of the events resulting from the revolution is related to the diversity of options taken by the families concerning their lives in Mozambique. The families expressed a generalized state of confusion and indeterminacy, resulting in diverse options and strategies regarding the best timing for a definitive departure. Their intense discourse unfolds in two major directions: the first, less prominent, resulting in migrating to Portugal during the period of transition to independence, or immediately after; and the second, more prominent, resulting in a later departure from the former colony. Only two Portuguese families made the first choice, justifying their decision based on an acute awareness that their lifestyle was doomed to disappear. We never considered staying in Mozambique after the 25th of April.1 Whoever chose to stay had a disastrous experience. They stayed for two or three years and couldn’t adapt, because it was impossible. Impossible. … I came right after independence. I remember the ceremony in which the flag of Portugal was replaced by the flag of Mozambique. The day after, we got on the plane calmly and serenely and travelled to Lisbon. That day, at the airport, they thought we were coming on vacation, but I knew I would never come back. … We bought round-trip tickets, so they did not know we were escaping. It had to be like that. On the 25th of April, we were in Beira. I immediately realized how things were going to turn out. I immediately began to prepare the ground for us to return to Portugal. If not all of us, at least the kids. I don’t want to sound pretentious, and I’ve never been involved in political action, but I’ve always tried to be well informed. … Internally, there was the official discourse of the Glorious Portuguese Empire fighting terrorists, but I remember going to New York and the FRELIMO movement being formally recognized as a political movement at the United Nations. … I quickly understood what was going to happen in Mozambique.

The majority of families decided to remain in the country during the first years of independence. This resolution resulted from a combination of factors ranging from lack of family support in Goa and/or in Portugal, not being willing to abandon their properties and companies,

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loss of identification with their ancestral hometowns, and supporting the independence of Mozambique. I came back to Mozambique after finishing college, in 1974. While everyone else was coming here (Portugal), I decided to go back there. I found Mozambique in its worst state. After two years of independence, the country was in chaos. I went back because the whole family decided to stay there. My father used to say that he would never leave because Portugal was a foreign country to him. I thought – I’m going. It’s my land. I had no idea that things could evolve that way. I ended up going back to Portugal alone at the end of 77. There was no longer any patience to put up with that kind of thing. To be hungry and to be mistreated all the time. There are no sins that justified this. I actively participated in the post-independence process. In the dynamization groups, in the literacy and health education campaigns. At the time, I was both a teacher and a university student. We believed in the political project of FRELIMO. I left the country in 76 because of my son’s health issues. He was very young and had a very serious health problem. The healthcare system had deteriorated very quickly, and it was impossible to stay.

The families did not all react in the same way to the new political and social context. While there were families who chose to stay, despite taking a critical stance and not agreeing with the new social order, to safeguard their economic legacy or because their social networks also decided to remain, there are also cases of families which defended and incorporated the political directives of the new Mozambican State. Thus, in both groups of families under study, there are cases of effective support for the Revolution and independence and, at the same time, of clear opposition to the new political regime. The second significant note concerns the fact that, regardless of the diversity of positions, the families who opted to stay in Mozambique after independence left the territory shortly afterwards. Contrary to the reasons given for staying, the two fundamental reasons given for leaving are very similar in each case: the dismantling of fundamental institutions, especially in terms of health and education; and the fact that most of the families had young children at the time. We tried and stayed until 77. Then there were problems. The first problem was the fact that we are Catholics. My children were accused at school by classmates and teachers of being ‘alienated’ by their faith. … It was a terrible time. They smashed the car on the street. You know, it wasn’t written on our foreheads whether we were in favour of independence

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or not. We were scared most of the time and started thinking about the children and their future. I think that if it was just for the two of us, we would have stayed. But we had to think of our children.

The growing difficulties resulting from the political transition, together with a new social framework that did not tolerate the reproduction of the families’ previous lifestyle, led them to abandon Mozambique permanently. The arguments backing their decision to migrate to Portugal are complex and need close examination. As mentioned earlier, the depictions of the integration of the Portuguese returning from the colonies as having been particularly successful (Pires 2003) stem from the fact that they were mostly a population of first-generation migrants. Given that this characteristic does not apply to any of the families under analysis, and that, as mentioned earlier, their representation of metropolitan Portugal was far from being positive, deciding to leave Mozambique and establish a new life in Portugal was a difficult decision to make: ‘It was a great cultural shock. Even today it is difficult to live in and understand certain realities of this country. I seriously thought about going back (to Mozambique) many times’. Some families mentioned that at that time Portugal, despite its cultural proximity to the colonies, was not their home country, and theirs was thus not a return migration. This position was particularly noted within the Portuguese families’ discourse. Some of them considered settling in neighbouring African countries, such as South Africa or Zimbabwe or migrating to Brazil. In the end, all of them decided to move to Portugal, generally accepted as ‘the safest option’ at the time, as other African countries were at risk of evolving politically towards a situation similar to that of Mozambique, and Brazil did not offer the opportunities for professional integration that the Portuguese labour market ensured, especially for civil servants. There are several singular aspects to the Goan families’ narratives, first on account of their origin and secondly from the fact that settling in the former African British colonies was never an option, mainly due to apartheid. Although the families’ representations of Portugal were not necessarily as critical as those expressed by the Portuguese, migrating to Portugal was, for most of the Goans, ‘an adventure, since our country of origin was Mozambique’. Thus, the first question that arose concerning their exodus from Mozambique stems from the fact that the families did not choose to return to Goa. Two factors weighed decisively in their migratory strategies: most adults had good jobs either as civil servants or in private companies with Portuguese capital. These secured them almost immediate integration into the Portuguese labour

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market. The second factor was the particularity of their relationship with Goa. Goa was not a destination chosen by most of the Goans because many of them were civil servants, which guaranteed their integration into the Portuguese labour market. Before arriving in Lisbon, we went through a phase in which we didn’t understand if we were capable of living in our homeland, or if we were going to be forced to leave. This phase was short for some and longer for others because it meant cutting off our roots. It was very difficult for me to make the decision … I was torn between coming here [Portugal] and adapting to a new context or adapting to the new Mozambican context. Because the homeland that I knew and where I had lived was not an option anymore. It had disappeared. Many people still tried to find it again in Macao, for a while. It seems to me that moving to Macao was not so much a search for new horizons or economic reasons, but an attempt to relive the colonial experience, like the one they had lived in Africa. It was a search to maintain a lifestyle that they already knew. Me, Goan? Goan in what way? I have never been to Goa, I don’t know the language. Although our parents had many Goan friends in Lourenço Marques, does that make us, the children, Goan? And our grandchildren, our children, are they Goan? It did not make any sense to go back to Goa. Our homeland was Mozambique.

As becomes clear from these examples, if the option to migrate and live permanently in Portugal was seen as complex and difficult, the option to return to Goa was never really considered by any of the families. As one of the interviewees suggested, the role played by Goan origin as an element of identity is once again present through a discursive modality that is somewhat like the one presented by the Portuguese families when explaining their representations of metropolitan Portugal, referring to themselves as ‘different Portuguese’. In this sense, the possibility of rebuilding their lives in Goa, at the time already a province of the Indian Union, was never a feasible hypothesis for most families, regardless of all the mechanisms of cultural reproduction which, as observed in previous chapters, marked their long trajectory in Mozambique. So, Portugal, along with Macau, was the most viable hypothesis as a migratory destination. After this brief description of the dominant notes of the families’ discourse on the decision to abandon Mozambique and settle in Portugal, the discussion moved on to the dismantling of their African homes. Abandoning their homes was a critical moment for all the families; it

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involved leaving some of their objects and the building behind, but also other immaterial losses, ruptures and readjustments that are inherent to most migrations. In addition to their domestic spaces, the families experienced, albeit to differing degrees, the dissolution of fundamental contexts of belonging, and their social, professional and, in some cases, family networks. It is difficult to explain to someone who lived all their lives in the home where they were born, in the place where they have always lived, in their land, with their friends, with the same job, what it means to leave for a different country, for a different house, a different job, their friends all scattered and often without their family, without anything.

As a key element of the descriptions of the period preceding their definitive departure from Mozambique, the families strongly emphasized the abandonment of the home and all its related aspects. Once the decision to migrate had been taken, all families were confronted with the need to make important decisions concerning their house(s) and household objects. Although this was a significant moment, their narratives do not follow a clear pattern. If at all, it is possible to distinguish two main modalities: the first, where the exit was carefully planned and executed; and the second, where the decision to leave the house was precipitated by a combination of external factors over which they had no control. In addition to the decisions pondered by the families, the choice of objects to be taken to the new destination was subject to certain criteria imposed by the Mozambican authorities. Formal impositions were seen as additional obstacles, such as the official lists of objects that families were forbidden to take out of the territory, and the obligation of customs officials to carry out a thorough inspection of the containers. All the families able to plan their departure in detail succeeded in getting around these impositions. When I arrived, all my containers and things were already here (in Lisbon). The dining room furniture, the crockery. All this had come beforehand through people I knew who worked at the customs and offered to help us. A friend of ours, who was a navy officer, made sure our containers were loaded. He was the one who brought them by sea … When we arrived, we went to get our things. Little by little, I sent everything I had there. You could only bring things according to the list that was given to us. I had to choose a lot … We couldn’t bring everything. I left some very special objects and furniture behind.

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From the subjects’ perspective, the period in which the decision to migrate was taken played an important part in the planning of their departure. There seems to be general agreement that the situation of those who left during the transition period and in the early days of the country’s independence was better than that of those who chose to leave Mozambique later. It seems equally important to consider the personal circumstances that marked the exact moment of departure. According to the families, there were cases in which a series of uncontrollable events (problems with the authorities, health problems, sudden loss of employment) hastened their departure, not allowing for adequate preparation. Without wishing to downplay the two factors mentioned above, it is nevertheless important to think about this stage within a broader framework. The moment when the original home is abandoned, together with the need to make decisions regarding the objects that would accompany the families on their journeys, is particularly critical and intense in any migration process. The loss of the home, especially in contexts of forced migration, is equivalent to the loss of an important memorial and identity heritage, since it necessarily implies the breakdown of the unity of a fundamental expressive context (Hecht 2001; Marcoux 2001). In this sense, and although one cannot establish a direct correlation between the objects migrants choose to take with them and the way the past is evaluated, reconstituted and materialized, the things retained constitute an important link with the past because, in a way, they contain and represent the lost domestic space. Thus, the fact that the families expressed relatively differentiated positions, not only about the objects that made up their homes but also regarding how they assessed the situation and the consequences of their imminent loss, plays a decisive role in the decisions taken. Apart from the objective conditions pointed out by the families, it is also necessary to consider a set of subjective aspects to understand the particularities of the strategies they implemented. Although each case is a unique and individualized experience, there is a dominant logic, even though the experience took different material forms. Particularly illustrative of the perspectives (Appadurai 2003a; Miller 1987) which demystify the relevance of past and present notions of status, value and meaning for the future social trajectories of things, most of the objects which populated the families’ African homes were subjected to an analysis which combined a reappraisal of their significance at the time of departure with a projection of their future lives in a new setting.

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When we left, we didn’t bring anything because we didn’t want to. … I brought my jewellery, my silver and nothing else. … We came to a house that had nothing. Empty … Then they [family] sent me some things. Three pieces of furniture, and my collection of watches. Then my bedroom furniture, the guests’ room, the girls’ room, the dining room table, that had to be cut and adapted to fit in the dining room here, the chairs and nothing else. People were concerned with bringing their belongings because they knew they would arrive here with nothing. Some people brought things because they knew they would not have money to buy them here. The worry of arriving in a new country and having to look for a job and a house was enough.

