Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries 9781472444875, 9781315548760

Urban planning on the five Lusophone African countries - Angola, Cape Verde, Guinea-Bissau, Mozambique, and Sao Tome and

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Urban Planning as an Extension of War Planning: The Case of Shenyang, China, 1898-1966
Urban Planning as an Extension of War Planning: The Case of Shenyang, China, 1898-1966

War-city relationships had long been studied by scholars regarding wars’ sudden impact on cities. Studies typically focused on one specific event’s impact on urban military, politics, economy, or society. This approach, however, treated war’s impact on cities as only temporary, hindered opportunities to reveal multiple political regimes’ spatial competition through war-oriented city planning and construction, which is crucial for city development, and their resultant urban form changes through time. In response, this study has examined city planning and construction activities during the short time gaps between multiple military conflicts, with various military objectives, and conducted by different political regimes in Shenyang, China. In accordance with archival research, a space syntax axis analysis has been used to quantify spatial dynamics throughout war-peace-war cycles to explore the impact of military-oriented planning on city-scaled development. We have found these planning strategies, initiated by specific military goals, acted as extensions of war planning, segregating the city and causing urban fragmentation. They also acted as a driving factor which promoted modernization of the city in the early 20th century. We conclude that wars oriented planning can alter a city’s development track and impact its structure and form through the creation of internally connected but isolated urban districts. JOURNAL OF CONTEMPORARY URBAN AFFAIRS (2019), 3(1), 1-12. https://doi.org/10.25034/ijcua.2018.4677

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Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries
 9781472444875, 9781315548760

Table of contents :
Cover
Contents
List of Figures
List of Tables
List of Contributors
1 Introduction
Part I Colonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries
2 Colonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries: A Comparison with Other Colonial Planning Cultures
3 The City under the First Republic in the Former Portuguese Africa
4 Empire, Image and Power During the Estado Novo Period: Colonial Urban Planning in Angola and Mozambique
5 The Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luandaby Étienne de Groër and David Moreira daSilva (1941–1943)
6 Modern Colonial: The Urban-Architectural Laboratory of Luanda
7 The Prenda District in Luanda: Building on Top of the Colonial City
8The Growth of Lourenço Marques at the Turn o fthe Nineteenth Century: Urbanization, Environment and Sanitation
9 A ‘High Degree of Civilization’: Colonial Urbanism and the ‘Civilizing Mission’ in a Southern Mozambique District
Part II Postcolonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries
10 Postcolonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries: Spatial Planning Systems in Angola, Cape Verde and Mozambique
11 Urban Planning in Angola in the Postcolonial Period: From Theory to Practice – A Critical Perspective
12 Questioning the Urban Form: Maputo and Luanda
13 Postcolonial Transformation of the City of Maputo :Its Urban Form as the Result of Physical Planning and Urban Self-Organization
14 Mozambique’s Rescaled Dualistic Urbanisation: Dealing with Historical Legacies of Imperialism and Resistance
15 The Re-emergence of Urban Renewal in Maputo: The Importance and Scale of the Phenomenon in the Neoliberal Context
16 Naming the Urban in Twentieth-Century Mozambique: Towards Spatial Histories of Aspiration and Violence
17 Prepaid Electricity in Maputo, Mozambique: Challenges for African Urban Planning
Index

Citation preview

URBAN PLANNING IN LuSOpHONE AFRICAN COuNTRIES

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Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

Edited by CARLOS NuNES SILVA Institute of Geography and Spatial Planning, Universidade de Lisboa, Portugal

First published 2015 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © Carlos Nunes Silva 2015 Carlos Nunes Silva has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the editor of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows: Urban planning in Lusophone African countries / [edited] by Carlos Nunes Silva. pages cm. -- (Design and the built environment) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4724-4487-5 (hardback) 1. City planning--Africa, Portuguese-speaking. 2. Urbanization--Africa, Portuguese-speaking. 3. Urban policy--Africa, Portuguese-speaking. I. Silva, Carlos Nunes, editor. II. Series: Design and the built environment series. HT169.A3555U73 2015 307.1’2160967--dc23 2015006335 ISBN 978-1-4724-4487-5 (hbk) 978-1-3155-4876-0 (ebk)

Contents List of Figures List of Tables List of Contributors 1 Introduction Carlos Nunes Silva

vii ix xi 1

Part I

Colonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

2

Colonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries: A Comparison with Other Colonial Planning Cultures Carlos Nunes Silva

3

The City under the First Republic in the Former Portuguese Africa Ana Vaz Milheiro

4

Empire, Image and Power During the Estado Novo Period: Colonial Urban Planning in Angola and Mozambique Ana Tostões and Jessica Bonito

43



The Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda by Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva (1941–1943) Teresa Marat-Mendes and Mafalda Teixeira de Sampayo

57

6

Modern Colonial: The Urban-Architectural Laboratory of Luanda Inês Lima Rodrigues

79

7

The Prenda District in Luanda: Building on Top of the Colonial City Filipa Fiúza and Ana Vaz Milheiro

93

8

The Growth of Lourenço Marques at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century: Urbanization, Environment and Sanitation Ana Cristina Roque

101



A ‘High Degree of Civilization’: Colonial Urbanism and the ‘Civilizing Mission’ in a Southern Mozambique District Pedro Pombo

111

Part II

Postcolonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

10

Postcolonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries: Spatial Planning Systems in Angola, Cape Verde and Mozambique Carlos Nunes Silva

5

9



7 29

127

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11

Urban Planning in Angola in the Postcolonial Period: From Theory to Practice – A Critical Perspective Carlos Miguel Guimarães, Sofia Valente and Frederico Costa Leite

12

Questioning the Urban Form: Maputo and Luanda Fabio Vanin

13

Postcolonial Transformation of the City of Maputo: Its Urban Form as the Result of Physical Planning and Urban Self-Organization David Leite Viana

171

Mozambique’s Rescaled Dualistic Urbanisation: Dealing with Historical Legacies of Imperialism and Resistance Céline F. Veríssimo

183

The Re-emergence of Urban Renewal in Maputo: The Importance and Scale of the Phenomenon in the Neoliberal Context Sílvia Jorge

203



Naming the Urban in Twentieth-Century Mozambique: Towards Spatial Histories of Aspiration and Violence Tiago Castela and Maria Paula Meneses

215

17

Prepaid Electricity in Maputo, Mozambique: Challenges for African Urban Planning Idalina Baptista

14 15 16

Index  

151 161

225 239

List of Figures Figure 3.1 Figure 3.2 Figure 3.3 Figure 3.4 Figure 3.5

Preliminary study for the Huambo plan by engineer Carlos Roma Machado   Huambo in the 1950s   The new city of Bissau by engineer José Guedes Quinhones, 1919   Aerial view of Bissau   House with six bedrooms for rent in Chão de Papel, property of João Silvestre, where 15 men, 13 women, seven girls, one boy and five children lived together  

Figure 4.1 Figure 4.2 Figure 4.3

Plan for Lourenço Marques (Maputo), Mozambique, António Araújo, 1887   Plan for Lourenço Marques (Maputo), Mozambique, GUC, João António Aguiar, 1947–1955   Plan for Benguela, Angola, GUU, João António Aguiar, 1952  

49 52

Figure 5.1 Figure 5.2 Figure 5.3

Luanda and the satellite towns, Vasco Vieira da Costa, 1948   Scheme for Satellite Town Number 3, Vasco Vieira da Costa, 1948   Number of buildings built in Luanda during 1940–1949  

59 59 73

Figure 6.1

Prenda neighbourhood, photo by Simões Carvalho. Foreground – buildings of type B; background – buildings of type A   Prenda neighbourhood, three-dimensional model. Foreground – buildings of type B; background – buildings of type A   Southwest façade of the ‘Servidores do Estado’ housing built by Vasco Vieira da Costa   

88

Figure 7.1 Figure 7.2 Figure 7.3 Figure 7.4 Figure 7.5 Figure 7.6

Luanda, 1960s   Prenda District, Neighbourhood Unit No. 1   Prenda District, Neighbourhood Unit No. 1, scale model   Simões de Carvalho’s House, 1966   Prenda District, Neighbourhood Unit No. 1 – tower, type A   Prenda District, Neighbourhood Unit No. 1 – slab block  

94 95 96 97 98 99

Figure 8.1

Plan of Lourenço Marques in 1876  

Figure 9.1

Cantina at Manguguana, near the train station on the Manjacaze-Chicomo railway, exhibiting 1960s architectural design   A house in Laranjeiras village. Despite representation as a ‘civilizing’ feature, note the small scale of these houses   A rock marking the boundary between the lands of the chiefs Macasselane and Machochovane, laid down in 1968 after a long dispute over a strip of land on the fringes of both chiefs’ lands  

Figure 6.2 Figure 6.3

Figure 9.2 Figure 9.3

Figure 11.1  Chongoroi urban plan   Figure 11.2  Uíge statutory spatial plan   Figure 11.3  Cabinda Harbour master plan  

32 34 36 38 39 44

83 85

102 117 118 119 154 155 157

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Figure 13.1  Combining different morphological approaches in the study of Maputo   Figure 13.2  Maputo, map created through a syntactical examination of the urban shape of the city to verify global integration measures   Figure 14.1  Figure 14.2  Figure 14.3  Figure 14.4  Figure 14.5  Figure 14.6  Figure 14.7  Figure 14.8 

178 179

The dualistic urban structure of Mozambique’s urbanisation – schematic diagram   Av. Julius Nyerere towards Av. Eduardo Mondlane, Maputo   Urban life in Bairro Aeroporto A, Maputo   Map of Dondo administrative limits and selected case study neighbourhoods  Tailor workshop and domestic food garden at ODS in Bairro Nhamayabwe, Dondo   A pleasant urban environment collectively managed in Bairro Mafarinha, Dondo   Domestic urban farming in Bairro Nhamayabwe, Dondo   Outdoor Domestic Space transformation and livelihood self-organisation in the spontaneous neighbourhoods of Dondo   Figure 14.9  The Agrocity Metabolism: ODS interaction forming neighbourhoods at the local level, and emergent behaviours at global levels  

188 189 190 192 193 194 194

199

Figure 15.1  Milagre Mabote Avenue after its reconstruction (Maxaquene A)   Figure 15.2  Demolitions in Polana Caniço A as a result of the parallel market  

209 209

197

List of Tables Table 5.1 Table 5.2 Table 5.3 Table 5.4 Table 5.5 Table 5.6

Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva – urban plans   The written documents   The graphical documents – IPAD   The graphical documents – other sources   Comparative analysis of the deadlines for PUCL    Number of buildings built in Luanda during 1940–1949  

Table 10.1  The spatial planning system: The three administrative and planning layers    Table 10.2  The spatial planning system: The four categories of plans   Table 10.3  Angola: The structure of the spatial planning system in the postcolonial period (adopted in 2004)   Table 10.4  Cape Verde: The structure of the spatial planning system in the postcolonial period (first adopted in 2006 and revised in 2010)   Table 10.5  Mozambique: The structure of the spatial planning system in the postcolonial period (first adopted in 2007)  

60 63 65 67 71 74 129 129 133 137 140

Table 14.1  Environmental problems in Dondo informal neighbourhoods   186 Table 14.2  Lourenço Marques’ population during the colonial period and Maputo’s during the post-independence period   187 Table 14.3  Urban population, development and the environment in Mozambique compared to Africa and developed regions   190 Table 14.4  Mozambique demographic profile, 1950–2025   191 Table 14.5  Mozambique urban population, number of cities and percentage of urban population   191 Table 14.6  Population estimates by area of residence, 1997 and 2007   192 Table 14.7  Family cultivated land (machamba) profile by province, 1996–2002   195 Table 14.8  Households dependency level on ODS for livelihoods: food security and income   196 Table 14.9  Average size of ODS – multifunctional areas   198 Table 14.10  Summary of key respondents interviewed (by communal unit, quarter, gender and occupation per neighbourhood) regarding production at their ODS   198