These examples illustrate that the selection of objects carried out by the families had differentiated outcomes. The first example, which is the least common of all the cases analysed, reveals that personal objects were valued more highly than other objects fundamental to rebuilding a domestic space. In the second example, the logic is reversed: the choice of which objects to keep was determined by expectations of the immediate future. In addition to these two logics, the families’ statements reveal other subjective factors in the complexity involved in abandoning home. As already mentioned, there were no cases in which large losses were reported resulting directly from external constraints triggered by the general exodus from the colony. The same is true regarding the strategies followed by the families. Regardless of the dominant logic, none of the interviewees was ambivalent about the choices made during this intense stage of their lives. This finding did not, however, obviate the profound reassessment of their domestic materiality. As the statements presented below illustrate, the choices made in this particular period constituted a particularly significant moment in the way in which their relations with things from the past are structured in the present. For example, there was a beautiful table in my home that was commissioned and designed by my father-in-law who was an architect. It was absolutely spectacular: a beautiful wooden base and a huge marble top. I was sorry to leave it but… I’d also like to know if I’d brought it back where I’d put it. The houses here are so small… Overall, I can say that most of the things I didn’t bring were because I didn’t want to. We didn’t have any major problems. But I’ll tell you something: many of the things that I value here today, I didn’t value at all there. Even though I don’t need them, I still use them. If I had stayed there, I don’t know if I would value them as much.

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These examples draw attention to three significant aspects which, although cutting across the generality of material culture and consumption practices, take on particular visibility in this specific context. First, they testify to the importance of paying attention to the complexity and shifting nature of the social life of things (Appadurai 2003a). Whether through the relativization of lost objects from the past carried out in the present, or the affirmation of a new understanding and relationship with the things that survived their forced migration, these testimonies underline the importance of not only observing the paths taken by the families’ domestic things but also the critical moments which mark their specific trajectories (Appadurai 2003a; Kopytoff 2003). Secondly, and in conjunction with the dominant logic mentioned above, these two examples also illustrate the complexities involving both the significant dimension of things (Miller 1998a) and the politics of attribution of value (Marcoux 2001) the families developed at the time. Hence, not only did the objects left behind not necessarily correspond to those to which less value was attributed back then but their evaluations and reappraisals should be taken as ongoing processes. Finally, these examples draw attention to the importance played by context, and its particularities, in the study of contemporary materiality. The significance of objects needs to be permanently discussed within the framework of the particularities of the context of which they are a part (Miller 1998a). Without this integrative effort, the movements, alterations and positions which mark their trajectories as cultural artefacts run the risk of being only partially captured and, in this sense, reductively observed by the social sciences. The detailed discussion of the position held by the objects selected by families to accompany them to their current domestic spaces, and how their relationships unfold, will be further discussed in the concluding chapter, following the discussion of their entry into a new domestic context, in Portugal.

Note   1. ‘The 25th of April’, the date of the Revolution. It is an expression commonly used to refer to the Revolution of 1974 in Portugal.

Chapter 6

Life in Democratic Portugal A Domestic Material Culture Approach

The last part of this book is devoted to the analysis and discussion of the families’ domestic spaces in Portugal and their importance for their integration into the country’s post-revolutionary society. The home has been chosen as the favoured unit of analysis because, as previously mentioned, it is the primary context for: the expression and management of the specificities carried over from the previous context of belonging (Harbottle 1996; Morley 2000; Petridou 2001); the enunciation of loss and the re-evaluation inherent in migration itself (Morley 2000; Marcoux 2001); the revelation of the relationships with the past, the management of memories and the rewriting of personal and family autobiographies (Miller 2001a; Marcoux 2001). From this perspective, I outlined an analytical path which made it possible, on the one hand, to observe the politics of accommodation of the objects and consumption practices of the previous context in the present integration framework (Miller 2002) and, on the other hand, to discuss how the rupture and re-adaptation experiences triggered by the process of forced exodus to Portugal materialized in domestic daily life. Two strategies were adopted to meet this objective. The first was the creation of an analytical tool which, based on categories like those used on the information collected on the African homes, promoted a continuous dialogue with the considerations presented in previous chapters. The second was to include, whenever necessary, information on a series of aspects which, although not directly related to the home, its materiality and consumption practices, are significant for contextualizing the families’ domestic daily lives. These aspects include data gathered on the families’ integration strategies in Portugal, as well as on their

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present-day networks of belonging, sociability and leisure practices, and positions concerning the Portuguese and Mozambican social, political and economic realities. Following a similar expository logic to the other chapters, this chapter will address the arrival of families in Portugal, their socio-professional integration, and the dominant discourse on their new context of living. The chapter will go on to present, analyse and discuss the fundamental topic of analysis, using the same categories as in the previous chapters so as to enable comparability parameters to be established between the two contexts of dwelling. However, contrary to what happened with their African homes, the data gathered is the product of direct observation as well as interviews with the families. The final section of the chapter incorporates an overall discussion focusing on the issue which has guided the research since its beginning, i.e. observation of how consumption practices and the relationships between people and the objects that populate their homes reflect their journeys in Africa; how they constitute a relevant domain for the understanding of their identity; how they give material form to their representations of and discourse on their African past and their Portuguese present; and how they are strategically activated according to current logics of reconstruction, repositioning and affirmation. The discourse of the Portuguese and the Goan families on the early period in Portugal is similar in many aspects. Initially surprising, this finding is partially justified by the arguments put forward in a previous chapter, where attention was drawn to the families’ specificities regarding their migration to Mozambique. In fact, most of the interviewees in the families of Portuguese origin belonged to the second and third migrant generations. Their contact with Portugal before their definitive settlement in the national territory had been restricted almost exclusively to when they attended university, or to short stays, generally for holidays. On the other hand, and even though this is not true for all of them, it was also noted that the families had a very critical and distanced representation of Portuguese society. As for the Goan families, although they did not share a negative representation of Portugal during the colonial period, they also had no effective contact with its social, cultural and economic reality, just like the Portuguese families. A generalized feeling of estrangement, of being foreigners in their own supposed land, is the most prominent note in all narratives on their initial period of life in Portugal. The repatriation of the population of the former Portuguese colonies was somewhat different from similar post-decolonization episodes in other European nations (Pires 2003: 190–92). The combination of a

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relatively high number of repatriates (5 per cent of the total resident population in 1981), with its intensity and concentration in time, impacted how the families described and assessed this specific phase of their lives. These two aspects particularly affected the first phase of their life in Portugal in two ways: the search for work and the search for a house. The great majority of families experienced a certain amount of anxiety in this situation, despite its being transitory. Given the impossibility of activating one of the usual mechanisms of support, such as returning to the place of origin, or mobilizing family solidarity networks, their first impressions were almost all negative. Most people adapted well. Especially those who had family here. Those who had their whole family there had more difficulties. They had no support. I had some support. Relatives of my parents and my godmother who lived in Cascais. The family received us very well. Now, for those who didn’t have any family here, it was very difficult. Even today some people say, this was never my home. I recognize that it must have been much more difficult … Whole families were living in a hotel room. It was difficult to find work. Upon arrival, the only thing we received was a little blanket. I still have those blankets as a souvenir. Everything was so miserable. Our lives underwent a major transformation. We had a good life there. We had our jobs and our servants who looked after the house. Here everything was much more complicated. We had difficulties. They were very difficult years. I don’t even want to remember. I cried many tears.

In addition to their concerns regarding the search for work and a home, the third disturbing element that needs to be highlighted is how the Portuguese received the repatriated populations. The families tried to find justification for this in the circumstances of the times: ‘the people here, with the 25th of April, also didn’t know what was going to happen to them. And they thought: and now these people are coming to unsettle us’. But there are numerous accounts of experiences of intolerance and lack of understanding. They called us black exploiters. We arrived and were immediately called returnees. I used to drive a car with the steering wheel on the right-hand side and that was a tragedy. They even put firecrackers under the car. I was madly afraid. After nine months, the company I was working for in Mozambique accepted me here. But my colleagues from the workers’ committee didn’t accept me at all. They said that I had come from Africa, that I had

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mistreated the blacks and now I had no right to come here and get a job straight away. It was so bad that I often told my husband: I don’t want to go to work. But he always answered that it was necessary because we couldn’t live without my salary.

The families’ high cultural capital, together with their strong professional curricula and leadership experiences, played a decisive role in determining their ‘will to fight and move forward’. When they arrived in Portugal, all the adults had academic degrees and professional training, which contrasted positively with most of the resident population, as well as with most of the repatriated population. The fact that they had occupied high hierarchical positions in public and private institutions in Mozambique had given them leadership experience, which also worked in their favour. The families not only quickly overcame their problems of lack of work and housing but also managed to do it in a very positive way, in most cases. Thus, as far as work was concerned, the great majority of the interviewees successfully continued their professional careers. Their trajectories in terms of housing, however, were more diverse. While some families still live in the house they bought or rented back then, others moved house many times over the years. A few years passed, and the situation the families had characterized as socially, psychologically and economically difficult had become balanced and stable, even if not at the same level as in Mozambique. In other words, the families moved downwards in terms of social status, when compared with the positions they occupied in the colonial social structure. Most families downplay this aspect. They contextualize their past and present experiences as resulting from significantly differentiated realities. All families recognized that their previous position was impossible to recreate in a democratic regime and that they now belong to the Portuguese middle class. This does not prevent them from expressing a positive evaluation of their social and economic trajectories, after their forced migration. There is one last significant aspect to be noted in the examinations of the families’ early days in Portugal. Although their integration is generally depicted as having been rapid and successful, like that of most of the other returnees (Pires 2003), their long and intense life experiences in Mozambique continued to be at the heart of their identity narratives, even for the younger generations born in Portugal. Positive integration into Portuguese society thus coexists with explicit and implicit references to the permanence of specific identity features resulting from their life experiences in Africa. This specificity becomes especially visible in the way in which their departure from Mozambique and integration

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into Portugal are reconstructed and assessed. Even within the same family unit, there are different versions of the outcome of their migration experience. The following statement illustrates the variety of re-assessment, adaptation and identity re-organization logics in play. My husband accepts that he now lives in Portugal, but he did not fully adjust. I accept and adjust to Portuguese society. We are very different cases. I think that, in fact, my husband never experienced joy in his life in Portugal. … My husband was very attached to Africa. … He has very deep roots in Africa. He used to say that every year he had to go and see a coconut tree, even if it was only in Morocco. He had to go and set his feet in Africa. He feels welcomed there, but he really, really likes Africa better.

The difference these examples illustrate between being ‘used to living’ in Portugal or ‘accepting’ the fact and ‘adapting’ reinforces the argument presented. On the one hand, this statement underlines the complexity of identity reconstruction processes resulting from migration and the multiplicity of their configurations and outcomes, even within the same family unit. On the other hand, it is a pertinent call for attention to certain factors which go beyond strict socio-economic integration and point to the non-existence of a direct relationship between the subjects’ positive socio-professional trajectories in Portugal and their longing for Africa. There is no common strategy for how the families negotiated their positions in the new social context. However, their colonial past had, from the beginning, diversified but decisive implications for the families’ daily lives. The first thing we did when we got here was to show the country to our children, to try to integrate them. I have a picture of my children in front of the statue of Afonso Henriques, in Guimarães. My husband looked like a historian, teaching his children the history of Portugal. He tried to integrate them in such a way that they didn’t feel like foreigners… because I’ll tell you something, many children were traumatised by their migration because their parents weren’t able to give them stability here. We tried to give stability to our children. By pretending that our forced migration was no big deal. My mother tells me that [Mozambique] was a wonderful country. That the people from here [Portugal] are different from there. She told me a lot about Africa. She talks about Mozambique all the time. My mother is still very connected to Africa. She would like to go and live there. And so would I, even though I was born in Portugal and have never been

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there. I know I have a bond with Africa, even though I was born here. It’s strange to be connected to a place I’ve never been. There’s much more freedom there than here. If I could go to Mozambique, I would go right away. First to visit, not to move there permanently. I don’t feel Portuguese. It’s funny but I don’t. I feel more African. I feel more African. I don’t know how to explain it. I’m not proud to be Portuguese and this isn’t just my thing, it’s a family thing.

Besides the socialization of the younger generations, the second way in which the expression of an original Portuguese identity is more intensely noted is in the families’ networks and groups of belonging. The difficulties experienced in the post-migration period led the great majority of families to seek support from friends from back home. Thirty years later, these networks persist: ‘Although I have adapted, I had difficulty making new friendships. Almost all my friends are from there [Mozambique] and we are a very cohesive group … We are together every day. We live close to each other. We always get together, always. We are still very close friends’. The reconstitution of the former networks is dominant and coexists, in most cases, with the development of more recent relationships, mainly based on contacts arising from work, neighbourhood relations and the marriages of the younger generations. Characterized as significant, these relationships are, however, in most cases, downplayed in favour of the social networks deriving from their shared African past. As mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, the purpose of this introduction has been to address topics related to the families’ integration into Portuguese society. This discussion will be taken up again later. Discussion of the material culture and domestic consumption in Portugal will be guided by the fact that, although all families are somehow positively integrated (Pires 2003), there is still a dominant relationship with their African past. As one of the interviewees stated, significantly for the first time using the term Mozambicans to designate their group, although the stigma of the returnee has disappeared, ‘there are still aspects that somehow differentiate the people there from the people here’: Times have changed. But especially in my generation, I see that many people still carry within themselves that spirit of the past. … You know, there was a time when people perhaps didn’t want to say that they had links with Africa, that they liked Africa. Of course, there were people like me who didn’t give a damn and who kept that spirit. Even those who have a more diluted connection, when among Mozambican people, they like to affirm their experience. It seems that … they loosen up. I

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think that in the beginning people had problems with their past, and that’s why they didn’t say who they were. The label of returnee was not nice, and some people kept quiet about their past.

Portuguese Houses Location, Configuration and Management In the first chapter, attention was drawn to the importance of the domestic material culture in contexts of mobility. Ethnographic approaches to materiality and migration tend to privilege three key observation moments: the loss of the home (and house), that is, of the patrimonial unit (Hecht 2001: 123) and the private museum of memory, identity and creative appropriation (Lima 2003) that all homes represent; the selection of the objects and their journey to their new destination (Marcoux 2001); and the role attributed to these objects in the reconstruction and reconfiguration of the new home(s) in the new context (Morley 2000; Marcoux 2001). The first two moments have been examined in the preceding chapters, and this chapter discusses the third. It follows a logic identical to the one used for the analysis of the lost African homes, which will be preceded by a brief discussion of three aspects deemed to be particularly relevant to the overall discussion. The first is fieldwork planning. Although the objects brought from Mozambique merited special attention due to the specificity of their trajectories and biographies (Appadurai 2003b), fieldwork observations promoted a wider approach that included all domestic materiality. Previous empirical studies (Marcoux 2001) have drawn attention to the existence of very diversified strategies of accommodation of domestic objects in new settings (Miller 2008, 2010). These strategies range from their ostentatious display in the public spaces in the home to keeping them permanently out of sight in boxes and suitcases where they were packed before the journey began. Since this research did not reveal the existence of a causal relationship between objects’ visibility, exhibition and significance beyond their importance as elements of objectification of memory, a comprehensive approach enabled clarification of the logic that presided over their instrumentalization. The second aspect is the integration of ‘African objects’ into their new homes. That is, the research assumed from the beginning that ‘African material culture’ coexisted with a plurality of other objects and practices which, despite not having a direct relationship with the families’ colonial past, were significant elements in their present-day

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homes. Homes contextualize the agency of the objects that inhabit them (Miller 1998a, 2001a,b,c; Silverstone and Hirsch 1994) and the observation of how they negotiate their positions, within the general dynamics that shape everyday life, is highly significant. This last aspect emphasizes the need to put into perspective the invocation of the past, whether based on things acquired after leaving Mozambique or through practices reconstituted in the new home (Rapport and Dawson 1998). Memories of the lost home may be expressed through a multiplicity of materials, practices, discourses, social interactions, memories and myths (ibid.: 7). This is particularly important since, as was previously discussed, not only did the families present different logics and establish specific priorities for deciding which objects to keep, but these processes were also mediated by a series of constraints that were outside their control. Hence the analysis promoted a perspective that, without relativizing the significance of the objects from the past, approached the families’ domestic materiality as a creative resource open to reconversion and appropriation, and structured through a logic that simultaneously coproduces and mirrors their migration experiences.

The Portuguese The homes of the Portuguese families are located in the Lisbon Metropolitan Area, more specifically in the municipalities of Cascais and Oeiras. There were two main reasons for this preference. I chose this location because it was by the sea. It reminded me a little of Lourenço Marques. It was a small village, an easy life, the beach is close by. And my former in-laws lived here too. I would have much more difficulty getting used to Lisbon. The narrow streets, cars everywhere. You know, there are people scattered all over the country. Normally people would go back to their places of origin. Now, those who came here [Cascais], my mother was from here, but I think that most people came here because it was a more cosmopolitan area, it was more open, and airier, where people from Africa felt more comfortable. I think that explains it because most of us don’t have great roots here.

The first explanation given by the families reinforced the importance of sociability networks in their integration into Portugal. Since their ties with the country were non-existent or not strong enough to be a decisive factor in their choice of where to relocate, families chose to settle with relatives and friends who preceded them in the exodus. The second is substantially different from the first and is related to a

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shared representation of the Cascais and Oeiras area as a social and spatial context with specific characteristics, which were positively ranked by most families. Described as simultaneously calm, cosmopolitan, open and by the sea, this part of the country offered a combination of factors which acted to compensate for the adverse impact of the profound changes brought about by their departure from Mozambique. Even if they reviewed and downplayed this point, the families agreed that this residential area close to Lisbon was, at the time, the one with the best conditions for reconstituting some practices linked to their past lifestyles. Surprisingly, no work-related justifications were mentioned. Although the proximity to Lisbon’s job market must have been an equally important factor in the families’ decision-making, their narratives mainly revolve around lifestyle features. One factor that may partly justify this is the men’s career paths at this stage of their lives. According to the families, before they had settled down in financial terms, most men had several jobs in different companies and institutions, many of them located in other parts of the country. The uniformity found in the families’ justifications for their preferred place of residence is not reproduced in their homes, which are quite diverse in their architecture, size and location. Two of the families reside in large houses, with gardens (one with a swimming pool), in one of the most exclusive residential areas of the municipality of Cascais. The other three families reside in flats also located in exclusively residential areas, but which are worth less in real estate terms. Although their flats are quite large and suitable for the current size of their families, their location, together with their architecture, places them in a different category from the former two houses. It is also worth noting that three families have been living in the same house for the last fifteen years, while the others have moved house more often. The families described the structure of their homes by comparison with their houses in Mozambique. Regardless of the actual size of their homes, most of the families emphasized their lack of space: ‘I don’t know if it was because I had always lived in grandeur, but psychologically it affected me a bit to come to live in a small house. I bumped into everything! Things, and furniture, seemed like they didn’t fit. I had to adapt, but adapting was difficult’. The topic of space in Portugal goes beyond this specific domain of assessing the families’ domestic contexts, even though it is a key element in them. According to the families, it was not only their homes that were small, but everything in Portugal was small and narrow: the streets, the cities and the skyline. Space, or the lack of it, was a very

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relevant aspect in the comparison of past and present realities, and ‘everyone was always yearning for it’. This sentence draws attention to the relevance of equating scales of representation of space as multiple and heterogeneous. How space is perceived and evaluated in Portugal confirmed the use of a representation carried over from Mozambique. Yearning for space, although attenuated, persisted in the families’ discourse. The second relevant note on this topic is the families’ investment in their homes. Here, their testimonies go in two directions. The first highlights an intense relationship with the domestic space, expressed through a direct identification with the home and its components. The second, which is dominant, reflects a detached relationship with the home. The definition of a place to live in presupposes, beyond the choice of the space, a process of accommodation (Miller 2008) which implies the appropriation of the house by its inhabitants and, simultaneously, of the inhabitants by the house. That is, being a reciprocal process, it implies changing the house by adapting it to its inhabitants but, equally, adjusting the inhabitants’ practices so that they can adapt themselves to the house. Although these reworkings may take on various forms, the relationships between subjects and houses are based on a fundamental condition – the capacity of the inhabitants to negotiate and commit themselves to the new context, in order to establish a basis of understanding that facilitates their mutual adaptation. Contrary to the discourse on their African homes, the families report that they are mostly unable to appropriate their present-day homes consistently. This apparent inability to negotiate with their domestic spaces does not, however, imply a relativization of the home as a social and cultural context. On the contrary, homes in Portugal are key spaces for the reproduction of practices carried over from Mozambique, and for gatherings with other families sharing similar trajectories. What these positions seem to reflect is the difficulty of assessing and adapting to the new domestic contexts. As one of the interviewees mentioned, a relative indifference towards the home tends to persist, resulting from the fact that ‘we continue to think of these homes as temporary’. In Portugal, as in Mozambique, it is the women who organize and manage the home. Their statements on this topic are structured around the adjustments forced on them by migration in the domestic sphere and the urgent need to adapt to a new lifestyle. The first significant aspect is the new practices they adopted as a result of an intensive learning process. The second reflects the permanence of a very significant set of principles from Mozambique which, despite being subjected to

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inevitable adaptations and adjustments, coexist with the new domestic practices, forming an original domestic culture that contrasts with that of the Portuguese population. In Mozambique, most women had a busy working life and, at the same time, oversaw domestic management. Far from being considered a secondary aspect, home organization was particularly demanding, and the women devoted a considerable amount of effort to it. In general, this routine was reproduced in Portugal, but with significant adaptations: ‘everything changed. That whole element [of prestige] disappeared. Our economic power diminished. Our lifestyle changed’. Without servants, we had to get used to doing everything ourselves. In Mozambique, we didn’t have washing machines, we didn’t need them, they washed our clothes by hand. Here of course we had to buy washing machines and learn to do several things we had never done before. The machines made life easier, but of course, it was difficult, very difficult. I, for example, didn’t know how to buy things here. When I went to the market, I had to ask how to cook this or that product.

Changes in domestic daily life resulted from different factors. One of the most significant was the drop in economic capital, which forced families to rethink their household organization and management. Managing the home on a smaller budget intersected with a second relevant and intimately connected factor: the impossibility of hiring domestic staff. These two factors had major repercussions on the lives of all family members, but particularly affected women. Hence, in addition to the initial difficulties resulting from restricted budgets, for the first time in their lives, they had to do most of the household chores. As noted in the previous chapter, most of the women reported not having been trained to carry out domestic tasks. Although they were trained to manage their domestic spaces well and efficiently, the focus of their learning was to absorb a heritage which enabled them effectively to reproduce in the home the distinctiveness of their social position in the colony. In addition, this training had co-existed since childhood with a strong emphasis on the acquisition of formal cultural capital, including higher education. It was therefore not surprising that the women described as difficult the accumulation of professional and domestic duties, even more so on a restricted budget, and their relationship with their homes as being plainer than in the past. The discourse on their Portuguese homes, unlike their African ones, which were portrayed as exclusive, cosmopolitan and refined, emphasizes their simplicity, without however reflecting a substantial change in

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their habitus. This particularity introduced the second abovementioned significant aspect: the reproduction in Portugal of practices of social distinction, even if they were adjusted to the new context of dwelling. There are a few factors that contributed to this strategy. The first involves the home as a context of sociability. In Mozambique, the house, together with other public spaces, was an important setting for leisure and social interaction. In Portugal, it not only continued to be central but became even more so. According to the families, the homes of relatives and friends were, from the early days to the present, their preferred space for socializing. The centrality that homes came to assume in Portugal reflects the families’ need to reconstitute their past social networks. Given the difficulty of establishing close relationships with the ‘local Portuguese’ on arrival, the families invested in reconstituting and reinforcing their previous networks and used their homes to promote these encounters. In the early days, I was isolated. But about four years later, I began to meet people in the supermarket, in the street and, little by little, we began to get together in each other’s homes. Each one would cook something, because many of us didn’t have a permanent maid, and so that the lady of the house didn’t get tired, we all helped. Little by little, we started to do again the life we used to do there. Today I meet a lot of people from my childhood. Everything is back to normal … Indeed, I don’t have access to many things, and I’m still bothered by Portuguese people’s rudeness, which is terrible. Otherwise, I can say that I am happy. I have found my friends again, and I have a loving family.