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List of Contributors Idalina Baptista is an Associate Professor of Urban Anthropology, a Fellow of Kellogg College and an Associate Fellow of the Oxford Programme for the Future of Cities at the University of Oxford. Idalina’s current research focuses on the theoretical and practical challenges of governing urbanization and infrastructure in African cities, particularly in Mozambique. Her work seeks to deepen the understanding of urban theory, urban governance, urban livelihoods, energy infrastructure and transnational comparative research, especially between Africa, Latin America and Southern Europe. Idalina has published in the International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, Urban Studies, Urban Geography and City & Society. Jessica Bonito received an MSc in Architecture from the Instituto Superior Técnico, Technical University of Lisbon (IST-UTL) with a dissertation entitled ‘Modern Architecture in Lusophone Africa: Reception and Diffusion of Modern Ideas in Angola and Mozambique’, developed within the research project ‘EWV: Exchanging World Visions’, which intended to demonstrate how the Modernist Movement’s architecture and urbanism ideas circulated, with special focus on how the Portuguese architects who would later work in the African colonies embraced them. Jessica did her internship at IST-UTL and was a research fellow for the EWV project from April 2012 until June 2013. From September 2013 until August 2014 she worked as an architect at Design Resorts. Tiago Castela, PhD, is an urban historian and a postdoctoral researcher at the Centre for Social Studies of the University of Coimbra, Portugal. He holds a PhD in History of Architecture and Urbanism from the University of California, Berkeley, USA. His doctoral dissertation discusses the history of the illegalised working-class suburban subdivisions of the Lisbon area of Portugal, foregrounding the role of the government of the informal in the formation of a dual planning regime during the late twentieth century. His current research prolongs this genealogy of planning in the postwar development project by examining the history of late colonial urbanism in Mozambique, focusing on how Portuguese state planning managed the informal production of urban peripheries. Filipa Fiúza, holds a Master’s degree in Architecture (ISCTE-IUL, 2010), with a dissertation on ‘An English Project: The Influence of British Architecture in the Alfragide Towers’, of which an abridged version was published in the call for papers section of Jornal Arquitectos (the journal of the Portuguese architects association – Ordem dos Arquitectos). She co-organized ‘Habitar em Colectivo: arquitectura portuguesa antes do S.A.A.L.’ (ISCTE-IUL, 2009), an exhibition, conference and catalogue devoted to Portuguese multifamily housing between 1948 and 1974. She has collaborated on several academic research projects such as ‘The Colonial Urbanization Offices: Architectural Culture and Practice’ and is now integrated in the research project ‘Homes for the Biggest Number: Lisbon, Luanda and Macao’, coordinated by Ana Vaz Milheiro, as a fellow researcher. She is preparing her PhD under the theme ‘Angola’s Colonization: Infrastructure in the Angolan Territory between 1875 and 1975’. Carlos Miguel Guimarães is a Portuguese architect focusing on international urban design and planning projects. He studied in Coimbra and Milan (Dipl. Arch) between 2000 and 2006 and did a post-graduate course in Urban and Regional Planning at EGP-Porto in 2011. He has worked in Bilbao, Caracas and Lisbon and participated in international urban design workshops in Brazil and Cape Verde. He is currently working in Porto at Iperforma studio, mainly focused on urban design and planning projects to Angola and Mozambique. He is also an active correspondent of A10, new European architecture magazine since 2008 and a freelance architecture writer for several other international magazines.

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Sílvia Jorge, architect, holds a Master’s degree in Architecture and Urban Centers Rehabilitation from the Faculty of Architecture of the University of Lisbon (FA.UL) (2009). She has been, since 2011, a PhD student of Urban Planning at the same institution. She has been a member of the Urban Socio-Territorial and Local Intervention Study Group (GESTUAL) of the Architecture, Urban Planning and Design Research Centre (CIAUD/FAUL), since 2008, and a member of the Centre for African Studies (CEA-ISCTE), since 2012. Frederico Costa Leite graduated at FAUP, Porto. Between 2004 and 2006 he lived in Catalonia and worked with RCR Arquitectes following an Erasums scholarship at ETSAB. In 2008 he started to work in Porto with Nuno Brandão Costa, and in 2009 joined Iperforma studio to coordinate the urban planning department. A Porto-based architect, he frequently travels abroad to develop large-scale projects, leading multidisciplinary teams in works located mainly in Angola and Mozambique. Teresa Marat-Mendes, PhD, is a Professor of Architecture and Urbanism at Instituto Universitário de Lisboa ISCTE-IUL and a researcher at DINÂMIA’CET-IUL. She graduated in Architecture at the FA-UTL (1994, Portugal), did her MSc in Land Use Planning and Environmental Planning at UNL (1998, Portugal) and was awarded a PhD in Architecture from the University of Nottingham (2002, UK). Her main research areas include urban history, urban planning, twentieth-century Portuguese urban planning, urban morphology, typomorphology, urban sustainability, urban ecology, urban form and sustainability, human geography, Étienne de Groër, Lisbon urban planning, urban metabolism, vernacular architecture, water and green spaces. Maria Paula Meneses, PhD, is a Mozambican anthropologist, currently a senior researcher at the Centre for Social Studies of the University of Coimbra, Portugal, integrating the Research Group on Democracy, Citizenship, and Law. She holds a PhD in Anthropology from Rutgers University, USA, and she co-coordinates the PhD programme on Postcolonialisms and Global Citizenship. She recently published the results of a research project on legal plurality in an urban context, using Luanda, Angola as a case study. Her current work focuses on the question of struggles over citizenship in Mozambique in the 1970s and 1980s, with regard to the conflicts evolving around the transition to independence. Ana Vaz Milheiro, PhD, holds a degree in Architecture (1991) and a Master’s degree in Architecture (1998) from the Technical University of Lisbon. She has a PhD in Architecture and Urbanism from the University of São Paulo, Brazil. She is the author of the following books: A Construção do Brasil – Relações com a Cultura Arquitectónica Portuguesa (2005), A Minha Casa é um Avião (2007), Nos Trópicos sem Le Corbusier, arquitectura luso-africana no Estado Novo (2012) and Guiné-Bissau, 2011 (2012). Since 1995 she has been an architecture critic in the journal Público. She was Deputy Director of JA-Jornal Arquitectos, Ordem dos Arquitectos (2000–2004 and 2009–2012). She is a professor at the Instituto Superior das Ciências do Trabalho e da Empresa – Instituto Universitário de Lisboa and researcher at DINÂMIA’CET-IUL. She was the head of two research projects focused on urban planning issues in the Lusophone African countries, financed by the Foundation for Science and Technology: ‘The Colonial Urbanization Offices: Architectural Culture and Practice’ (2010–2013, ref. PTDC/AUR-AQI/104964/2008) and ‘Homes for the Biggest Number: Lisbon, Luanda and Macao’ (2013–2015, ref. PTDC/ATP-AQI/3707/2012). Pedro Pombo holds an Anthropology PhD from ISCTE-UL, Lisbon, researching colonial memories, life stories and cultural resilience in Southern Mozambique. He has been engaged in long-term ethnographic research in Southern Mozambique and in Goa, India. Lately, he has developed an interest in African cinema, and he is a co-organizer of AfrikPlay, seminars screening documentaries about contemporary Africa. After graduating in Design, at ESAD-FRESS, Lisbon, he received training on Intangible Heritage at the UNESCO Commission in Brazil. His research and professional interests cross academic boundaries, linking spatial studies, cultural and architectural heritage with anthropology and ethnographic research. Inês Lima Rodrigues recently completed her PhD on Lusophone Modern Collective Housing. Since 2006 she has been a member of the research group FORM, directly connected with the ‘Modern Form’ stream of the Master’s and doctoral programme of the Department of Architectural Projects, Escuela Superior Técnica

List of Contributors

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de Arquitectura de la Universidad Politécnica de Barcelona. She has published several articles in academic journals and participated in numerous seminars and conferences in Portugal and abroad, including: the project ‘Ignored Modernity: Modern Architecture in Luanda’, organized by the Faculty of Architecture, University of Lisbon, University Alcalá de Henares (Madrid) and University Agostinho Neto (Luanda); the conference ‘Research Methodologies’; the article ‘When Collective Housing Made the City: The Case of Luanda Modern’ (2011); and numerous contribution to the volumes of the collection Documents of Modern Architecture in Latin America, edited by FORM, ESTAB-UPC (Barcelona, 2006–2013), including ‘The Permanence of the Type’ in Volume IV (2010) and ‘Section for the Classroom’ in Volume V (2013). Ana Cristina Roque, PhD, is a researcher at the Tropical Research Institute (IICT), Lisbon, mainly working on the history of Mozambique and Southern Africa. She holds a PhD in History of Discoveries and Expansion. She coordinated a project on the Portuguese scientific missions in the former Portuguese colonies (eighteenth to twentieth centuries), with special emphasis on the process of defining Mozambique’s southern border and the local and regional impacts of this process, namely the growth of Lourenço Marques, sanitation problems and health issues. She is the author, among other publications, of the book Terras de Sofala: Persistências e mudança. Contribuições para a História da Costa Sul-Oriental de África nos séculos XVI–XVIII (2012) and of numerous articles and chapters, in both national and international publications, including: ‘O Sul de Moçambique na viragem do século XIX: Território, exploração científica e desenvolvimento’, Africana Studia, 17 (2012): 103–12; ‘Sources for the History of the Southern Border of Mozambique: The Archives of the Portuguese Commission of Cartography’. In: S. van Wolputte (ed.), Borderlands and Frontiers in Africa (2013): 23–54; ‘As histórias que ficaram por contar: Saúde, crescimento urbano e ambiente em Moçambique, no final do século XIX’. In: A.C. Roque and E. Rodrigues (eds), Atas do Congresso Internacional Saber Tropical em Moçambique: História, Memória e Ciência, Lisbon, IICT-JBT, 24–26 October 2012 (2013); ‘Doença e cura em Moçambique nos relatórios dos Serviços de Saúde dos finais do século XIX’, História, Ciência e Saúde–Manguinhos, 21(2) (April–June 2014): 515–37. Mafalda Teixeira de Sampayo, PhD, is a Professor of Architecture and Urbanism at Instituto Universitário de Lisboa ISCTE-IUL and a researcher at CIES. Her main research interests cover: history, architecture, medieval studies, urban studies, urban design, design theory, graph theory, morphology, fractals, architectural patterns, design analysis, twentieth century, eighteenth century, geometry analysis, vernacular architecture, technology of architecture and urbanism, and urban planning. Carlos Nunes Silva, PhD, is Professor Auxiliar at the Institute of Geography and Spatial Planning, University of Lisbon, Portugal. His research interests focus mainly on local government policies, history and theory of urban planning, urban and metropolitan governance, urban planning ethics, urban planning in Africa, research methods, local e-government and urban e-planning. His recent publications include the following books: Urban Planning in Sub-Saharan Africa: Colonial and Postcolonial Planning Cultures (2015); Fiscal Austerity and Innovation in Local Governance in Europe (2014, co-edited); Citizen e-Participation in Urban Governance: Crowdsourcing and Collaborative Creativity (2013); Online Research Methods in Urban and Planning Studies: Design and Outcomes (2012); Handbook of Research on E-Planning: ICT for Urban Development and Monitoring (2010); Portugal: Sistema de Govern Local (2004). He is also the author of the book Política Urbana em Lisboa, 1926–1974 (1994). He is a member of the Steering Committee of the International Geographical Union Commission ‘Geography of Governance’ (2012–2016). He is the founding Editor-in-Chief of the International Journal of E-Planning Research (IJEPR). Ana Tostões, PhD, is Associate Professor of Architecture at IST-University of Lisbon, where she is the Architecture PhD Director. She specializes in twentieth-century architectural and urban history and theory with an emphasis on re-use practices focusing especially on post-war architectural culture and relations between European, African and American modernity. She has published widely, curated exhibitions, and taken part in juries, scientific committees and given lectures in European, American and African universities. Ana Tostões is chair of DOCOMOMO International and editor of DOCOMOMO Journal (www.docomomo.com).

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Sofia Valente, architect, works in the area of urban/spatial planning mostly for Angola and Mozambique, at Iperforma studio, established in Porto. She graduated at the University of Porto, Faculty of Architecture in 2010. Between 2008 and 2009 she studied in Valparaíso (Chile), collaborating with the Architecture School of Pontificia Universidad Católica de Valparaíso in a project/construction of a library in a rural community at Ilha Grande (Rio de Janeiro). Her Master’s thesis focused on Valparaíso Port – City Transformations, raising new perspectives for the city and port planners. Since 2011 she has been with Iperforma studio as a collaborator in the Urban Planning department. Fabio Vanin holds a PhD in Urbanism from IUAV University of Venice (2008). His research on Maputo is especially focused on the colonial legacy of post-independence fractures and continuities, privileging the exploration of minor histories. He is currently Assistant Professor of Landscape Urbanism at the Vrije Universiteit of Brussels and he is a co-founder, since 2010, of Latitude – a platform for urban research and design, based in Belgium and Italy. His research interests range from contemporary African cities to social-environmental urban vulnerability. He lectures internationally and has collaborated with various universities worldwide. Céline F. Veríssimo, PhD, is an architect. She graduated at ARCA/ETAC Coimbra, Portugal (1996) with an MArch in Sustainable Architecture from Chiba University, Japan (2001). From 1996 to 2007, she worked as an architect, researcher and lecturer concerned with urban ecology and sustainable architecture and planning in Oslo, Tokyo, Kuala Lumpur and Coimbra. Recently awarded a PhD in Development Planning by the Bartlett Development Planning Unit, UCL, her research focuses on the political dimension of cities’ challenges, environmental impacts and social inequalities, taking the Outdoor Domestic Space (ODS) as a starting point, specifically in the urban context of Mozambique. She taught as Assistant Professor at PARQ/ EUVG Coimbra and at the Department of Architecture, Portuguese Catholic University, and integrates the external researchers’ team at the Center for African Studies, University of Porto. Currently, she is Visiting Professor at the Department of Architecture and Urbanism, UNILA – Federal University of Latin American Integration, Brazil. David Leite Viana is a Post-Doctoral Researcher on Urban Morphology in the FEUP/Engineering Faculty, University of Porto, Portugal (2014). He holds a Diploma in Architecture (ESAP/Artistic University School of Porto, Portugal, 1999) and a PhD in Urbanism/Regional Planning (UVa/University of Valladolid, Spain, 2008). He has been a Professor at ESG/Gallaecia University School, Portugal, since 2008, and Head of the Integrated Master’s Course in Architecture and Urbanism since 2012. He has also been the coordinator of the research group on Territory, Environment and Urbanism at the CIESG/Research Centre, Gallaecia University School, Portugal, since 2011 and was a researcher on African urban studies at CEAUP/African Studies Centre, University of Porto, Portugal (2009–2013). He was also a member of the CEAUP Directive Board (2010–2012) and Vice-Director of the Architecture Course (ESAP, 2005–2010). He was a fellow researcher (FEUP, 2004–2005) and fellow at Youth Foundation (2003–2004). He has published on the history of urban planning and on urban transformation in Maputo/Mozambique, and he co-received the Sir Gerd Albers Award from the International Society of City and Regional Planners (ISoCaRP, Istanbul/Turkey, 2006).

Chapter 1

Introduction Carlos Nunes Silva

The five Lusophone African countries – Angola, Cape Verde, Guinea-Bissau, Mozambique and São Tomé and Príncipe – are now confronting, four decades after independence, new and more complex urban challenges. New circumstances call for changes to the ways in which urban development and urban planning were considered in the past by different political regimes. This book – Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries – aims to contribute to the analysis of the past and to discussion about the future of urban planning in these five countries. It examines the history of urban planning during the colonial period and explores contemporary planning systems and some of the challenges and opportunities with which they are confronted. The division of Africa at the Berlin Conference (1884–1885) symbolizes the beginning of a new era in the colonial relationship between European countries and Africa. One of the consequences was the gradual development of an extensive urban network on the continent in the decades that followed. If until the 1880s the occupation of Africa by European countries consisted mainly of settlements and trading posts along the coast, in the following decades the geography of the European colonial empires in Africa changed, including that of those countries with a long presence in the continent, for example Portugal since the fifteenth century. This was a gradual process exhibiting common characteristics among all colonial empires but also manifesting differences, due in part to local contexts and national specificities. The book explores these similarities and differences in the history of urban planning in the Lusophone African countries. The aim is to examine, first, the Portuguese colonial urban planning culture and to compare it with other European colonial planning cultures in sub-Saharan Africa, in different periods since the 1880s, and, second, the changes in urban planning in the postcolonial period in these newly independent countries. By ‘colonial era’ we mean the period post the Berlin Conference up to the independence of these five countries in the mid 1970s. The long period of Portuguese presence in these territories before the 1880s had a different nature and for that reason will not be the main focus of our analysis. In the book we seek to address four main research questions related to the colonial and postcolonial periods. The first two inquire about the similarities and differences between the Portuguese colonial urban planning culture and the planning culture of the other European colonial empires in sub-Saharan Africa, and question the role of urban planning in the Portuguese colonial project in Africa. The other two questions address the postcolonial period. The first deals with the nature and structure of postcolonial spatial planning systems in Lusophone African countries, while the second explores the colonial legacy in contemporary planning practices in these countries and the potential urban planning alternatives that seem to be emerging in the continent. One of the themes that crosses several chapters in the book is the idea that the Portuguese colonial urban planning culture had much in common with other colonial planning cultures, in part due to the long-lasting transnational flow of planning ideas over the years, in Europe and across colonial boundaries in Africa, more than was previously thought, although on numerous issues difference and divergence are the main facets that emerge from the comparison. Intra-urban racial segregation, a distinctive character of colonial urban planning in the first decades, is another feature that connects the Portuguese colonial urban planning culture to that of other European colonial empires, although with important differences. In the postcolonial period, ruptures and continuities with the colonial past in the field of urban planning, and the diversity of planning practices in the new Lusophone African states, are some of the recurrent themes in the chapters that follow. The book comprises 17 chapters, including this introduction, and is organized into two main parts with eight chapters each. Part I focuses on the colonial era and Part II on the post-colonial period. The first three chapters of Part I offer a broad and comprehensive perspective of the colonial period. The first of these – ‘Colonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries: A Comparison with other Colonial

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Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

Planning Cultures’ – provides a broad and critical perspective of the Portuguese colonial urban planning culture in sub-Saharan Africa since the late nineteenth century. The following two chapters provide a more detailed analysis of each of the two main sub-periods post the Berlin Conference: the first Portuguese Republic and the Estado Novo. In Chapter 3 – ‘The City under the First Republic in the Former Portuguese Africa’ – Ana Vaz Milheiro examines the nature of the colonial city that was created during the first Portuguese Republic (1910–1926), challenging some of the long-held views about this historical period. Ana Vaz Milheiro argues that while in mainland Portugal in Europe continuity with the urban policy developed during the period of the constitutional monarchy in the late nineteenth century prevailed, in the Portuguese colonies in subSaharan Africa a policy of expansion and beautification of the existing cities and the foundation of new cities represents a rupture with the previous period and with the practice that continued to be followed in the colonial metropolis. The Republican progressive assimilation policy makes the Portuguese colonial policy, at least in its rhetoric, somehow different when compared with the prevailing racial segregation approach at the end of the nineteenth century and in the early decades of the twentieth century. Important is also the point raised in the chapter about the continuity and reuse of these urban layouts built in the early twentieth century under a specific political ideology by different political regimes, in both the colonial and the post-colonial periods. Ana Tostões and Jessica Bonito in Chapter 4 – ‘Empire, Image and Power during the Estado Novo Period: Colonial Urban Planning in Angola and Mozambique’ – explore the role of urban planning in the Portuguese colonial project during the second major colonial sub-period in the twentieth century, the Estado Novo dictatorship (1926/1933–1974), in particular after 1938, when urban planning played a key role in the promotion of the idea of the great Portuguese empire. As Ana Tostões and Jessica Bonito show, it was a highly centralized planning system, based initially in Lisbon, the capital of the empire, a system that designed all urban settlements with the same layout and the same architecture during the first decades of this period. The authors discuss the concepts and practices applied in urban planning in Angola and Mozambique during the period of the Estado Novo, and compare this planning culture with the prevailing planning theories, namely the French School of urbanism and the Garden City movement, as well as, in the last part of this period, the CIAM (Congrès International d’Architecture Moderne) discourse on urbanism. The following three chapters explore the influence of the Garden City planning paradigm and the CIAM discourse on urbanism in the process of urban planning in Luanda during the colonial period. Teresa MaratMendes and Mafalda Teixeira de Sampayo in Chapter 5 – ‘The Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda by Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva (1941–1943)’ – examine the urban plan for Luanda (1941–1943), in Angola, developed by the architect-urbanists Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva, based on the principles of the Garden City movement. Although the plan, in its initial version, was never approved and applied, the authors show how this plan, prepared in the 1940s, influenced the future development of Luanda. In the following chapter – ‘Modern Colonial: The Urban-Architectural Laboratory of Luanda’ – Inês Lima Rodrigues examines the role of the Colonial Urbanization Office and the young generation of architects and planners that worked in the colonies post the Second World War and how the CIAM discourse on urbanism was merged with the local conditions in Luanda with the aim of building a Portuguese tropical city. This, as Inês Lima Rodrigues argues, transformed the city of Luanda into an important urban laboratory, namely through the work of the architects Simões de Carvalho and Vieira da Costa. In the third chapter of this group – ‘The Prenda District in Luanda: Building on Top of the Colonial City’ – Filipa Fiúza and Ana Vaz Milheiro develop this discussion by focusing on the particular case of the Prenda neighbourhood in Luanda, which represents perhaps the most emblematic application of the principles of modern urbanism in the Portuguese colonies, a plan designed by architect-planner Simões de Carvalho and his team, in the middle of the 1960s, emerging as a model for the expansion of Luanda. Despite being an exceptional planning experience, it was not continued in the post-independence period. The last two chapters that deal with the colonial period focus on the case of Mozambique. In Chapter 8 ‘The Growth of Lourenço Marques at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century: Urbanization, Environment and Sanitation’, Ana Cristina Roque explores the conditions that affected the way the city of Lourenço Marques, now Maputo, grew at the end of the nineteenth century, starting with the 1876 plan of Lourenço Marques, which exemplifies the kind of urban development and urban planning found in the former Portuguese colonies in Africa during the century’s closing decades. Pedro Pombo in Chapter 9 – ‘A “High Degree of Civilization”: Colonial Urbanism and the “Civilizing Mission” in a Southern Mozambique District’ – examines key aspects