The reconstitution of the relationship between families and their homes following a similar structure to the past was, therefore, highly dependent on their ability to organize social events for other returnees’ families. As one of the interviewees stated, ‘it is still possible today to find Lourenço Marques in Lisbon’. That is, in Portugal, as in the past, homes framed conviviality and reproduced social alliances based on a set of original domestic material culture and consumption practices. The teas we organize here are still like the teas from there. Until recently, it was typically Lourenço Marques in Portugal. But now, and because the staff here is not that great, and also due to our age, we are at a new stage. Some, in the name of the good old days, still make their special cakes by hand, but we often have a more frugal tea. Tea is still served in beautiful cups, Satsuma or Chinese, very old. They still use cloth napkins. There are no paper napkins. And of course, all

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those pastries. A very exquisite tea that is sometimes served in the corridor or the kitchen because in the living room there are canasta tables. That intrinsic refinement has not been lost. Some people have lost it as a result of the life they have to lead. Above all, I think it has not been continued for the younger generations. The daughter of one of these ladies no longer has time to learn everything her mother knew. In the evening, that lady is in the kitchen, because there’s no longer a cook. She makes everything herself.

As these statements reveal, teas are precious moments in the families’ social routines. Held with considerable regularity, these gatherings are central to the reconstruction of the refinement and exclusivity that characterized them in Mozambique. Distinction is materialized through elements that are immediately recognized by all families. The use of things and food typically from there – cakes, sandwiches, scones, tarts, porcelain, tablecloths – makes explicit a habitus that persists, despite the significant changes that have taken place as a result of migration. Distinctive aspects become increasingly visible in the discourse on the home. As one of the interviewees stated, ‘it is in these moments that I realize that the refinement that was intrinsic to our life has not yet disappeared’. That is to say, regardless of the loss of economic capital, the simplification of daily life, the processes of repositioning and adaptation to the new context and, above all, the inability to pass their way of life on to the younger generations, the families continue to affirm in Portugal one of the most distinctive aspects of their collective identity.

The Goans Like the Portuguese families, the Goan families have also lived in the metropolitan area of Lisbon since they arrived in Portugal. When we arrived, we settled in Almada. We had a brother-in-law who arrived first and lived nearby. I liked Almada very much because it reminded me of Lourenço Marques. It wasn’t a big city. It wasn’t as crowded as in Lisbon. … And we had my husband’s family here, with whom I always got on well. … We bought this house without even seeing it. I knew it had three bedrooms, one for us, one for the boys and one for the girls. Today, I see that its location is perfect. But at that time, we only thought that we needed a roof over our heads and nothing else … Little by little, we started pulling friends to come and live here. For some people, the adaptation was difficult. They had never set foot in Portugal before. People tried to live near other returnees. And little by little, our friendship networks were restored. That was very important for our adaptation to Portugal.

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Just as the Portuguese families emphasized, the Goan families also stressed the importance of their previous social networks. Proximity to Goan family members and friends from Mozambique was the most relevant criterion in determining the area of residence. The families’ strategies for selecting a house were mostly practical, as finding a home was, for most of them, ‘an urgent matter that needed to be sorted’. Hence, it is not surprising that their main concerns related to the number of bedrooms, public transport services and nearby schooling. My wife got a job easily. She was a secretary and spoke several languages …. I was a civil servant and I signed up for the General Administration. When we got this house, my parents moved in straight away because they were used to living with us. So, the housing problem was solved, then the employment problem was solved and from then on life continued.

The solutions found for the housing problem were, however, not at all similar. All Goan families resided, at the time, in apartments. Most of these properties were acquired during the first years of their stay in the country, a situation that contrasts significantly with their experience in Mozambique. Their comments on the matter indicate a peaceful transition to their Portuguese homes punctuated by nostalgic notes about the climate and the lack of space in Portuguese homes: ‘People have adapted. Some were whinier than others but, in general, they all adapted well. The biggest change was moving from houses to flats. Nobody lived in flats in Africa … and adjusting to living in “hives” was complicated’. Unlike the experiences reported by the Portuguese families, adjusting to their new domestic spaces was most of the time described as unproblematic. Although the smaller size of the flats was frequently mentioned, this topic did not constitute a significant obstacle in the ways the families related to and appropriated their new domestic spaces. My observation of the Goan homes was that they were well kept which, given their year of construction, reflects continued care and maintenance. As for the house typologies and their architectural characteristics, most of the houses had at least four bedrooms, a living room and a dining room of significant dimensions. There were also some houses of considerably smaller dimensions which, although meeting the families’ basic needs regarding the number of bedrooms, clearly differed from the other larger houses. Although some families mentioned that their children initially reacted negatively to losing privacy in their new homes, contrary to what happened with the Portuguese, there were no other records of inadequacy concerning the dimensions of their new

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homes in Portugal. Hence the families’ accommodation (Miller 2002) in their new dwellings was considered far less problematic when compared with the Portuguese. This change was ruled by a dominant note ‘of full integration and adaptation’ to their new living conditions. In fact, most Goans described their present home as ‘our real home’. One of the most original aspects of the families’ positive discourses about their Portuguese houses is that these positive statements coexist with their positive statements regarding their houses of the past. The notes on the families’ Mozambican homes are intensely nostalgic. However, despite the difficulties resulting from forced migration and the loss of home, the Goan families choose to emphasize, above all, their capacity for integration into a foreign setting, which contrasts with the other group’s position. Like the Portuguese women, Goan women oversaw their homes’ management and organization and so their discourses reported very similar experiences. Once again, the most intensive note underlines the importance of adjusting their strategies to their new lifestyle. I was not used to doing domestic work. Here, I had to wake up at five in the morning to prepare lunch and dinner before I went to work … I wasn’t used to doing laundry and cooking, either. We had servants for that in Africa. And I also had no idea how cold the weather was here. I remember once I was washing clothes on the veranda and the water was so cold that I had to ask my son to go and buy gloves because I couldn’t stand it. Those were hard times. I had never done any laundry in my life. I knew how to cook a little, but nothing special because the servants there (in Mozambique) did all the preparation, and I just oversaw it and finished the meal. For example, they took care of the oven, of course. I could do something, but the cook would be there to look after it. I also had a hard time doing the shopping. I would do the shopping there, but I’d go by car. Then, when I’d get to the door, I’d honk the horn and they’d go and get the things. Not here. I had to take the bus back and forth. But I adapted. I had to. … I had never done the housework, not even at my parents’ home because my mother didn’t do it either.

As can be inferred from these testimonials, the migration to Portugal profoundly changed the families’ lives, as for the first time they wore forced to add multiple domestic chores into their daily routines, while holding full-time jobs. Developing skills that they were not trained to perform, in addition to their professional activities, constituted one of the most critical notes in the families’ discourses about their settlement

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process. Visibly contrasting with how they assessed and related to their new domestic spaces, this dimension is mostly described as ‘very hard’ and even ‘traumatic’. Goan women explained that their domestic training was contextualized by an overall simplification of the domestic routines. Partly caused by an effective decrease in economic capital, especially in the first years of life in Portugal, establishing a new domestic practice for their families resulted, from their perspective, in the need to simplify things, mostly due to lack of time. The alterations introduced in the domestic sphere affected other dimensions of the families’ lives. As discussed in the previous chapter, in Mozambique the home was a privileged space for social interaction with other Goan Brahmin families. All families reported that although their homes continued to be preferred over other contexts, their sociability and leisure practices underwent a major revision. [In Mozambique] We used to meet a lot at each other’s homes. Not here. Everyone is much more isolated. Occasionally, I get a phone call. In winter it’s even worse… everybody goes straight home. There’s no time to organize large events. In Mozambique, we socialized a lot more. Life was easy. Not here. I usually get together with some ladies from Lourenço Marques. We are friends since childhood. We don’t meet as much as when we lived there, but from time to time we still go to each other’s houses. In the beginning, when I arrived in Portugal, we met once a month in a tearoom. But now I’ve had enough, I don’t feel like going anymore.

This statement introduces an important topic. In a similar vein to the Portuguese families, Goan families were also able to effectively reconstitute their previous social networks, mainly formed with other Goan Brahmin families that shared a similar migration trajectory. Significantly, this finding did not imply, however, that all the families have reproduced their previous social circles. Contrary to the Portuguese, Goan families reported having developed new social relationships which went beyond their colonial social group and included Portuguese and Goans who have never lived in Mozambique, as well as Portuguese who shared their colonial past. In November there is the (Beira) high school dinner. I’ve only missed one since I arrived here. I love going. It’s all very nostalgic but in a positive way. My closest friends are all people from there. Then there’s all the family that is here, although they didn’t all come from there (Mozambique). Some came directly from Goa and others are from Angola.

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I feel more connected to Goa here than in Africa. … There are many people from Mozambique in Casa de Goa, but essentially, most of the people there came to Portugal directly from Goa, in 1961. They are the real founders. Because Casa de Goa already existed before the Revolution. [Today] I am much more from Portugal than from Africa. I have always kept very close contact with five friends that I made here when I came to university, … so I was very supported when I came to live here. Unlike all my family and even my husband, I always felt at ease here.

As these excerpts illustrate, in addition to the Goan friends and family members who migrated to Portugal at the same time, the families’ networks include people who do not have a direct relationship with colonial Mozambique. Significantly, the Goans’ social networks were differently structured in Portugal, which in a way reflected the revision the home underwent as a context for social gathering and sociability. Thus, homes did not constitute the only relevant context, either for meeting with friends and family or for reconnecting with the past, as the memories of Mozambique were also collectively materialized in large meetings, which most families attended. Hence, the home as a space for sociability and conviviality only gained visibility concerning family gatherings. The large and formal festive occasions from the past gave way to more informal and smaller family events. However, it is in the scope of these gatherings that it is possible to find a greater correspondence with descriptions from the past. As in Mozambique, these festive moments rest on Goan traditions, and all families confirmed the importance of maintaining their cultural heritage, mainly through gastronomy. Given its significance, this topic will be taken up again when discussing food preparation consumption.