Introduction

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of colonial urbanism in Southern Mozambique and argues that in rural areas colonial spatial planning was instrumental in the expansion of the then called ‘civilizing mission’ of the Portuguese colonial state. The chapter reveals, through an analysis of the town of Manjacaze, which grew out of a former military post built in the area of the capital of the last ruler of the Gaza kingdom, how colonial urban planning was an important ideological instrument within Portuguese colonial policy, and how it was used as a tool of control and dominance. Taking this case as an example, Pedro Pombo shows how urban plans, architectural language and public infrastructures served the colonial project, bringing to the rural areas the desired acquisition, by the colonized population, of Portuguese culture and life style. The second part of the book deals with the postcolonial period and comprises eight chapters. The first of these chapters – ‘Postcolonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries: Spatial Planning Systems in Angola, Cape Verde and Mozambique’ – explores the development of urban planning in the newly independent Lusophone African countries, and offers an overview of current spatial planning systems, four decades after independence was gained in the mid 1970s. The chapter examines the cases of Angola, Cape Verde and Mozambique, compares the respective spatial planning systems, defined for the first time in 2004, 2006 and 2007, respectively, offers an overview of these systems, and shows how the level of implementation is different, and how, in Guinea-Bissau and São Tomé and Príncipe, the process has been somehow postponed due to internal conditions in each of these countries. After this broad and comprehensive review of the spatial planning systems in the five Lusophone African countries, Carlos Miguel Guimarães, Sofia Valente and Frederico Costa Leite, in the next chapter – ‘Urban Planning in Angola in the Postcolonial Period: From Theory to Practice – a Critical Perspective’ – examine and discuss the new spatial planning system in Angola and the adequacy of specific urban programmes such as the National Programme of Urbanism and Housing, whose purpose was to build one million houses between 2008 and 2012, under the responsibility of the Ministry for Urbanism, Housing and Environment. The following six chapters examine the cases of Maputo and medium-sized cities in Mozambique, and Luanda, in Angola. Fabio Vanin in Chapter 12 – ‘Questioning the Urban Form: Maputo and Luanda’ – discusses the evolution since the colonial period of Maputo – often seen as dual city (the colonial centre and the surrounding areas) in opposition to the vision of it as a self-regulated city – questioning the future urban structure that might result from recent developments, and compares it with Luanda, seen as a counter-case by comparison with Maputo. In the following chapter – ‘Postcolonial Transformation of the City of Maputo: Its Urban Form as the Result of Physical Planning and Urban Self-Organization’ – David Leite Viana examines the transformation of Maputo after independence. He emphasizes the importance of self-organization in the city and its potential role, in articulation with formal urban planning processes, discussing how it can improve the city. Céline F. Veríssimo, in Chapter 14 – ‘Mozambique’s Rescaled Dualistic Urbanisation: Dealing with Historical Legacies of Imperialism and Resistance’ – discusses planning issues and a framework within which civil society can resist and act against state oppression in medium-sized cities in Mozambique. She argues that the strategy of self-production of the urban space, which existed previously as a resistance strategy, first against colonialism and, later, against the statist definition of socialism, has become a successful tactic for survival in the face of a global economy. This discussion of the current challenges confronting cities in Mozambique continues in the following chapter, written by Sílvia Jorge – ‘The Re-emergence of Urban Renewal in Maputo: The Importance and Scale of the Phenomenon in the Neoliberal Context’. The author explores the transformation in the socio-spatial duality that has characterized Maputo since the colonial period, in part an outcome of the neo-liberal urban model adopted since the 1980s, namely the urban renewal paradigm, which is expected to increase fragmentation and socio-spatial segregation in the city. Tiago Castela and Maria Paula Meneses in Chapter 16 – ‘Naming the Urban in Twentieth-Century Mozambique: Towards Spatial Histories of Aspiration and Violence’ – explore the contribution of the naming of urban spaces in the making of colonial and postcolonial political orders. In particular, the authors examine the naming and renaming of streets, reference points and neighbourhoods in Maputo and how this contributes to the construction of new orders of the political. In the final chapter – ‘Prepaid Electricity in Maputo, Mozambique: Challenges for African Urban Planning’ – Idalina Baptista examines the challenges that recent trends towards the adoption of prepaid utility services create to postcolonial urban planning. Taking prepaid electricity in Maputo as a case study, she discusses the ambiguous relationship that infrastructure and urban planning are playing in postcolonial Mozambique.

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Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

In sum, reading these chapters, it is clear that the Portuguese colonial urban planning culture had perhaps more in common with than divergences from other colonial planning cultures in sub-Saharan Africa, in part the result of the transnational flow of planning ideas among European metropolises and across colonial boundaries in Africa, despite some specificities due to local contexts and national circumstances, as the last decades of the nineteenth century and the periods of the first Republic and Estado Novo illustrate. The application of Garden City ideas and later the CIAM discourse on urbanism are two dimensions that connect the Portuguese colonial urban planning culture, notably in the cases of Angola and Mozambique, with other colonial planning cultures in sub-Saharan Africa. In the post-independence period, continuities and ruptures mark the transition from the colonial urban planning culture to the new postcolonial planning approaches. The local appropriation, adaptation and transformation of planning ideas, methods and tools developed in other parts of the world, namely in the former colonial country, confirms, in the postcolonial period, past trends of transnational and mutual influence in the field of urban planning. The complex institutional, demographic, economic, social and environmental challenges confronting urban planning in Lusophone African countries, four decades after independence, do require a reassessment of past planning models and practices, and the discussion of future approaches in the field of urban planning. We trust this book adds new information and new insights to this debate and will be useful for all those working in the field of urban planning in Africa.

PART I Colonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

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Chapter 2

Colonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries: A Comparison with Other Colonial Planning Cultures Carlos Nunes Silva

Introduction The Portuguese colonial presence in Africa began in the fifteenth century, in North Africa, when Portugal occupied Ceuta, and expanded in the following centuries in the form of a large network of settlement points on the western and eastern coasts of the continent. Until the 1880s, with the exception of the islands, the Portuguese occupation, as that of other European countries, consisted mainly of settlements and trading posts located along the African coast, in part with the aim to control sea routes, trade and slave traffic. These initial settlements developed through a series of unplanned interventions, although in a few cases also according to predefined plans. As is shown in Teixeira and Valla (1999), Fernandes et al. (2006; 2010) and Matoso (2010), the establishment of these new colonial settlements in Africa, and in other continents as well, reflected the urban tradition that existed in the Portuguese home territory in Europe, the initial urban experiments in the archipelagos of Madeira and Azores, the administrative tradition, the specific local conditions in each colony, and the cultural exchanges between colonizers and colonized, a process similar to the establishment of new outposts by other European colonial powers. These initial settlements in the Portuguese colonial territories in Africa, and in other European colonies as well, reveal an enormous variety of influences, both informal and erudite.1 In the Portuguese colonies, the division of Africa decided at the Berlin Conference in the 1880s represented the beginning of a new colonial policy.2 The general scramble for Africa also left its mark in the Portuguese African colonies in the following decades, in ways similar to what happened in the other colonial empires. As Teixeira and Valla (1999) show, cities of Portuguese origin in the former colonized territories have specific morphological characteristics that distinguish them from the cities of other cultures,3 a perspective also valid for the Portuguese African colonies. These characteristics were the outcome of a process of continuous adaptation to the different local conditions.4 If until the nineteenth century, the selection of the specific location for a new city was mainly dependent on the topography, hydrographic conditions and other environmental characteristics, from the late nineteenth century the expansion of previous urban centres and the creation of new centres tended to be determined, in the Portuguese colonies as in other parts of colonized Africa, by economic factors. Rupture more than continuity with ancient forms of human settlement in the territories colonized by Portugal is the main characteristic, although a gradual transformation of previous settlements in nodes of the new colonial urban network can also be found in the Portuguese colonies. If ancient cities survived in the areas with the least interest for the colonial power, as Winters (1982) argues, the best evidence so far available seems to suggest that in the Portuguese colonial territories these ancient settlements did not resist Portuguese colonial occupation after the late nineteenth century, as was the case of the capital of the Lunda empire (Margarido, 1970) or the case of Mbanza Congo (Anderson and Rathbone, 2000). The chapter provides a critical perspective of the history of colonial urban planning in the Lusophone African countries since the end of the nineteenth century and compares it with other colonial urban planning cultures in sub-Saharan Africa.5 It describes and discusses key attributes of Portuguese colonial planning culture in sub-Saharan Africa, by comparison with other colonial urban planning cultures, focusing in particular on the issue of intra-urban racial segregation. It does not deal with the pre-colonial period and

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Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

makes only brief references to the period before the Berlin Conference. Three main phases are considered in the analysis: the first, from the 1880s up to the 1930s, corresponding to the last years of the monarchy and the first Republic; the second, the decades of 1930 and 1940, the initial period of the authoritarian regime of Estado Novo, which marks the revival of the colonial policy and the adoption of an urban policy inspired by the Garden City movement; and the third phase, from the middle of the 1940s up to independence in the 1970s, including the new colonial policy adopted after the Second World War and the radically different urban paradigm, inspired in the CIAM discourse on urbanism, whose main characteristics have been examined in Mumford (2000). The chapter is organized into four sections. The first examines the period post the Berlin Conference up to the end of the Second World War, marked by a predominately sanitarian approach to urban planning, a soft version of the policies of intra-urban racial segregation, compared to other colonial planning cultures. The second section deals with the period post the Second World War, when deep changes in the colonial policy in general, for example in the Statute of the Natives (Estatuto do Indigenato), led to changes in colonial urban policy. The third examines and compares the practices of intra-urban racial segregation in Portuguese colonial urban planning with that of other colonial planning cultures in sub-Saharan Africa. The concluding section presents and discusses the main findings. Urban Planning in the Post-Berlin Conference Period In the history of Portuguese colonial urban planning in the post-Berlin Conference period, numerous commonalities with other European colonial empires in sub-Saharan Africa emerge as one of the key features, despite the different planning cultures that existed in Europe,6 side by side with the considerable differences in the mode of urban planning that was instrumental in the colonial policy of each European country, as the evidence provided in Silva (2015) reveals. The similarities in urban planning practices found between the Portuguese colonies and the colonies of the other colonial empires resulted from exchanges with some of the other European countries, notably France and Britain at the end of the nineteenth century and in the early decades of the twentieth (Silva, 1994), but also from the numerous relations across imperial boundaries in Africa. The differences found reflect the nature of the political regime in the European metropolis, the overall colonial policy and the degree of administrative centralization. The differences found among the Portuguese colonies seem to be associated with the political, demographic and geographic size of the colony and with the fact that even when there was agreement on certain principles and practices there were, here and there, different views of how they should be implemented, as was frequently the case in relation to racial segregation. Nonetheless, and contrary to what has been found in the other colonial empires, no clear and systematic evidence of differentiation resulting from the governor’s perspectives has been found, notwithstanding the difference that governors revealed regarding their capacity to implement a policy for the creation of new urban centres or to carry out urban reforms.7 Municipal administration in the Portuguese colonies, and planning competences for that matter, was far from being uniform and similar to what existed in the metropolis. The existence of forms of local self-government in the Portuguese colonies, typically the municipalities, varied over time and among the colonies. Luanda, the capital of Angola, founded in 1576, had almost from the beginning the basic elements of a municipal institution in charge of urban management. This was far from being the case in most of the territory of present day Angola until the early twentieth century. Nonetheless, at the end of the colonial period, in the Portuguese colonies, a local government system was established, covering the entire territory of the colony, although based on non-elected boards, and with limited political, administrative and financial autonomy, notably in urban planning,8 as was also the case with the municipalities in the metropolis due to the authoritarian nature of the Portuguese political regime between 1926 and 1974. Urban planning in the Portuguese colonies also had an ideological motivation, with colonial domination as its main driver, although with a hygienist and public health justification behind it, in a way similar to those described in the case of the British and French colonies by Myers (2003), Robinson (1990), Mabin and Smit (1997), as referred to by Silva (2015a). As Omolo-Okalebo et al. (2010) and Fuller (1988) show in the case of other European colonial empires in Africa, Portuguese colonial urban planning was also an instrument

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of legitimacy and a tool by which to control the colonial territory. In that sense, Portuguese colonial urban planning was an instrument that the empire could use to control the territory. Introduced in the Portuguese colonies, as in other colonial empires, primarily as a response to public health issues, it was also used, after the Berlin Conference, as a tool in the creation of new settlements necessary to make effective the occupation and control of the entire colonial territory. Tropical medicine also had an important influence on urban planning and on urban housing in the Portuguese colonies in sub-Saharan Africa in the decades that followed the Berlin Conference (Silva, 2015a). Malaria was, in the Portuguese colonies, a major obstacle to the colonial project, as the case of São Tomé and Príncipe illustrates.9 Efforts to address this issue in the Portuguese colonial empire included the creation of the first courses on tropical medicine, organized in 1887 in the Naval School in Portugal, the creation of the School of Tropical Medicine, founded in Lisbon in 1902,10 the third to be created in the world, reorganized in 1935 when it became the Institute of Tropical Medicine, and the creation of the Colonial Hospital in Lisbon, also in 1902, all instruments of the Portuguese colonial project.11 As Silva (2015a) states, based on Curtin (1985), Cell (1986), Nightingale (2006), Njoh (2009a; 2012) and Jackson (2013), among others, the aim was to reduce health risks for the European population, which included the idea of segregation of Africans from the Europeans, a perspective also applied in the Portuguese colonies, where numerous measures were taken in the early twentieth century to combat the transmission of tropical diseases.12 This intra-urban racial segregation was seen as mandatory in the tropical region, an idea based on the findings about the causes and transmitters of malaria, identified by Ronald Ross, in 1892 (Silva, 2015a). This represented a decisive moment in the way this problem was addressed by urban planning during several decades.13 It was in part due to this public health argument that colonial urban planning in sub-Saharan Africa produced cities characterized by racial segregation, as described by Cell (1986), Deacon (1996; 2000), Ngalamulume (2004) and Parnell (1993). These circumstances were also present in the practice of Portuguese colonial urban planning, although not explicitly in the political rhetoric, which for the most part continued to emphasize the multi-racial nature of the Portuguese colonization. In the Portuguese colonies, the urban planning rhetoric was less segregationist than in some of the British and French colonies in sub-Saharan Africa, not to mention the explicitly racist urban policy of the fascist Italian regime, or the German urban policy until the First World War, as well as the Nazi discourse about its intended future colonial policy, or the Belgian and South African approaches, as is shown in Silva (2015a). Similarly to other sectors of the colonial policy,14 the Portuguese colonial administration applied planning laws similar to those adopted in the respective home territory although adapted to the specific conditions of the colonies, a practice also found in the other European colonial empires. The use of a simplified planning framework, compared to that adopted in the home territory, was the rule in all colonial empires in Africa. In none of these aspects was the Portuguese colonial policy an exception. In addition, planning laws were not applied equally to all sectors of the population and to all parts of the colonies as has been shown for the case of the British and French African colonies (Home, 1983; 2013; Coquery-Vidrovitch, 1988; 1991; 2006; 2014). In the Portuguese colonies, the creation of new urban centres followed a trend similar to that described in the literature in the case of the French and British colonies (Goerg, 1985; 1998). The description of the foundation of Huambo, in the early twentieth century, provided by Machado (1926), is a good illustration of the difficulties encountered in the planning and creation of new urban centres in the colonies, providing at the same time a detailed description of the planning process, the criteria used in the selection of the site for the new city, and the design principles adopted. Another characteristic that connects Portuguese colonial urban planning to that of other European colonial powers in Africa is the existence of a similar pattern of professionals, considering the descriptions provided by Webb (2013), Jackson (2013) and Home (1983), among others: from colonial-military engineering that predominated up to the beginning of the twentieth century, being largely responsible for the planning of the first wave of new settlements after the Berlin Conference, and its gradual replacement by civil service architects, engineers and urban planners since the first decades of the twentieth century, as described in Silva (2015).15 Most of these architects/planners, as Milheiro (2008, p. 4) states, worked in the metropolis with no direct personal contact with the areas to be planned, a frequent practice until the end of the 1940s.16 This changed somehow after the creation of the Colonial Urbanization Office (CUO), in 1944, in Lisbon, when members of this planning office visited the areas to be planned, as part of the plan making procedure. In

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the last phase of the colonial period most of these professionals engaged in colonial urban planning lived and worked in the colonies.17 In the Portuguese case, colonial urban planning was undertaken by a body of European administrators during the entire colonial period. Also common seems to be the much greater room for manoeuvre afforded Portuguese planners in the colonies in controlling the urban form compared to what their colleagues could do in the mainland home territory. The practice of urban planning in the Portuguese colonies was influenced, as in all other colonial empires, by a continued transnational flow of planning ideas and by multiple forms of professional exchanges among European countries with colonies in Africa. Planning ideas prevailing in France and in Britain were introduced in Portugal by foreign planning consultants from at least the end of the nineteenth century (Silva, 1994).18 These exchanges occurred also through conferences in the fields of tropical medicine,19 architecture and urban planning20 (Freestone and Amati, 2014; Mabin and Oranje, 2014), through foreign planning consultants, as was the case of Étienne de Groër in the Plan for Luanda in the early 1940s,21 or through a myriad of governmental and academic publications focused on the colonies and on colonial policies, published in all European countries with colonies in Africa, some of them subscribed to by the Portuguese colonial office.22 Knowledge about the combat against malaria and other tropical diseases was constantly shared by planning professionals working in the colonies, and by colonial administrations as well, as stated in Silva (2015a), based on Frenkel and Western (1988), Goerg (1985), M’Bokolo (1982), Ngalamulume (2004) and Njoh (2004; 2008; 2009a; 2012).23 In this context it is difficult to conceive that the Portuguese colonial administration would not follow what was then seen as the best scientific evidence available on this issue. One of the first reactions to these health risks was the creation of sanitary authorities, a practice also followed by the Portuguese colonial administration, including the construction of cemeteries and the removal of urban waste and dirty waters. The end of the First World War marked a moment of change in the colonial situation. First, changes in the colonial map, namely the end of the German colonial presence in Africa. Later, the gradual introduction of new planning laws, in the British, French, Portuguese, Belgian and Italian colonies. In Portugal, the inter-war period coincided with deep political changes associated with the new authoritarian political regime, which started with the 1926 military coup. This political shift represented also a new era for the Portuguese colonial project. The 1930 Colonial Act created the conditions that put an end to the private administration of parts of the colonial territory, in Mozambique.24 Three other laws completed the colonial reform carried out by the new political regime in the early 1930s.25 This was also the period in which the Garden City ideas emerged in the Portuguese colonies in Africa. If in the first decades of the twentieth century the influence of the City Beautiful seems to be present in some of the plans made for the main urban centres, urban planning in the Portuguese colonies in the 1930s and 1940s was mainly influenced by the principles of the Garden City planning paradigm, similarly to what happened all over Africa, as the evidence provided by Bigon and Katz (2014), in the case of French and British colonialism in Africa, or by Home (1983; 1990; 2013)26 and others, on British colonies in Africa, reveal. This evidence of an early application of Garden City ideas in Africa suggests that when planners working for the Portuguese colonies looked for a model to apply, these early experiments had probably some sort of influence given the intense transnational flow of planning ideas among European colonial powers.27 A good example in the Portuguese colonies is the first plan for Luanda prepared by Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva in 1942 according to the Garden City model. In that same year an Act28 on the desirable architectural style for new urban developments in the Portuguese colonies was approved, a style that should follow the traditional norms of a national architecture. An act was also approved according to which municipalities could not cut trees within the urban area without written permission from the colonial governor.29 In the 1940s, the colonial government in Angola created the Commission for the preservation and rehabilitation of national monuments. Also in common with the other colonial countries was the master plan model introduced in the 1930–40s, a planning model based on a long-term comprehensive and highly formal physical plan.30 In the Portuguese home territory, the first planning law was adopted in 1934 (Silva, 1994), providing a broad reference for urban planning in the colonies in the following years. At the end of this period, the exhibition held in Lisbon Exposição de Construção Colonial, promoted by the Ministry of the Colonies, described by Fernando Pamplona in early 1945,31 offers a good indication of the urbanization efforts made in the colonies by the Estado Novo up to the end of the Second World War, even

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if some of the plans and projects included in the exhibition were never completely implemented. The plan for Luanda by Étienne de Groër, the plan for Beira by Paulo Cunha, and the plan for Nacala by Cristino da Silva constitute a good sample of Portuguese colonial urbanism at that time. The ‘bairro de moradias para funcionáros’ in Lourenço Marques and another in Luanda, both projects of architect Vasco Regaleira; the ‘bairro indígena’ in Luanda; the ‘bairro piscatório’ in Cacuaco (Angola); houses for civil servant natives in Bissau (Guiné) by architect Paulo Cunha; the ‘bairro indígena’ in Lourenço Marques; and the ‘bairro operário’ in Manotas (Mozambique), among others, provide a good illustration of the colonial urban housing policy. The number of health services built was large, including two projects by a foreign architect, F. Schacherl, the Hospital of Nova Lisboa and the Hospital of Vila Henrique de Carvalho, in Angola. Investments in roads and in other transport infrastructure, in energy and in the education sector were also important elements of the Portuguese colonial development policy. The so-called ‘Portuguese style’ adopted by this generation of architects and planners active in the interwar period was evident in this exhibition. The projects by architect Raul Lino (e.g. Palácio do Governo in Beira, Mozambique; Palácio do Governo, in Lourenço Marques, now Maputo; Paço Episcopal de Nampula, and the Catedral of Nampula, Mozambique), architect Carlos Ramos (e.g. Palácio do Governo, in Bissau), engineer Freitas e Costa (e.g. Catedral of Lourenço Marques), architect Galhardo Zilhão (e.g. Paço Episcopal de Silva Porto, Angola), architect Vasco Regaleira (e.g. Catedral of Nova Lisboa; Palácio da Intendência in Nova Lisboa; Catedral of Bissau), among other architects and engineers with work in or for the colonies in this period, constitute a good sample of the architecture in the Portuguese African colonies, including the so-called ‘Portuguese architecture’ or ‘national architecture’, combining motives from different regions of the Portuguese home territory as well as traditional architectural motives from previous centuries (‘casas solarengas do Minho no século XVIII’). Sculptures or paintings by Barata Feio, Leopoldo de Almeida, Manuel Lapa and Álvaro de Brée, among others, completed some of these projects, which can be seen as references in the history of Portuguese colonial urbanism and urbanization in the first half of the twentieth century. Urban Planning in the Post-Second World War Period The post-Second World War period represented in many respects a rupture with the previous colonial policies and practices in all colonial empires in Africa. As Silva (2015a) notes, the introduction of more effective insecticides32 marked a shift in the discourse in favour of intra-urban racial segregation. Due to both this and the post-war reaction against the Nazi racist ideology it was no longer possible to support the argument in favour of residential segregation along racial lines in the colonial cities. These new conditions and changes to the Statute of the Natives were to a large extent responsible for the shifts experienced in colonial urban policy discourse, also in the Portuguese colonies, although later than in the British and French colonial empires. If in the first decades of the twentieth century, colonial urban planning was profoundly influenced by the principles of the Garden City, as described above, after the Second World War it was the CIAM discourse on urbanism and the rational planning approach that informed planning in the colonies, as it did in the home territory at the same time, although not exactly in the same way. In the Portuguese colonies in Africa the Garden City planning paradigm, which was an influential urban planning reference in the 1930–40s, lasted longer, up to the 1950s, being gradually replaced by the CIAM discourse on urbanism in the final decades of the colonial era. This change was interpreted by a new generation of architects and planners that emerged at the first Congress of National Architecture, held in 1948.33 As Fernandes (2002) and Milheiro (2008) show, some of these architects and planners later travelled to the Portuguese African colonies, specifically Angola and Mozambique, developing there intense and innovative professional activity.34 Some of these changes started years before the end of the Second World War, as part of the plans for the reconstruction of the European allied countries engaged in the conflict (Silva, 2015). As Home (1983; 2013), Okpala (2009), Kanyeihamba (1980), Coquery-Vidrovitch (1988) and Attahi et al. (2009) show, this process of change varied over the years and among the European colonial powers, not to mention there being obvious differences between the Italian fascist regime and the plans of Nazi Germany for the recovery of their past colonies on one side, and the plans of all the other European countries with colonies in Africa, including Portugal, on the other (Silva, 2015a). Two examples illustrate well the differences