Domestic Materiality: The Things from the House The Portuguese The following analysis of present-day domestic material culture will parallel the logic of the previous chapter. The things from the house were divided into three major sets for analytical purposes: decorative options (furniture and other domestic objects), food practices and a restricted set of specific artistic consumptions. Each of these specific sets is framed both by specific logics and common structuring principles shared by most of the families’ material cultures and consumption

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practices. Since these logics are particularly significant, they will be discussed in greater detail at the end of the chapter. The home’s decoration promotes a conservative atmosphere in the hall, living room and dining room. The winter garden follows a more informal logic. There are African objects in all the rooms, things that travelled with the family, I am told: African wood furniture, Indo-European and Chinese porcelain; … and Mozambican handicrafts. All things, regardless of their original provenance, are classified by the family as Mozambican. (Fieldwork notes, May 2003)

This excerpt introduces several relevant topics in the discussion of the families’ present-day domestic materiality. The first one covers home decoration and its importance for the families. Although most families referred to the decorations of their present-day homes as much more spontaneous than their previous homes, their observation suggests otherwise. The homes’ coherent organization and aesthetic logic collide with the families’ apparent indifference to the subject. When questioned about this incongruence, the women explained that it resulted from a continual comparison with their African homes. The women also clarified that, like many other dimensions of their new domestic life, home furnishing and decoration had to be simplified. This overall simplification rested on diverse factors that alternated in intensity and significance. One of the most common is a lack of time to do the cleaning and maintenance, combined with the absence of domestic staff. The families describe the decorative style of their homes as ‘mainly classical’. According to them, this dominant style resulted from the integration of a significant number of decorative objects and furniture from their past homes into their new homes. Their presence is mostly justified by arguments that underline the quality of the objects, their aesthetics, and their ability to evoke the past. Everything you see here [in the living room] came from Africa. This armchair [Indo-Portuguese] belonged to my mother. It’s been upholstered I don’t know how many times. My mother came here for a few days and the armchair came with her and stayed. I am particularly fond of these Indo-Portuguese chairs, this old French clock from the seventeenth century, that armchair that belonged to my grandmother, that counter, some silverware and my watch collection, which is quite valuable and rare. It’s funny because these are objects linked to my childhood memories. The counter was my companion during my piano study hours. It was in the music room where the grand piano was. The clock is a chime clock, with a sound that sounds like

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cymbals breaking. It irritated me, but now I like it. All these objects are related to my childhood and were in my grandparents’ house, which I inherited.

Most of the time, the families’ discourses are based on personal evaluations that simultaneously underline the material quality of the objects, their rarity, their originality and their expressive value. This general framework is, however, punctuated by objects that escape that logic. The Portuguese homes also include things that are linked to the personal biography of their inhabitants, as well as objects which stand out for their specific attributes and qualities, and objects that the families identify as representative of ‘African culture’. These objects illustrate two features which are fundamental to understanding the materialization of the families’ memories of Africa. The first results from an evaluative logic that justified the retention and integration of the objects into their new homes. The second draws attention to the process of re-evaluation and scrutiny these things underwent, which is fundamental to their present-day relationship with the family and the material universe of the home. These objects are present both in the public and private spaces of the home and therefore integrated into its broader material logic. The ones that hold a more prominent and visible position are usually described as key decorative pieces and live in the families’ living and dining rooms. This group of objects present a great diversity in terms of their design – bookcases, tables, chairs, sideboards, paintings, porcelains and sculptures – and provenance – China, Japan, India (Figure 6.1); Mozambique, South Africa and Zimbabwe (Figure 6.2); and Europe (Figure 6.3). The families refer to all of them as ‘Mozambican’ and explained that they were responsible for determining the decorative style of the rooms (Figure 6.4). The second feature is closely interconnected with the first and involves two very different ways of materializing the colonial past in the present. Nowadays some people have a lot of African things: paintings, statuettes, furniture, and clothes. We don’t, we are the opposite. All these things that people have are recent. Nothing from the old days … in Mozambique we didn’t use any of that stuff. This fashion of decorating the homes in an African style is recent… In my home and my friends’ homes, you won’t see anything like that. Many people are very Africanist, but when you enter their homes here in Portugal, there is nothing that makes you think of Africa … And this does not mean that people do not miss Africa and are not very connected to their past.

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Figure 6.1. Oriental porcelain, current use. © M. Vilar Rosales

Things of the House

Figure 6.2. Carved wooden counter. © M. Vilar Rosales

Figure 6.3. Wooden desk, gilt metal clock, silver tray, porcelain vases and set of gilt carved mirrors. © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.4. African wood furniture. © M. Vilar Rosales

This particularly illustrative statement brings together the most relevant questions that emerged from the materialization of the families’ African past, in their present-day homes. Firstly, it identifies the coexistence of two contrasting modalities of materializing the past. Secondly, opting not to make the families’ connection with Africa explicit does not relativize the importance of their colonial experience at this stage in their biographies. That is, promoting an explicit display of the family’s African past does not necessarily resonate with its collective and individual structuring significance. Finally, according to this family, ‘a more authentic’ expression of the group’s past experience should reproduce the logics that presided over the decoration of the families’ domestic spaces in Mozambique, which refused explicit valorizations of the ‘African material cultures’. This topic will be taken up again in the conclusion since it is central to the discussion of the boundaries established between the private space of the home as well as the wider social context of which it is part and how its demarcation logics interfere with domestic materiality. Another significant aspect arising from the analysis of the homes’ decoration and furniture refers to the adjustments undergone by the migration objects. The appropriation of things is a continuous process, and thus the relations between them and the subjects should be understood as formally open to revisions, readjustments and even significant alterations. Furthermore, things can undergo reassessments that will affect their significance and subjective value and, most significantly, their materiality (Appadurai 2003b; Miller 1987; Silverstone and Hirsch

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1994). A significant number of the things from the past were altered upon their arrival in Portugal, in terms of their material characteristics, functions and purposes. Some objects were cut and adjusted to fit their new rooms and, in some cases, assigned new functions altogether. However, most of them underwent less explicit transformations, mainly resulting from new uses. This discussion will be resumed later since these transformations particularly affected the families’ consumption of art. For now, it is significant to acknowledge that the objects of the past did not necessarily work to reproduce the African domestic settings. That is, the fact that these objects have been subjected to a critical evaluation, which in a considerable number of cases resulted in a reorganization of their social biographies, is an excellent example of creative and strategic interaction with the material world (Miller 1987). The last significant topic of this discussion relates to the categorization of things as Mozambican. Distinct from narratives about the colonial home, this term designates – in Portugal – a plurality of things, significantly more diverse than the objects that it previously designated. In Portugal, most objects of the past are ‘Mozambican’, independently of their origin. That is, the term generally designates all the things that participated in the families’ life in Africa, thereby reinforcing the above-mentioned statement of one of the families that the material expression of memory goes far beyond the use of African craft objects. The capacity of the ‘Mozambican objects’ to incorporate distinct meanings from those previously attributed to them does not necessarily imply the loss of the latter. On the contrary, although things such as Oriental porcelain, European furniture or Makonde sculptures could be, at first, randomly categorized as ‘Mozambican’, their previous categorization was not erased. The origin, design and material qualities of the objects persist as significant factors for their description and evaluation, without, however, losing their primordial identity as ‘things from there’, ‘objects from Mozambique’ or ‘from the past’. So, how does the colonial past in Africa affect these objects’ present-day social biographies? The previous chapter highlighted the fact that domestic materiality mirrored the dominant structures of Mozambican society. The families’ discourses exposed a stratification system that hierarchized domestic material culture in a way that replicated the colonial social order. The Carnation Revolution, decolonization and migration to Portugal affected the social positioning of the families and interfered with the status of the objects of their past homes. The objects previously categorized as ‘African’ were particularly affected by migration. In the former context, objects designated as ‘African’ were directly associated with the African populations and, with few

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exceptions, held a subordinate status when compared to ‘European’, ‘Portuguese’ or ‘Asian’ objects. Despite this dominant representation, most families retained some ‘African stuff’, which came to be incorporated into their new setting. I didn’t bring more things because I didn’t want to. Now, I’ll tell you something, many of the things that I value here today, I didn’t pay any attention to them back then. I still use them. I left most of my blackwood sculptures there. Today, I would love to have them. But back then… it’s not that they had much (economic) value here, but they had a lot of personal value. I had more things, but when I got divorced, we had to share them. The objects that were important to me were also important to my husband. Many of the most significant objects were African pieces: masks, ashtrays, and marimbas.

As part of the plural set of objects of the past, ‘African objects’ suffered a significant statutory revision. This process affected not only the objects produced in Africa, by African craftsmen, with African materials – according to ‘Western design and taste’ – but also all the things that the families group under the ‘representative of the African culture’ category. This second group mostly includes wood, ivory and bone carvings as well as fabrics, baskets, coconut graters, small stools and mats, currently used as decorative items. Described as ‘typically African’, all these objects came from the families’ colonial homes. Previously described as banal, these things are nowadays valued and displayed in their Portuguese homes. Some of them are now categorized under a new subcategory that did not come up in the discourses about the African homes: objects which are ‘representative of the African cultures’. Mentioned for the first time, this subcategory aggregates things described as ‘tribal’, ‘genuine’ and ‘original’, and translates the families’ need to establish a distinction between the artefacts produced by Africans and framed by colonialism, and the objects representative of the ‘African culture’ prior to the colonial presence. The most illustrative examples of this underrepresented set of domestic material culture are hunting and war instruments, masks, musical instruments and a sceptre (Figures 6.5, 6.6 and 6.7). The families justified their lack of interest in Mozambican material culture during the colonial period as a result of urban life, that is, a daily life with little contact with the ‘bush’ where the populations manufactured ‘those types of things’. Significantly, however, this explanation only partially justifies the lack of desire for colonial artefacts

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Figure 6.5. Hand-carved wooden mask. © M. Vilar Rosales

Figure 6.6. Set of three hand-carved wooden elephants. © M. Vilar Rosales

Figure 6.7. Wooden spear with a metal point. © M. Vilar Rosales

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(Gosden and Knowles 2001). In fact, colonial relations have always involved material culture. The main motive for Europeans to expand to new territories was primarily material and, in this sense, many of the relationships that were established between colonizer and colonized were based on strategic material exchanges. Being fundamental, material exchanges were complemented by a second modality which responded to an interest in collecting the objects of the other in the British Colonies (ibid.). Although structured around a different logic, this second modality affected both parties and, as far as the colonizer was concerned, translated into a systematic practice of collecting things. The appetite for collecting shown by colonists stemmed from a multifaceted set of justifications and principles and may have had important repercussions not only on the increased production of certain goods and products but also on their conception and design. The relevance of mentioning Gosden and Knowles’s (2001) research here resides in the contrast between their findings concerning British Colonialism and the picture portrayed by the Portuguese families where consistent colonial collecting was absent in colonial Mozambique. This situation is however partially reversed in the present, as some families have been recently acquiring ‘genuine examples of African craftsmanship’ objects in European antique shops. Although it cannot be characterized as a generalized practice, these investments represent a significant deviation from the overall previous picture. Despite having to be managed carefully so that the ‘house does not become a museum’, the current appetite for these consumption practices corresponds not only with a significant reassessment of the relationship between the families and their objects but also with the enunciation of a new regime of value (Appadurai 2003b) for the things of the house. Food and foodways persist as one of the most intensely discussed domestic material culture topics, albeit with specificities. An overall analysis of the data collected identified three major trends in the families’ food practices: their generalized simplification and readjustment to the new context; the permanence of a few routines from the past; and the social significance of food as a sociability and positioning tool. Upon their arrival in Portugal, food preparation and consumption suffered, like most of the other domestic consumption practices, and underwent a profound reassessment. Having to prepare their meals, combined with a loss of purchasing power, introduced significant changes in the daily eating habits of families. The food from there – lobster, shrimp and fish – was very expensive here. In Mozambique, we ate top-quality beef. It’s not that there wasn’t

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second or third quality meat in Mozambique, but I never ate it. Here we had to adapt to new products – pork, turkey or chicken. At first, I spiced my food a lot because the flavours were very different from the good fish and meat from Africa.

Although the most intensely discussed aspect derives from having to manage a more restricted household budget, the preparation of meals was also an important aspect in the families’ adjustment to their new setting. Today I cook all sorts of food, but I have to say that there was an adaptation period to the new products and the ways of preparing them. For example, when I bought pork chops for the first time, I thought – how are the chops cooked here? And there were lots of fish I didn’t know, and I had to ask the saleswomen – what is this fish good for? For cooking? For grilling? So, I had to learn how to cook all those foods, and the way we cook them today is Portuguese style because that’s how we were taught here.