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among the European colonial powers after the war. One was reform vis-à-vis the local population. The abolition by Portugal of the Statute of the Natives (Estatuto do Indigenato) in its three last colonies where it was still applied did not occur until 1961, while in the French case similar action had been taken much earlier. The Statute of the Natives had been responsible for well established racial differentiation in the Portuguese African colonies.35 Its abolition in 1961 meant that full citizenship was finally given to the entire African population.36 In the French case, similar reform took place in 1946–47 (Coquery-Vidrovitch, 1988, p. 71). Another characteristic that distinguished Portugal from the other three main colonial powers was its continuation of the colonial project, refusing independence until much later than all the other colonial powers had acceded to such local demands.37 While other European colonies in Africa became independent states in the 1950s and early 1960s, the Portuguese colonies became independent only in 1975 (1974 for Guinea-Bissau), which in part also explains the differences in the urban legacy left in Africa by the various European colonial powers. This period was also marked by intense planning activity in the main urban centres under colonial rule. Compared to the French case, in the Portuguese colonies this new approach took longer to emerge in the planning law, but reforms in this field were also implemented at that time, including the introduction of a whole set of laws in the broad field of spatial planning. For instance, in 1944 the Colonial Urbanization Office38 was created as a common planning office for all Portuguese colonies in Africa, later expanded to include also the Portuguese colonies of India, Timor and Macau.39 This was followed by new planning laws in 1946 and a new land law in 1948, intended to be applied in the Portuguese home territory, which also functioned as the legal framework for colonial urbanism. In 1956, a new planning law for the colonies established that all illegal buildings could be legalized if they did not affect the new urban plan, although if that was the case they could be demolished by the municipal authority.40 Important also were the laws published on numerous other issues related to spatial planning, for example, the law published in 1955 on the protection of nature (soil, flora, fauna and protected areas),41 and several initiatives in the field of housing policy (e.g. the programme ‘Bairros Indígenas’ and its respective fund, later renamed ‘Bairros Populares’) resulting in the building of several thousand dwellings in Angola’s capital and its other main urban centres.42 A programme of economical rent housing for the middle class, based on legislation applied in the home territory, was also introduced in Angola in the 1960s, involving partnerships with private entities in the construction of this housing typology (BGU, 469–70, 1964). A similar programme was implemented in each of the other colonies.43 The urban housing rent system introduced in the colonies in this period was similar to that practised in the home territory but was based on specific legislation. In 1942 urban housing rents were not allowed to increase in the colony of Angola44 and in 1965 a new Urban Rent Act for the colonies was approved. Nonetheless, the high degree of administrative centralization continued with urban plans being approved by the Ministry of the Colonies.45 In 1957, the Colonial Urbanization Office, which in 1951 had been renamed the Overseas Urbanization Office, was restructured and renamed once again, becoming this time the Direcção dos Serviços de Urbanismo e Habitação in the Overseas Ministry (formerly the Colonial Ministry). It was in charge of urban planning and public housing programmes in the colonies, in particular in the smaller ones: São Tomé and Príncipe, Guinea and Cape Verde. Planning documents prepared during this period for the main urban centres in the Portuguese African colonies were expected to provide only general norms and guidelines that could be easily applied. In part this was due to the colonial administration being under-staffed, in particular the technical departments in charge of urban management, which was to some extent also a feature in the colonies of the other European countries, as is shown in Silva (2015). Despite the differences, when compared to other colonial empires, and in spite of the constraints confronting the Portuguese colonial administration, important changes were introduced in Portuguese colonial policy, which had important consequences for colonial urban policy at both central and municipal levels.46 In 1951, the revision of the Constitution47 opened the way for the promulgation of new laws on different aspects of colonial policy, including those related to urban affairs. The new colonial urban policy was framed to some extent by the national economic development plan adopted by central government in the early 1950s which not only defined a spatial development strategy for the home territory but had also a key role in the definition of the main infrastructures (e.g. road and rail transport, harbours, energy infrastructures, urban expansions and so on) in the colonies.

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The First National Development Plan 1953–1958 (I Plano de Fomento) covered both the home territory and the colonies and was mainly focused, in the colonies, on natural resources (mainly the production of energy), transport (primarily railway lines and harbours) and colonization.48 The Second National Development Plan 1959–1964 (II Plano de Fomento) had a broader focus, with double the investment, divided 70 per cent for the home territory and 30 per cent for the colonies. More than half of the investment in the colonies (55 per cent) was financed by taxes collected in the home territory (BGU, 1958).49 Among other major infrastructures, the road and transport systems included in the plan had a great impact on urban development in the colonies in the last decade and a half of the Portuguese colonial presence in Africa, in particular in Angola and Mozambique. This growth-development effort continued in the final years of the colonial period, namely in the National Development Plan 1965–1967 (Plano Intercalar de Fomento).50 An example of these final urban planning efforts was the publication of 61 urban plans for small and medium-sized settlements and urban plans for the cities of Bissau, Bolama and Bafatá, in the Portuguese colony of Guinea, now Guinea-Bissau, in January 1973, by Governor António de Spínola, just a few months before the unilateral declaration of independence by the African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde (Partido Africano da Independência da Guiné e Cabo Verde, PAIGC) (AGU, 1973). As argued in Silva (2015), the post-Second World War period was also characterized by an intense transnational flow of planning ideas, as in previous decades. This transfer of planning knowledge was also reflected in the Portuguese colonies, the roles played by E. Maxwell Fry and Jane Drew,51 among others, being important to note in this context (Home, 1983; Windsor-Liscome, 2006; Uduku, 2006). According to Milheiro (2012a, p. 291), some Portuguese architects and urban planners working in the Overseas Urbanization Office in the 1950s studied tropical architecture and urbanism at the Architectural Association, in London, with E. Maxwell Fry and Jane Drew, as well as with Otto Koenigsberger. The close relationship between Portuguese and Brazilian architects and planners (Fernandes and Pinheiro, 2013), in particular after the 1948 Congress, was another important source of influences on the architects and planners working in the Portuguese African colonies. In this context, Milheiro (2012a, pp. 17–53) suggests that the 1943 exhibition in the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), New York, and the respective catalogue Brazil Builds: Architecture New and Old 1652–1942 were determinants in the worldwide diffusion of the new Brazilian architecture culture, including in Portugal and in its colonies. The influence of French architects and planners working in Brazil and then in Portugal – for example Alfred Agache and Étienne de Groër, the latter being responsible for the plan of Luanda based on the Garden City model – was also especially relevant (Milheiro, 2012a, pp. 57–107). In 1963, the first National Colloquium of Portuguese Municipalities, in which urban planning in the Portuguese colonies was one of the themes addressed, took place in Luanda (BGU, 456–7, 1963). In 1966, the Portuguese government ordered colonial governors in Angola and Mozambique to organize, on a regular basis, conferences on engineering and architecture in the respective colonies with the aim of producing recommendations to be applied in the colonies in both fields (BGU, 1966).52 Intra-urban Racial Segregation in Portuguese Colonial Urban Planning One of the distinctive characteristics of colonial urban planning in sub-Saharan Africa, compared to planning in the respective European home territories in the same period, is intra-urban racial segregation, as noted in Silva (2015a).53 In the first decades, racial segregation in the form of intra-urban residential separation in the colonial city was justified with public health arguments, although with differences among the various European colonial powers, within each of them, and over time (Silva, 2015a).54 While Portuguese colonial policy was mainly based on the principle of assimilation or integration, other European colonial powers followed the principles of segregation or association (Gale, 1980; Curtin, 1985; Cell, 1986; Frenkel and Western, 1988; Goerg, 1998).55 The continuous claim of a past and long-held policy of inter-racial mixture in the colonies, since at least the sixteenth century, is repeated time and time again in official Portuguese discourses, in policy documents and in research published on that period.56 In contrast, as the evidence compiled in Silva (2015) shows, in the British, French,57 Belgian and Italian colonies, intra-urban racial segregation took the form of a European city separated from the African city by a ‘sanitary corridor’ (Attahi et al., 2009; Fuller, 1996; Rifkind, 2011; Sinou, 2014).58 As Coquery-Vidrovitch (1993: 328) argues, this

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was in part responsible for the more intensive ‘créolization’ in the Portuguese colonial cities in Africa since at least the eighteenth century. This Portuguese colonial policy was formally different in several key points from the British, Belgian, Italian and German colonial policy, at least in some moments and in some colonies, considering the evidence provided by, among others, Winters (1982), Fuller (1988; 1996), Bernhard (2013), and Madley (2005). This difference was even more obvious in relation to the most extreme cases of racial segregation, such as those based on the Native Land Acts in South Africa, seen by the supporters of the Portuguese colonial policy in the early 1950s as undesirable.59 Nonetheless, despite the differences in the discourse, the names used to designate the residential areas, for Europeans and for Africans, in the Portuguese colonial cities, at least in some cities and in certain periods, were clear enough regarding the discrimination towards Africans that characterized Portuguese colonial urban policy, as Neto (2012: 20) argues, based on her analysis of the city of Huambo, in Angola. Or, as noted in 1959 in the official Portuguese colonial bulletin, despite the option of a policy of integration, on some occasions a policy of association or a policy of segregation was put in practice in the Portuguese colonies (BGU, 1959). The Portuguese colonial rhetoric around the idea of a multi-racial society is somehow contradicted by ample evidence of paternalism towards the natives. Numerous examples of this separation-segregation can be found in the plans prepared by the Colonial Urbanization Office and in the programme of ‘Bairros Indígenas’ built in Luanda in the 1950s and 1960s,60 although in the ‘bairros’ built in the capital Luanda (e.g. Cazenga or São Paulo) the aim was to build ethnically mixed neighbourhoods (BGU, 469–70, 1964). Racial segregation resulted also from decisions on basic urban infrastructures and urban services. In Luanda a maternity centre for the natives (Maternidade Indígena de Luanda) was built and, as late as the 1950s, the new Regional Hospital of Nova Lisboa (now Huambo, Angola) was planned to have 208 beds, 55 for Europeans and 153 for the natives, reproducing inside the building what decades before was provided in different hospitals (BGU, 314, 1953). Discrimination could also be found in other instances, for example in cemeteries. In Moçamedes, now Namibe, Angola, the cemetery built in the 1860s was from inception defined as a cemetery for the colonizers (BGU, 1954).61 Discrimination was also present in the initial Portuguese colonial land acts when a different regime of land occupation for Europeans and Africans was introduced, not so different from what has been described by Goerg (1985, pp. 322–7), Wright (1987), Fourchard (2003), Attahi et al. (2009), and Coquery-Vidrovitch (1988; 2014), among others, regarding French colonial legislation. Land law in the Portuguese colonies allowed the individual ownership of land by natives under certain conditions but there is evidence that by the end of the 1950s claims were being made in favour of equal land rights for natives (‘assimilated’ and ‘non-assimilated’). The construction of separate experimental agricultural camps for Europeans and for Africans is another example, a practice seen by some observers as a form of apartheid.62 Plans prepared in the 1940s and 1950s by the Colonial Urbanization Office for urban centres in the Portuguese colonies defined areas for the natives separated from the European quarters. Even before that, areas had been demarcated for the construction of housing specifically for the natives, as had also been done in the French colonies. In those areas planning law and building norms were not fully applied, with the exception of alignments and public health norms. Furthermore, traditional African building techniques and materials could be employed in the native quarters. In the European part of the city residents held a full propriety title while in the native quarters the title was not one of full propriety. If this propriety was needed for urban expansion, eviction and demolition could be achieved more easily by the colonial public authorities, the title holders being certain only of the right to be relocated although without an indemnity. The ‘Bairros Indígenas’ (‘native quarters’), renamed ‘Bairros Populares’ after 1959, in the Portuguese colonial cities were also part of this intra-urban segregation approach, although the mixture of Europeans and Africans was common practice in Portuguese colonial cities, as was the use of mixed public transport, contrary to what happened in other parts of colonized Africa in the same period. In the 1940s and 1950s, the ‘Bairros Indígenas’ programme in Luanda had a double objective: to improve the housing and living conditions of the African population while at the same time freeing land for the expansion of the European quarters63 (BGC, 1949; BGU, 1955; and the 1949 Act that created the native quarters in urban centres in the colony of Angola). In Mozambique, in the capital Lourenço Marques (now Maputo), Vila Pery and Inhambane, to mention just three cases, the urban plans designed in the 1950s considered separated, self-sufficient quarters for the natives on the periphery of the city. In the capital, each ‘bairro indígena’ would house around 15,000