The previous chapter discussed the capacity of food to evoke one’s origins and reconstitute it in sensory terms. This capacity results from a complex combination of practices that bring together specific ingredients, preparation techniques for handling and treating food, and consumption. Food preparation is particularly significant for the reproduction of gastronomic heritage and the development of a feeling of stability and belonging. Thus, by recognizing their ignorance of the food products available, the families emphasize an aspect which, although less visible, assumes considerable importance in the way in which food practices mediate, objectify and contribute to the understanding of cultural difference while playing an active role in the legitimation of action. Food adaptations coexist with another set of food options which, contrary to the former, do not seem to have undergone any kind of reformulation – curry and tea. As mentioned in the previous chapter, in Mozambique, curry and tea were considered a ‘specific cultural patrimony’, since much of the food consumption followed the Portuguese gastronomic tradition. The analysis of food consumption in Portugal brought to light the use of the category ‘typically Portuguese’. Formed in the past mainly through confrontation with ‘African food’, this category was revised and readjusted, and in most cases, resulted in the relativization of its expressive capacities. On the contrary, curry and tea continued to play a central role at the families’ tables. The Sunday curry tradition was maintained in the

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first years of residence. Common to most families, this practice was, during this period, a key mechanism for dealing with loss and evoking the past. Over time, the ‘Sunday curry’ progressively lost its weekly frequency at the table, but its significance persists until the present day, especially on festive occasions. The nostalgia for Africa was cured with Sunday curries. Crab curry. There was never much music … Each of us had our memories. We didn’t experience the ‘good’ of Africa like our parents did because we left very young. So, our nostalgia was relative. There was never any such thing as collective longing. It was more the traditions that were kept in the family, and the stories about Africa.

Although maintaining distinct characteristics, the five o’clock tea tradition shares some features with the curry tradition. For most families it also constitutes a central tool for connecting with the past and, in this sense, its preparation follows the same principles that characterized it in Mozambique. Tea continues to be a gathering occasion for women and, despite all the alterations and readjustments, tea is still described as a special domestic event. As in Mozambique, tea is served according to the British tradition, consisting of diverse sandwiches of trimmed bread with different fillings, at least one cake ‘typically from there’ (Mozambique) and a series of small dry biscuits, some of them home-made. The tables are carefully prepared and decorated, using linen tablecloths, oriental or Portuguese porcelain and often a small centrepiece with flowers and aromatic candles. Tea often coincides with the playing of a canasta game. Organizing a tea party is described as a committed and arduous task. A significant materialization of the group’s habitus, the organization of a tea party rests on two complementary principles: the maintenance of the menus from the past; and the way in which it is presented and served. In Portugal, like in Mozambique, refinement and exclusivity are terms often used to categorize these events and eventual adjustments resulting from a lack of help and a limited budget. In this sense, the main difference between tea from the past and the present is their regularity – but more than this, fewer people are invited to each event. However, they subsist as relevant moments of sociability for most women, who use them to a large extent as contexts for strengthening their social networks and, ‘in the name of the good old days’, to confirm their status within the group. The group habitus is also noted in other moments of sociability involving the preparation of meals at Christmas, Easter and on birthdays.

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Whether through the maintenance of food practices directly related to their life experience in Africa or through explicit observations exposed during fieldwork, food constitutes a particularly complex context of production, affirmation and confirmation of personal and collective identity. The families’ artistic consumption practices, as in the past, revolve around the confrontation of African art and European art. The last years of the colonial period saw the emergence and consolidation of a timid native artistic movement that consolidated after independence. The recognition of this movement differed from family to family, and some families acquired paintings and sculptures by Mozambican artists and continued to do so after migrating to Portugal, while others did not. The artistic and economic value of these works of art is undeniable. However, these pieces are central due to their ability to objectify their biographical passage through Africa and, especially, their ability to understand and recognize ‘the genuine Africanity … and the representations of the African gaze’. I like to be surrounded by African art. I’ll take these paintings wherever I go. Home, without them, makes no sense. There is no chance. On a plane trip from Lisbon to Lourenço Marques (before independence), I sat next to Malangatana Valente and we chatted. In the end, he made me this drawing with this poem. A few years ago, he had an exhibition in Estoril, and I went. He was surrounded by many people. I waited for them to leave, approached him and showed him the drawing. He was very surprised that I had saved it.

Figure 6.8. Canvas acquired at the Samate Gallery, Maputo, 1976 (artist unknown to the owner). © M. Vilar Rosales

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As mentioned, the interest in Mozambican art is not shared by all of the families, even if all of them recognize its renewed value and visibility in the international art sphere. One family mentioned that only recently had they framed a painting by Chissano, a gift on the occasion of their marriage, many years ago. The revised status of Mozambican art resonates with a more comprehensive post-colonial movement (Myers 2001), resulting from their integration into the specific category of art. Art, as a context for objects, constitutes a particular material culture category from which objects can enter and exit (ibid.). Hence, the objects’ movements in and out of this category correspond to a movement between contexts and therefore are not entirely distinct from the movements that take place in the cultural hierarchy when an object is transformed into an artistic creation. Art is a very particular field of material culture and art objects are exposed to constant revisions of the policies and regimes of value, which partially relate them with and to all other objects. That is, in addition to their specificities, the changes that have taken place in terms of the status of Mozambican art are also partially linked to movements between contexts and between cultures that these objects themselves experienced. This explains why the discourses about Mozambican art resemble those of African objects used in the decoration of the families’ homes. Both underwent profound reassessments in the ways the families use them and integrated them into their homes. As mentioned by one of the families, ‘African art and African crafts are Figure 6.9. ‘Mask’, by Chissano (1969). Sculpture. © M. Vilar Rosales

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now much more valued, and people often say they regret not having more of these things’. Mozambican art is hardly the only artistic expression present in the families’ homes. Another category contrary to the one previously analysed, yet closely linked to Africa, includes pieces acquired in Mozambique – during the colonial period – and later, in Portugal and abroad. The prominence of this variety translates into a kind of materializing of the families’ memories. This silkscreen is not by anyone from Mozambique or anyone from Africa, but I particularly liked it. It has earth colours and the portrayal of a mask and instruments. It encapsulates the smell of Africa, and yet it was made by a young Portuguese artist who has never been to Africa. I don’t know how she could do it. I bought it in a small exhibition in Lisbon, amid so many things, it caught my attention because of its theme.

The ‘African theme’ is also at the centre of the families’ literary preferences. Literature consumption is not limited to authors or topics related to Mozambique. Books ‘about Africa’ coexist with countless other fiction and non-fiction books. Given this general framework, most families mentioned devoting particular attention to novels and biographies directly related to colonial Mozambique and life in the colony. As for music consumption, the families’ discourses portray a consumption pattern that resembles their past preferences for classical music punctuated by pop music hits, which were considered amusing.

The Goans Most of the furniture came from Mozambique. From all of the items present, A. calls attention to the tea trolley, the game table and her dinner service, all brought from Mozambique. In the entrance hall are turtle shells and large seashells collected on a beach in Northern Mozambique. (Fieldwork notes, November 2004)

Goan families’ present-day homes contain a considerable amount of furniture that came from their African homes. Like the other group, the Goans label these pieces as Mozambican, regardless of their designs, materials and origin. Their homes display another, more restricted set of objects that, although having also migrated from Mozambique, are classified as Goan. The families mostly describe their decorative options as ‘classic’ and ‘sober’, very much like their homes from the past.

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We only brought this furniture (dining room), these chairs (living room) and these armchairs (living room). Everything else was bought here. Now, we also have Goan furniture that came from Mozambique. These were inherited from my husband’s family. This desk (living room) was from my husband’s great-grandfather. It went from Goa to Mozambique, where it was restored, and now is here in Lisbon and we used it as a sideboard. The only thing that came from my parents’ house was that table, which is not from Goa, it is from Macao. When I arrived, I didn’t have a house, I didn’t have a job, where would I put things? I brought photographs, books and records … There is also that panga-panga chest. I especially like the office furniture that is in the hall. I like African handicrafts a lot. You know, it wasn’t at all common to use African handicrafts there for decorating the homes.

As these examples indicate, the families’ discourses have evolved around the material and aesthetic quality of the objects and their connection to their biographies, independently of their provenance, apart from ‘the things from Goa’ that constitute a different category. The furniture and objects from Mozambique inhabit the homes’ private and public spaces. Like the Portuguese families, the Goan families present different strategies for their display and visibility. In some homes, the ‘Mozambican objects’ mainly correspond to furniture made of African wood but with a westernized design. In others, this category includes a larger assortment of things that the families described as representative of the ‘African culture’. In a small corner of the living room, B. recreated her African space. Behind a large plant, on the floor, there are kitchen tools, sculptures, and a box made of coconut shells. The pieces are placed directly on the ground, discreetly disguised by the plants. More visible are two blackwood busts. The living room furniture, the sideboard and the dining room table, also made of African wood, present an explicitly European design. (Fieldwork notes, March 2005)

Observations of the families’ homes and domestic material culture contributed to the discussion of their integration and positioning strategies in Portugal. Contrary to the Portuguese, the existence of Mozambican objects in the home, besides materializing the Goan families’ colonial past, is also indicative of the way in which the families worked on this specific dimension of their biographical trajectories. Thus, material heritage (Miller 1987) displayed in the domestic

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spaces corresponds to two differentiated relationships with the families’ ‘Mozambican past’. In the first, the passage through Africa is relativized in relation to a discursive construction in which the links to Goa are emphasized. In the second, the centrality of the African colonial experience persists. I am less and less connected to Mozambique and I am very connected to Goa. … My children are very connected to Goa, and I will work for my grandchildren to remain connected. God willing, they will. When I arrived here [Portugal] I said to myself: I have Goan ancestry, I lived in Africa, and I love Africans and I lived in Europe where I have friends. … But my homeland seems to be Mozambique.

The Portuguese families whose domestic spaces did not explicitly display their colonial past justified it as a reproduction of the decorative logic in use in the colony which privileged the European aesthetic. However, in the case of the Goan families, the lack of African items seems to primarily draw on an affirmation of the primacy of their Goan identity. As in the Portuguese homes, the function of the objects that travelled from Mozambique underwent significant adjustments, which in turn affected their relationships with the family members. The intervention (Miller 1987) on the objects reported by the families indicates, as in the case of the Portuguese families, new and creative modalities of material appropriation. Instead of reconstituting their homes from the past, the Goan families carried out a comprehensive evaluation of their domestic things resulting in organizing them in a differentiated way. Similar to those of the Portuguese group, for the Goan families the categories of ‘objects from the past, things from there, and objects from Mozambique’ include a broad array of things – ‘European-style furniture’, ‘oriental porcelain’ and ‘African handicrafts’. The substantial change that migration has introduced in these categories resulted in the inclusion of the ‘African handicrafts’, just as in the case of the Portuguese families. Previously secondary in relation to the other objects, the ‘African handicrafts’ coexist today with all the other African objects, which illustrates the reevaluation they underwent upon arriving in Portugal. I brought almost nothing when I came. It’s funny because I started to value these things here. I often said I had so much of this over there and I didn’t give a damn. I was sorry. When I went back in ‘92 I bought

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several things: a tall lamp, the same as the one I had at my parents’ home and which I didn’t bring when I left. I miss a piece that I didn’t bring. It was a native village, with a hut, with coconut trees all around, the women wearing only loincloths, and the kids playing. Almost everyone had it at home. I got rid of mine and now I’m sorry. But also, there was so much sorting to do.

The appreciation of African craftsmanship has changed significantly since the families arrived in Portugal. Composed of wood and ivory carvings, some textiles, used as decorative elements, and some pieces of furniture, this category of things is now appreciated due to its ability to materialize and bear witness, through their presence, to families’ African life. Although sometimes the families also highlighted the qualities of the materials and the carving techniques used by the craftsman, most of the time their exhibition at home represents, first and foremost, ‘a link with the past, a memory of the country where one lived’ and an expressive element of a significant phase in their life trajectories. Contrary to the Portuguese families’ homes, there was no presence of objects which were representative of what some of them have described as ‘genuinely African’. The first relevant observation concerning the category of Goan objects or Indo-Portuguese objects results from its plurality. If for Portuguese families this was a relatively restricted category of things, the Goan homes present a considerably different scenario. Besides the pieces already described by the previous group, this category also includes an appreciable number of other pieces of furniture (tea tables, side tables, chairs, armchairs) (Figure 6.10), decorative pieces (paintings, engravings, textiles, sculptures, vases, porcelains) (Figures 6.11, 6.12, 6.13), several everyday objects (Figure 6.14), and a considerable number of religious pieces (Figure 6.15). Although these things came from the families’ Mozambican homes, their non-inclusion in the category of retained objects seems to be due, in the first place, to the fact that most families use their Goan identity as a fundamental classification element. Thus, the Goan objects from Africa assume, in the current domestic spaces, a position equivalent to the ones that travelled directly from the former Indian colony. The analysis of the Goan objects led to a discussion of the families’ relationship with Goa since their arrival in Portugal. As has already been discussed, when in Mozambique the families maintained ongoing contact with their relatives in Goa, mainly by letter. However, after migrating to Portugal, the contacts were, in most cases, intensified.

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Figure 6.10. Wooden and straw chair with leg support. © M. Vilar Rosales

Figure 6.11. Ceramic sculptures. © M. Vilar Rosales

Figure 6.12. Set of porcelain pieces (jugs). © M. Vilar Rosales

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Figure 6.13. Decorative cloth. © M. Vilar Rosales

Figure 6.14. Rice baskets. © M. Vilar Rosales Figure 6.15. Figurine of Our Lady of Carmo. © M. Vilar Rosales

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I never went back to Mozambique but, on the other hand, I have lost count of the times I have been to Goa. … All my children went to Goa several times, with their families and friends. My wife’s family has a beautifully preserved manor house there. The first time I went to Goa was in 1983. I went with a cousin. We thought: look, what if we went to Goa? We both went. We didn’t know anything. We arrived in Bombay, with all that confusion. But Goa is completely different. It’s very colonial Portuguese. You are in Goa and it seems like you are in Beira (Mozambique). It’s funny. Later I went to Brazil, and I found that São Salvador da Baía looks exactly like Goa. But the first sensation reminded me of Mozambique … After that, I went back four times, but now I don’t go anymore. All my aunts and grandmothers are dead now, so I do not see the point. Since I came to Portugal, I’ve been to Goa eight times. My husband has many properties there that he inherited. And then, there was a time when we thought it was a shame that nobody would take care of things and we started going to sell properties. … All my children have been to Goa. They went with their families who really enjoyed knowing Goa. They had no idea, did they? About the houses and the properties that our family has there. … Before [during the period when the family lived in Mozambique] I had only gone once, with my parents.

The intensification of the families’ relationship with Goa unfolded through two expressive modalities. The first rests upon the ‘Goan’ or ‘Indo-Portuguese’ objects brought from Mozambique; and the second stems from objects brought directly from Goa, that is, from the families’ original lost homes. The Goan things from Mozambique and Goa are alike and include, as mentioned, a diverse collection of furniture, textiles and decorative objects. Regarding the first set of things, the strategies which preside over their placement within the home are indistinguishable. Contrary to the Mozambican objects, whose presence in the homes reflected the families’ relationship with their colonial past, the Goan objects are visibly present in most homes, independent of the families’ relationship with their primal origin. Thus, whether in conjunction with ‘things from Africa’ or not, the connection to Goa is explicitly portrayed in all homes, although in substantially differentiated degrees. As for the second set, its presence in the families’ homes is conditioned by external factors that partially escape their control. The presence of these objects is dependent on the families’ access to their properties in Goa. Some families, to explain the absence of such objects, declared that their ancestral homes had been sold, while others declared that they did not have a close relationship with the relatives

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who stayed in Goa. However, for the ones who invested in their relationship with the ancestral territory, the great family home remains a space of inclusion (Fog Olwig 1998) which, despite the different life trajectories of the family’s descendants, remains open to them. In these cases, the number of objects coming from the family home is fundamentally dependent on the management strategy agreed upon by most of the heirs. In some cases, the families decided to ‘keep the house and its contents as unaltered as possible’, which explains the absence of its things in Portugal. In others, the families agreed on a less restrictive policy, which allowed the circulation of things from Goa to Portugal. The families’ food practices in Portugal were intensely discussed. Unlike the Portuguese, the Goan food and foodways do not seem to have been significantly affected by migration. Hence, Goan food not only remains an essential reference in all homes but there is also a generalized strategy in place for its maintenance and preservation. I continue to cook Goan food because I like it very much. My children also like it very much … I’m very finicky. I don’t like cheating. Essentially, I cook as my mother did. Look, one thing I’d like to do would be to organize a book of my mother’s and my recipes … My daughter-in-law, who is Portuguese, told me that I had to teach her how to make curry. I told her to come with me into the kitchen to learn how to make it and she was amazed at how much work it takes to make it. On festive occasions, we always make Goan food. It’s tradition. There is always at least one Goan dish. … Whenever we get together, even if it’s not for any particular occasion, we always end up in Goan restaurants. For example, at Christmas time there’s a typical cake, the Cake. Almost everybody has it at home. It is a kind of English cake, but different from the English cake. It has fruit, but it also has other condiments. Then, there are many other deserts … Some ladies still make everything at home, but I, for example, order it because it’s a lot of work.

Goan gastronomic heritage is highly valued, and families seem to particularly treasure the recipes learned from the older generations. The only distinctive note of the present-day cooking practices is that their preparation falls upon the women. As the Goan cooking traditions are very time-consuming and complex, maintaining them is considered a great investment of time by the women, who are explicitly proud of this. It is also significant to note that the valorization of Goan food is passed on to the younger generations and their Portuguese spouses. Most of the references to the Portuguese in-laws are related to food and, more specifically, to their ‘taste for the Goan palate’.

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Migration affected the families’ relationship with their African experience. While some families continued to emphasize its significance for their biographies, others relativized it as a result of the affirmation of their ‘true Goan roots’, for which the importance of food is clear. Food was, in the words of one family, the Goans’ ‘umbilical cord to Goa’ in Mozambique and remains so in Portugal, albeit the intensification of the relationships with Goa and the ancestral family home. The materialization of their African past, through food, is almost exclusively rooted in Goan food. The families recollect their past by invoking the dominant gastronomic heritage in their African homes: the recipes that the women of the family brought from Goa and reproduced throughout their lives in Mozambique and Portugal. Thus, the fact that the records obtained on this topic focus almost exclusively on ‘Goan cuisine’ does not necessarily correspond to the relativization of their African life experience. I indeed feel a bit Goan and I appreciate some of the Goan traditions, so I continue to cook Goan food and I have these family objects. Now if you were to ask me if I feel more Goan or more Mozambican, I will say Mozambican. I was born there. It is my homeland. Goa is a place where I used to go to visit with my grandparents. If you ask my children, they also say Mozambican.

If the analysis of food consumption shows a continuity between the discourses about the past and present day, this perception becomes even more evident regarding artistic consumption practices. As in the past, the families reiterate their preference for classical artistic productions by Portuguese and Goan artists. The families show a particular interest in Portuguese classical literature, Portuguese history and Goan colonial history. The latter addresses a plurality of topics including the great family properties of the Catholic Brahmin families, which are always on display in the living rooms. The families’ music consumption also reproduces the patterns found in Mozambique. As a result of their intense training during childhood and youth, most adults continue to play and value the same classical repertoires, especially the Mandó. Referred to as a cultural element always present in moments of sociability in Africa, its relevance is confirmed by the families’ discography. Concerning Mozambican literary and music production, the dominant picture reproduces the families’ practices while in Mozambique. In the previous chapter, attention was drawn to the existence of a dominant discourse which, replicating the general representations of the Portuguese families, confirmed a devaluation and lack of knowledge

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of African artistic production. Although some of the families referred to the inflexion that occurred at the end of the colonial period, which enabled the emergence and recognition of some Mozambican authors, the families reported a generalized lack of interest in these productions. The families’ homes depict, however, a renewed awareness organized around Goa as the dominant theme, evidenced by extremely diverse works, such as paintings, engravings and drawings.

Conclusion

Things of the House sought to establish the integration of material culture and consumption studies into the discussion of migration movements resulting from Portuguese colonialism, in the twentieth century. By focusing on consumption practices and the relationships between people and things in the domestic space, this research investigated how and to what extent the materiality of the home constitutes an important resource for tackling the topics of networks of belonging, positioning strategies and life narratives of two groups of families who experienced disruption and instability because of forced migration. This conclusion will primarily focus on aspects arising from the ethnography carried out at the families’ present-day homes. This privileging of the present should not be understood as an intention to sideline discussions about their past homes and colonial experiences. On the contrary, an analysis of the present draws on discussions of the past, framing and enabling further discussions. The first relevant finding of the analysis concerns the adjustments introduced by the families’ forced migration to Portugal and how this affected their daily domestic life. Particularly visible in relation to the policies of management and organization of the home, the discourses on this specific dimension are a central resource for understanding the processes of adjustment, reassessment and relearning to which most families were subjected while integrating into their new Portuguese reality. By confronting their past and their present situations, families explored their adaptation to their new life through an argumentation structured around the need to simplify procedures, reorganize the home space, and establish novel management and consumption practices. Characterized as a particularly difficult life stage, the necessity of adjusting their homes and domestic routines was, especially in the case of the Portuguese families, complemented by additional difficulties arising from the differences in scale (smaller houses, absence of gardens, smaller rooms) between the past and the present homes. All

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this affected how family routines and relationships were structured, as well as their relationship with their home, its material structure and with the things that inhabited it, as their materiality and uses underwent significant transformations. The second relevant finding derives from the intricate connection between materiality, consumption practices and the families’ life trajectories. Firstly, it is important to notice that the families’ life in Africa is present in their current domestic contexts through a plurality of resources and manifestations. Among these, the objects that survived the exodus and migrated to Portugal, along with a plurality of consumption practices, are particularly expressive. These things and consumptions constitute a distinct category for all families: a set that stands out from the material universe of the home. This category is considerably diversified and varies from home to home, and from room to room, even within the same home. Moreover, it was also noted that these objects underwent a significant process of reevaluation which interfered with their present-day use, function, visibility and position concerning other domestic objects. Exemplary of the biographical approach and regime of value alterations (Appadurai 2003a) all things may undergo, the reassessment of these objects of the past was particularly visible in three groups of things, although with different expressions and intensities from family to family. The first set corresponds to an extended collection of objects that the subjects designated as ‘African’. This set includes handmade pieces made of various materials (wood being dominant), diverse artistic productions (paintings, sculptures) and a very restricted number of objects described as ‘original of the African cultures’. The second set, only present in the homes of the Goan families, is exclusively made up of pieces entitled ‘Goan’ or ‘Indo-Portuguese’. As in the first case, this set also presents pieces of diversified materials and dimensions with diverse functions, values and origins. The third one integrates a plurality of pieces of different origins, styles and materials which inhabited the families’ colonial houses. In this last set, the objects described as ‘oriental’, and the books and records acquired in other former African colonies (South Africa and Zimbabwe), stand out. As for the families’ consumption routines, the analysis points towards the maintenance of a significant set identified as typically Mozambican. The permanence and reproduction of these specific practices are materialized both through their exact replication or adaptation of the families’ recent domestic routines. These processes are particularly visible in the field of food and foodways, in which the Sunday curry and tea hold a prominent place, as well as in social gatherings with other families, who share a similar colonial past experience.