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persons (BGU, 1953). In Beira, the second largest urban centre in Mozambique, the plan prepared in the early 1940s located the ‘native quarter’ 13 km away from the city limit and forecasted a total of 58,000 inhabitants. It was rejected due to these two characteristics and a new plan was later prepared and approved (BGC, 1946). In São Tomé and Príncipe, in the early 1950s, an urban quarter was built for colonial civil servants, named Bairro Dr Salazar, and a distinct and segregated quarter, exclusively for natives, named Bairro Prof. Marcelo Caetano (BGU, 1950). In Bissau, capital of Guiné, now Guinea-Bissau, urban plans prepared in the first half of the twentieth century defined an urban perimeter to separate the European city and the African quarters. The native quarters had to be located outside the perimeter – the land under customary rule within the perimeter was expropriated and the natives were removed to the periphery (Lourenço-Lindell, 2002: 53).64 At the same time, other housing programmes were implemented, namely for the middle classes, based on similar programmes adopted in the home territory. This was a programme to build economic housing under which the colonial administration in all colonies built houses for public employees and other professional middle-class groups inside the formal planned city.65 In the Portuguese colonies, the land law allowed the use of native communal lands by the natives.66 In the land law applied up to 1961 the right to individual propriety by the natives was already recognized, not only under the general conditions of the law but also when a native could prove the pacific and continued use of the plot of land over the previous 10 years.67 However, the new land law, adopted in September 1961, gave equal individual land rights to both Africans and Europeans in the Portuguese colonies.68 The degree of implementation of these legal urban land titles varied among colonies and over time due largely to a lack of institutional capacity in the colonies to implement the law, but also due in part to the inexistence of a land registry, cadastre or an adequate number of administrative and technical staff. If in the case of other colonial empires the evidence available shows that the colonial African city was not entirely a European or white city, despite all the measures and actions that in fact created a pattern of intra-urban racial segregation, in the Portuguese colonies this was also the case in the sense that if a minority of Africans lived in the formal city, the large proportion lived in the informal parts of the city, an area without access to similar or equivalent urban amenities. In the Portuguese colonial city there was also social stratification within the ‘European’ or ‘white’ city, an intra-urban segregation of Europeans according to socio-economic status. In sum, if the practice of the French, British, Italian and Belgian colonial administrations was not always in accord with their own theories of intra-urban racial segregation, as Njoh (2012) and others show, being therefore slightly different from what we could infer from their colonial urban policy discourse, in the Portuguese case it was somehow the opposite, in the sense that if the policy rhetoric was in favour of a racial mix, its practice ended up in some cases being also segregationist when the conditions in place allowed it to be implemented. Intra-urban racial segregation displays a wide variety of facets across the Portuguese colonies, and over time, as is also evident in the colonies of other European countries. In small urban centres, in the islands, or where local African elites resisted this sort of discriminatory policy, segregation was not practised, at least explicitly, although socio-economic differentiation could end up producing a similar pattern of intraurban racial segregation. Since socio-economic status differentiation coincided to a large extent with racial divide in the Portuguese colonies, as in all other colonies in Africa, the usual social intra-urban divide that characterizes modern cities tended to have also a racial character in the Portuguese colonial cities. Conclusion Compared to that of other European colonies in sub-Saharan Africa, the Portuguese colonial urban planning culture had perhaps more similarities than differences in its principles, and in its practice and outcomes. It started, as in all other colonial empires, as an activity conducted by military engineers, applying knowledge developed, experimented with and transferred from place to place, over the centuries, and later on by civil service architects and engineers. The Portuguese colonial urban planning culture benefited from the extensive transnational flow of planning ideas, principles, methods and tools that marks the entire colonial period, among the metropolises in Europe and across the colonial boundaries in Africa. As in most of the other cases in sub-Saharan Africa, the Portuguese colonial planning culture applied most of the planning

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principles and models in use in Europe, with the exception of intra-urban racial segregation which, as was pointed out, resulted from knowledge produced by tropical medicine and which, for a long period, was the main argument used to justify the segregation of Africans from Europeans. The diversity of practices from colony to colony within the Portuguese colonial empire and over time is another characteristic that makes the practice of Portuguese colonial urban planning similar to that of other European colonial empires in sub-Saharan Africa. As with other colonial planning cultures, although with numerous nuances, Portuguese colonial urban planning was to a large extent unsuccessful on many counts.69 This can be attributed to the fact that colonial urban planning was based on assumptions and principles that did not correspond to what existed in the Portuguese African colonies. For example, the formal legal requirements that made up the rationale of the European model of urban planning adopted in the Portuguese colonies required a well established land tenure regime and clear private land rights, conditions absent from or only partially found in the Portuguese colonies, and in other European colonies in Africa as well. In order to be successful, it was also necessary to empower the colonial administration with adequate technical and financial capacity, which was not the case in the former Portuguese colonies in Africa. References AGU (1973). Ordenamento Rural e Urbano na Guiné Portuguesa. Lisbon: Agência Geral do Ultramar. Amaral, Ilídio (1962). Ensaio de um Estudo Geográfico da Rede Urbana de Angola. Lisbon: Junta de Investigações do Ultramar. ——— (1968). Luanda. Estudo de Geografia Urbana. Lisbon: Junta de Investigações do Ultramar. ——— (1987). Cidades Coloniais Portuguesas – notas preliminares para uma geografia histórica, Povos e Culturas, 2: 193–214. Anderson, David M. and Richard Rathbone (eds) (2000). Africa’s Urban Past. Oxford: James Currey. Andrade, António Alberto (1953). O tradicional anti-racismo da acção civilizadora portuguesa. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, 339: 33–43. Attahi, Koffi et al. (2009). Revisiting Urban Planning in Sub-Saharan Francophone Africa. Nairobi: United Nations Human Settlements Programme – Regional Report Francophone Africa. Bernhard, Patrick (2013). Borrowing from Mussolini: Nazi Germany’s Colonial Aspirations in the Shadow of Italian Expansionism. Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 41(4): 617–43. Bigon, Liora and Yossi Katz (eds) (2014). Garden Cities and Colonial Planning: Transnationality and Urban Ideas in Africa and Palestine. Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press. BAGC – Boletim da Agência Geral das Colónias (several years). BGC – Boletim Geral das Colónias (several years). BGU – Boletim Geral do Ultramar (several years). Boletim Oficial da Colónia de Angola (several years). Boletim Oficial da Colónia de Cabo Verde (several years). Boletim Oficial da Colónia de Moçambique (several years). Boletim Oficial da Guiné (several years). Boletim Oficial da Província da Guiné (several years). Boletim Oficial da Província de Angola (several years). Boletim Oficial da Província de Moçambique (several years). Boletim Oficial da Província de S. Tomé e Príncipe (several years). Boletim Oficial de Angola (several years). Boletim Oficial de Cabo Verde (several years). Boletim Oficial de Moçambique (several years). Boletim Oficial de S. Tomé e Príncipe (several years). Bruna, Gilda Collet (2012). Paradigmas urbanístico-ambientais das cidades luso-brasileiras. In Lobo, Manuel Costa and José Simões Júnior (eds). Urbanismo de colina. Uma tradição luso-brasileira. Lisbon: IST Press.

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Caetano, Marcelo (1934). Resumo da História da Administração Colonial Portuguesa. In Amaral, Diogo Freitas (ed.) (1994). Estudos de História da Administração Pública Portuguesa. Coimbra: Coimbra Editora. Cahen, Michel (1989). Bourgs et Villes en Afrique Lusophone. Paris: L’Harmattan. Carita, Helder and Renata Malcher Araújo (eds) (1998). Universo Urbanístico Português 1415–1822. Lisbon: Comissão Nacional para as Comemorações dos Descobrimento Portugueses. Carneiro, Ruy de Sá (1951). O trabalho do engenheiro em África. Algumas observações e prevenções. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, 314: 25–31. Carvalho, Agostinho de (1949). Estatuto do Indigenato. Boletim Geral das Colónias, 288: 59–80. ——— (1950). Problemas de assimilação. Boletim Geral das Colónias, 305: 21–8. Cell, John W. (1986). Anglo-Indian Medical Theory and the Origins of Segregation in West Africa. African Historical Review, 91(2): 307–35. Coelho, César (1962). Problemas de trabalho em Moçambique. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, 449–50. Coquery-Vidrovitch, Catherine (1988). Villes coloniales et histoire des Africains. Revue d’histoire, 20: 49–73. ——— (1991). The Process of Urbanization in Africa: From the Origins to the Beginning of Independence. African Studies Review, 34(1): 1–98. ——— (1993). Histoire des villes d’Afrique Noire. Des origines à la colonisation. Paris: Éditions Albin Michel. ——— (2006). De la ville en Afrique noire. Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales, 61: 1087–1119. ——— (2014). From Residential Segregation to African Urban Centres: City Planning and the Modalities of Change in Africa South of the Sahara. Journal of Contemporary African Studies, 32(1): 1–12. Cunha, Pedro José da (1925/1926). A Companhia de Moçambique e a sua Obra. Boletim da Agência Geral das Colónias, 5: 31–67. Curtin, Philip (1985). Medical Knowledge and Urban Planning in Tropical Africa. African Historical Review, 90(3): 594–613. Deacon, Harriet (1996). Racial Segregation and Medical Discourse in Nineteenth-Century Cape Town. Journal of Southern African Studies, 22(2): 287–308. ——— (2000). Racism and Medical Science in South Africa’s Cape Colony in the Mid- to Late Nineteenth Century. Osiris, 2nd series, 15: 190–206. Fernandes, José Manuel (1996). Cidades e Casas da Macaronésia. Porto: FAUP Publicações. ——— (2002). Geração Africana. Arquitectura e Cidades em Angola e Moçambique, 1925–1975. Lisbon: Livros Horizonte. Fernandes, José Manuel and Maria Lucia Bressan Pinheiro (2013). Portugal, Brasil, África. Urbanismo e Arquitectura. Do ecletismo ao modernismo. Casal de Cambra: Caleidoscópio. Fernandes, José Manuel, M. Janeiro and Maria Manuela da Fonte (2010). Angola no século XX. Cidades, Território e Arquitecturas, 1925–1975. Lisbon: Author edition. Fernandes, José Manuel, M. Janeiro and O. Neves (2006). Moçambique 1875/1975. Cidades, Território e Arquitecturas. Lisbon: Author edition. Fonte, Maria Manuela da (2012). Urbanismo e Arquitectura em Angola. Casal de Cambra: Caleidoscópio. Fourchard, Laurent (2003). De la residence lignagère à la rente immobilière: cours et compounds en Afrique Occidentale Française et au Nigeria, fin de sècle-1960. Le Mouvement Social, 204: 47–64. Freestone, Robert and Marco Amati (eds) (2014). Exhibitions and the Development of Modern Planning Culture. Farnham: Ashgate. Frenkel, Stephen and John Western (1988). Pretext or Prophylaxis? Racial Segregation and Malarial Mosquitos in a British Tropical Colony: Sierra Leone. Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 78(2): 211–28. Fuller, Mia (1988). Building Power: Italy’s Colonial Architecture and Urbanism, 1923–1940. Cultural Anthropology, 3(4): 455–87. ——— (1996). Wherever You Go, There You Are: Fascist Plans for the Colonial City of Addis Ababa and the Colonizing Suburb of EUR ’42. Journal of Contemporary History, 31(2): 397–418. ——— (2006). Oases of Ambiguity: On How Italians Did Not Practice Urban Segregation in Tripoli. In Federico Cresti (ed.). La Libia tra Mediterraneo e mondo islamico. Milan: Giuffre, pp. 163–81. Gale, Thomas S. (1980). Ségrégation in British West Africa. Cahiers d’études africaines, 20(80): 495–507. Galvão, A. (1927). A futura capital de Angola. Boletim da Agência Geral das Colónias, 25: 32–8.