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The third takeaway is more specific; it is related to the materialization of the memories of Africa. The ethnography revealed that relating to the past can be materialized in the families’ homes through substantially different combinations of objects, decorative logics, food practices and artistic consumptions. That is, by resorting to the above-mentioned set of resources, the homes display varied constellations of things, follow differentiated expressive modalities and are based on relatively differentiated logics. In the case of the Portuguese families, two consistent patterns were observed. The first consisted of a decorative modality which tended to reproduce the Mozambican homes. Based on the maintenance of unique consumption practices (decorations, food, arts), the homes organized according to this first model bear witness to the African life experiences through the reproduction of the logics that characterized the families’ specific colonial habitus. The second, although also retaining numerous things from the lost homes, was the result of a reevaluation process that went beyond the positive evaluation of objects from the past as expressed in the first pattern. Thus, and alongside a considerable number of things representative of the logics pursued in the past, these homes also present significant innovations, especially concerning the things categorized as ‘African’. In the case of the Goan families, in addition to the patterns just mentioned, a third dominant logic was also noted, regarding the category of objects and consumption practices classified as Goan or IndoPortuguese. Independently of the dominant modality observed in the families’ homes regarding the ‘objects from Africa’, the ‘things from Goa’ were considered a significant feature in all of them. The transversality that characterized their presence did not, however, correspond to an analogous relationship with the Indian territory. As was noted in the last chapter, the ‘Goan’ objects and consumption practices are structured around differentiated principles and logics. In some cases, they reproduce logics already consolidated in Mozambique, albeit in a discrete way. In others, they correspond to a discovery, or rather a rediscovery of the families’ original patrimony, usually characterized as ‘happy’ and ‘liberating’. For some families, their Goan objects and consumption practices coexist harmoniously with their African objects and practices. For others, they materialize a process of change, and testify to the rehabilitation of their relationship with Goa and India, therefore, assuming a clear protagonism vis-à-vis the African legacy. The fourth and last finding relates to the diversity of expressions of memories about Africa. The life experiences in Mozambique were, without exception, a significant dimension in the families’ experiences

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that strongly intersects with their present-day identity. Marked by very striking specificities, this life stage was interrupted by a forced migration that resulted in their settling in Portugal. The departure and subsequent arrival and integration into the new context incorporated evaluation, restructuring and repositioning moments that were necessarily critical and had significant implications for the dimensions that structure and frame the families’ past and present life experiences. By addressing the materialization of the families’ relationships with the past in their present-day domestic context, the ethnography disclosed the existence of a relative plurality of processes of cutting, reconstruction and suturing (Hall 1999), which resulted in differentiated expressions of their lived experiences in Mozambique during the colonial period. These expressions ranged from policies that reproduced the logics presiding over the material culture, organization and management of their life in Mozambique, to policies reflecting the explicitness of the connection with Africa, instituted through processes of profound reassessment of the logics that oversaw material culture and domestic consumption practices in the former context of belonging, to forms of re-equating their primordial heritage and belonging before settlement in the former colony. Mediated by past and present life experiences, by networks of belonging and by the specificities which mark the paths they have taken, the things of the house become a material contribution to remembrance: the biographies and the paths taken by these families. The banal objects of daily life constitute a fundamental framework for social life (Miller 2008). Sometimes things contribute to the stabilization of everyday life and to the re-establishment of environments that provide security and recognition. At other times they participate in bringing about change and revising old practices. Their work (most often discreet) and their relationships with humans, thus, become an important window through which to explore less visible but structuring dimensions of migration – those related to daily life, routines and the processes of managing and evaluating life trajectories marked by instability and displacement.

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Index

A Ancestral houses, 72, 105, 106, 160, 162 Appadurai, Arjun, 2, 8, 9, 122, 124, 145, 149, 165, 168, 172, 173 art Goan, 157–59 Mozambican artists, 104, 110, 152–53 Mozambican literature, 104 Mozambican music, 63, 147–48, 15 Mozambican painting, 63, 103–4, 143, 152–53, 165 Mozambican sculpture, 106, 110, 143–44, 146–47, 152–53, 155 Portuguese, 104 Western, 63, 103, 109, 162 artefacts. See objects B Baudrillard, Jean, 2 Beira, city of, 16, 36, 58, 87 biography(ies), personal, 7, 10, 42, 116, 125, 145, 162, 167 Bourdieu, Pierre, 9, 47, 69, 111 Brahmin Goans, 37–39, 49–54, 71–82 British colonies Rhodesia, 6, 21, 55, 58, 73, 102–3 (see also Zimbabwe)

South Africa, 21, 23, 55, 58, 61–62, 73, 96, 101–3, 119, 143 Zimbabwe, 58, 103, 119, 143, 165 C Carnation Revolution, 146. See also Revolution Cascais, 27, 43, 127, 132–33 caste, 39, 41, 50–54, 72–82 Catholic Goans, 38–40, 51–54, 60–61, 72–79, 118, 162 censorship, 58, 102 childcare, 63, 88. See also children children, 50, 51, 57–58, 75–76, 88–89, 103, 118–20, 129, 138, 156, 160, 162 Chinese community, 36, 37, 61 class colonial society, 43, 48–49, 50. 52, 62, 64, 67, 69, 70, 71, 76, 89, 96, 101, 111 downward mobility, 128 post-revolutionary society, 128 Classical style, 142 clubs European, 66, 71 Goan, 39, 41, 66–67, 72, 73, 76, 81 collecting, 149 colonial domestic life, 84–95 Colonial Act, 17–19, 21–23 Colonial Goa, 39, 50, 51–54 Colonial Mozambique

182

economy, 17, 19, 35, 46–47, 58) policies, 17–20 social structure, 40–41, 48, 70, 78, 104, 109, 112–13 transition to independence, 25–28, 117–22 war, 22–26 Colonialism, Portuguese, 14, 51, 62, 103, 147, 164. See also Portuguese Third Empire consumption practices, 5–12, 165–67 studies, 6, 7 Cosmopolitanism, 103 curry, 99–101, 108, 112, 115, 150, 151, 161, 165 D displacement, 10, 116–24 domesticity, 111 Douglas, Mary, 2, 8 E Empire, Portuguese Third, 14–27. See also colonialism Englishness, 111. See also The English influence Estado Novo ideology and propaganda, 18, 34, 56, 59 regimen, 17–21, 30, 33–34, 56, 58–59, 62, 64, 102–4 society, 58, 62 estrangement, 126 ethnography, 11, 85, 166, 167 everyday life, 10, 132, 167 exodus, 27, 31, 64, 92, 119, 123, 125, 132, 165. See also repatriation; return migration F Fog Olwig, Karen, 161 folklore, 63 food

Index

African, 90, 99–101, 108, 166 and class, 52, 101 and identity, 11, 38, 81, 101, 112, 137, 15–29 British, 99, 101–2, 109, 112, 149 Goan, 38, 52, 73, 81, 94, 106–9, 161–62, 165–66 Portuguese, 99, 100–2, 107, 112, 150 Preparation, 99–102, 106, 149, 150, 161 recipes, 109, 161–62 tea, 67–68, 73, 90, 91, 98–103, 109, 136, 137, 150, 151, 165 FRELIMO, 23–27, 77, 117–18 G Goan communities, 61, 73 (see also IndoPortuguese communities) identity, 31, 38, 71–77, 79–82, 114, 120, 156–57 migrations, 30–32, 37, 49–54, 77–78, 82, 156, 161–62 Gosden, Chris, 69, 149 Gullestad, Marianne, 3, 10, 84 H Habitus, 64, 67–70, 79, 80, 102, 105, 136–37, 151, 166 Hall, Stuart, 9, 77, 167 home decoration, 85, 92, 95–98, 105, 107, 142, 145 house in the bush, 65, 86–87, 92, 147 in urban Mozambique, 86–93, 111, 113 in Portugal, 127–28, 133–34, 138–39 I independence movements, 23 Indigenous peoples, 20–22, 35 Indo-Portuguese communities, 27, 39, 60, 76, 81, 97

Index

interaction of people and objects, 10–11, 22, 30, 39, 46–48, 50, 52, 76, 78, 111, 119–20, 125–29, 131–32, 139, 142, 153, 155, 164 K Konkani, 38, 75–76 Kopytoff, Igor, 9, 124 L Lisbon, 42–43, 82–83, 87, 120, 132–33, 137 loss, 2–3, 10, 118, 121–25, 131, 137, 139, 149, 151 M Mainato, 89, 90 Mamana, 89, 90 Mandó, 81, 94, 114 Marimbeiros de Zavala, 63, 83, 110 material culture Chinese porcelain, 98, 143, 156 furniture, 84, 95–100, 105–7, 113, 121, 123, 133, 141–46, 154–57, 160 housekeeping uniforms, 90 linen, 137, 151 porcelains, 137, 142–44, 146, 151, 156–58 wood, 96–98, 106, 142–45, 147– 48, 155, 157–58, 165 memory(ies) Personal and collective, 2, 3, 10–11, 122, 125, 131–32, 141 of Mozambique, 62, 65, 72, 86– 87, 92, 142–43, 146, 151, 154, 157, 166 metropolis, 16–26, 55–59, 64, 67–71, 119–20 migration, 2–3, 9–12, 16, 30–32, 37, 42, 45–50, 52, 54, 68, 76– 78, 82, 119, 121, 122, 124–34, 137, 129, 140, 145–46, 156,

183

161–62, 164, 167). See also exodus; repatriation; return migration Miller, Daniel, 2–3, 6, 8–11, 13, 84–85, 122, 124–25, 131–32, 134, 139, 145–46, 155–56, 167 Moleque, 88, 90 Monhés, 36, 76, 82, 179 Morley, David, 3, 10, 84, 112, 125, 131 N National Identity, 55–56, 101, 108, 112 O objects agency, 132 authenticity, 96, 111 Indo-Portuguese, 98, 114–15, 142, 157, 160, 165 relationships peoples and objects, 2–12, 126 social biography, 124, 131, 145– 46, 149, 165 oratories, 106 P Panga-panga, 106, 155. See also wood past colonial, 3, 8, 61, 140–41, 143, 149, 155, 156, 160–67 habits and routines, 92, 101, 105, 111, 133, 143, 149, 151 homes from the, 3, 85, 87, 92, 123, 126, 132, 139, 141–42, 146–47 See also house Pequenino, 89–90 PIDE, 24–25, 27, 36 Portuguese identity, 55–56, 59, 68–69, 76, 111–14, 130 (see also national identity) lifestyle, 48, 85–92

184

Portuguese Third Empire, 14–25. See also empire R race, 21, 34, 40, 59, 69 racism, 73, 77–78 re–evaluation, 125, 143 repatriation, 43, 126. See also exodus; migration; return migration return migration, 3, 8, 47, 54, 119. See also migration; exodus; repatriation revolution, 15, 25, 27, 28, 116–18. See also Carnation Revolution S Servants, 45, 64, 75, 77, 88–91, 94, 101, 108, 119. smell, sense of sense, 65, 154 sociability practices Goan (in Mozambique), 39, 54, 72, 76, 79, 81 Portuguese (in Mozambique), 65, 88, 91, 126 social class. See class social distinction, 45, 47, 55, 58–59, 62, 64, 67–71, 79–82, 90, 96, 99, 100, 103, 106, 112, 135– 37. See also class social networks, 29, 41, 52, 54, 66, 72–73, 75–76, 79–80, 88, 91,

Index

118, 121, 126–27, 130, 132, 136–38, 140–41 social order, post-revolutionary Portugal, 128, 141, 146 sports (57, 66, 79, 80–81) T taste as social signifier, 47, 67, 84, 96, 102, 111 taste, sense of, 99, 100, 107, 161 the cultural biography of things, 131, 146, 155, 167. See also Appadurai, Arjun; Kopytoff, Igor The English influence, 55, 58, 59, 67, 74, 103, 109. See also Englishness things, 2–4, 6, 9, 11–12. See also material culture; objects V value, of objects, things, foods, 6, 106–8, 110, 113, 122–24, 143, 145, 147, 149, 152–54, 156, 161 W war, colonial, 23–26 Western material culture, 63, 80, 83, 95, 96, 102, 106, 111, 114, 147, 155