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Goerg, Odile (1985). Conakry: un modèle de ville coloniale française? Règlements fonciers et urbanisme, de 1885 aux années 1920. Cahiers d’études africaines, 25(99): 309–35. ——— (1998). From Hill Station (Freetown) to Downtown Conakry (First Ward): Comparing French and British Approaches to Segregation in Colonial Cities at the Beginning of the Twentieth Century. Canadian Journal of African Studies / Revue Canadienne des Études Africaines, 32(1): 1–31. Gonçalves, Caetano (1926). O regime das terras e as reservas indígenas na colonização portuguesa. Boletim da Agência Geral das Colónias, 13: 26–45. Goycoolea Prado, Roberto et al. (2011a). Fernão Simões de Carvalho – Interview. In Goycoolea Prado, Roberto and Paz Nunez Martí (eds). La Modernidad Ignorada. Arquitectura Moderna de Luanda. Alcalá de Henares: Universidade de Alcalá, pp. 227–43. ——— (2011b). Francisco Castro Rodrigues – Interview. In Goycoolea Prado, Roberto and Paz Nunez Martí (eds). La Modernidad Ignorada. Arquitectura Moderna de Luanda. Alcalá de Henares: Universidade de Alcalá, pp. 209–25. Grilo, Maria João Teles (2011). Vasco Vieira da Costa. Os caminhos sombreados do Sol. In Goycoolea Prado, Roberto and Paz Nunez Martí (eds). La Modernidad Ignorada. Arquitectura Moderna de Luanda. Alcalá de Henares: Universidade de Alcalá, pp. 195–207. Home, Robert (1983). Town-Planning, Segregation and Indirect Rule in Colonial Nigeria. Third World Planning Review, 5(2): 165–76. ——— (1990). Town Planning and Garden Cities in the British Colonial Empire 1910–1940. Planning Perspectives, 5(1): 23–37. ——— (2013). Of Planting and Planning: The Making of British Colonial Cities. London: Routledge. Jackson, Iain (2013). Tropical Architecture and the West Indies: from Military Advances and Tropical Medicine, to Robert Gardner-Medwin and the Networks of Tropical Modernism. Journal of Architecture, 18(2): 167–95. Kanyeihamba, G.W. (1980). The Impact of Received Law in Urban Planning and Development in Anglophonic Africa. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 4(2): 239–66. Lima, Alfredo Pereira (2013). Edifícios históricos de Lourenço Marques. Póvoa de Santa Iria: Lua de Marfim Editora. Lourenço-Lindell, Ilda (2002). Walking the Tight Rope: Informal Livelihoods and Social Networks in a West African City. Stockholm: Stockholm University. M’Bokolo, Elikia (1982). Peste et société urbaine à Dakar: l’épidémie de 1914. Cahiers d’Etudes Africaines, 85–6: 13–46. Mabin, Alan and Dan Smit (1997). Reconstructing South African Cities? The Making of Urban Planning 1900–2000. Planning Perspectives, 12(2): 193–223. Mabin, Alan and Mark Oranje (2014). The 1938 Johannesburg ‘Town Planning Exhibition and Congress’: Testament, Monument and Indictment. In Freestone, Robert and Marco Amati (eds). Exhibitions and the Development of Modern Planning Culture. Farnham: Ashgate, pp. 65–80. Machado, Carlos Roma (1926). Início e fundação da cidade do Huambo. Boletim da Agência Geral das Colónias, 7: 30–59. Madeira, Teresa (1999). Estudo morfológico da cidade de São Tomé no contexto urbanístico das cidades insulares atlânticas de origem portuguesa. Comunicação apresentada no Colóquio Internacional Universo Urbanístico Português 1415–1822, Coimbra. Madley, Benjamin (2005). From Africa to Auschwitz: How German Southwest Africa Incubates Ideas and Methods Adopted and Developed by the Nazis in Eastern Europe. European History Quarterly, 35(3): 429–64. Magalhães, A. (2009). Moderno Tropical. Lisbon: Tinta da China. Margarido, Alfredo (1970). La Capitale de L’Empire Lunda: un urbanisme politique. Annales. Économies, Sociétés, Civilisations, 25(4): 857–61. Martins, Isabel M. (2011). Luanda no Movimento Moderno. In Goycoolea Prado, Roberto and Paz Nunez Martí (eds). La Modernidad Ignorada. Arquitectura Moderna de Luanda. Alcalá de Henares: Universidade de Alcalá, pp. 45–63. Matoso, José (ed.) (2010). Património de origem Portuguesa no Mundo – Arquitectura e Urbanismo (Volume – África, Mar Vermelho e Golfo Pérsico). Lisboa: Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian.

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Mendes, Maria Clara (1979). Maputo antes da independência. Geografia de uma cidade colonial. Lisbon: Instituto Nacional de Investigação Científica. Milheiro, Ana Vaz (2008). As coisas não são o que parecem que são. Opúsculo 15. Porto: Dafne Editora. ——— (2011). Fazer escola: a arquitectura pública no Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial para Luanda. In Goycoolea Prado, Roberto and Paz Nunez Martí (eds). La Modernidad Ignorada. Arquitectura Moderna de Luanda. Alcalá de Henares: Universidade de Alcalá, pp. 99–131. ——— (2012a). Nos Trópicos Sem Le Corbusier. Arquitectura luso-africana no Estado Novo. Lisbon: Relógio de Água. ——— (2012b). 2011 Guiné-Bissau. Porto: Circo de Ideias. ——— (2013). Habitação nos trópicos portugueses: casos da África portuguesa. In Filipa Ramalhete and Ricardo Carvalho (eds). Colóquio Internacional Habitar-Pensar-Investigar-Fazer. Lisbon: EDIUAL, pp. 61–91. Milheiro, Ana Vaz and Eduardo Costa Dias (2009). Arquitectura em Bissau e os Gabinetes de Urbanização colonial (1944–1974). Revista arq.urb, 2 / segundo semestre de 2009. Morais, João (2001). Maputo. Património da estrutura e forma urbana, topologia do lugar. Lisbon: Livros Horizonte. ——— (2010). Mindelo. Património Urbano e Arquitectónico. Casal de Cambra: Caleidoscópio. Morais, João Sousa and Joana Bastos Malheiro (2013). São Tomé e Príncipe. As cidades. Património Arquitectónico. Casal de Cambra: Caleidoscópio. Morais, João Sousa, Luís Lage and Joana Bastos Malheiro (2012). Maputo – Património Arquitectónico. Casal de Cambra: Caleidoscópio. Mumford, Eric (2000). The CIAM Discourse on Urbanism, 1928–1960. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Myers, Garth (2003). Designing Power: Forms and Purposes of Colonial Model Neighborhoods in British Africa. Habitat International, 27: 193–204. Neto, Maria da Conceição (2012). In Town and Out of Town: A Social History of Huambo (Angola), 1902–1961. PhD Thesis, SOAS, University of London (http://eprints.soas.ac.uk/13822). Ngalamulume, Kalala (2004). Keeping the City Totally Clean: Yellow Fever and the Politics of Prevention in Colonial Saint-Louis-du-Sénégal, 1850–1914. Journal of African History, 45(2): 183–202. Nightingale, Carl H. (2006). The Transnational Contexts of Early Twentieth-century American Urban Segregation. Journal of Social History, spring: 667–702. Njoh, Ambe J. (2004). The Experience and Legacy of French Colonial Urban Planning in Sub-Saharan Africa. Planning Perspectives, 19: 435–54. ——— (2008). Colonial Philosophies, Urban Space, and Racial Segregation in British and French Colonial Africa. Journal of Black Studies, 38(4): 579–99. ——— (2009a). Ideology and Public Health Elements of Human Settlement Policies in Sub-Saharan Africa. Cities 26: 9–18. ——— (2009b). Urban Planning as a Tool of Power and Social Control in Colonial Africa. Planning Perspectives, 24(3): 301–17. ——— (2010). Europeans, Modern Urban Planning and the Acculturation of ‘Racial Others’. Planning Theory, 9(4): 369–78. ——— (2012). Urban Planning and Public Health in Africa. Farnham: Ashgate. Okpala, Don (2009). Regional Overview of the Status of Urban Planning and Planning Practice in Anglophone (Sub-Sahara) African Countries. Nairobi: United Nations Human Settlements Programme, Regional Study for Global Report on Human Settlements. Oliveira, Mário de (1962). Urbanismo no Ultramar. Lisbon: Agência Geral do Ultramar. Omolo-Okalebo, Fredrick, Tigran Haas, Inga Britt Werner and Hannington Sengendo (2010). Planning of Kampala City 1903–1962: The Planning Ideas, Values, and Their Physical Expression. Journal of Planning History, 9(3): 151–69. Parnell, Susan (1993). Creating Racial Privilege: The Origins of South African Public Health and Town Planning Legislation. Journal of Southern African Studies, 19(3): 471–88. Riboldazzi, Renzo (2009). Un’Altra Modernità. L’IFHTP e la cultura urbanística tra le due guerre 1923–1939. Roma: Gandemi Editore.

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Rich, Paul (1990). Race, Science and the Legitimization of White Supremacy in South Africa, 1902–1940. International Journal of African Historical Studies, 23(4): 665–86. Rifkind, David (2011). Gondar – Architecture and Urbanism for Italy’s Fascist Empire. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, 70(4): 492–511. Robinson, J. (1990). ‘A Perfect System of Control’? State Power and ‘Native Locations’ in South Africa. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 8(2): 135–62. Rodrigues, Francisco Castro and Eduarda Dionísio (2009). Um Cesto de Cerejas. Conversas, Memórias, Uma Vida (Organização, Introdução, e Notas de Eduarda Dionísio). Lisboa: Casa da Achada – Centro Mário Dionísio. Rossa, Walter (1995). A Cidade Portuguesa. In Pereira, Paulo (ed.). História da Arte Portuguesa. Lisboa: Círculo de Leitores, vol. 3. Schler, Lynn (2003). Ambiguous Spaces: The Struggle over African Identities and Urban Communities in Colonial Douala, 1914–45. Journal of African History, 44(1): 51–72. Silva, António Correia (1998). Espaços Urbanos de Cabo Verde: o tempo das cidades porto. Lisbon: Comissão Nacional para as Comemorações dos Descobrimentos Portugueses. Silva, Burity da (1967). Os princípios portugueses da integração racial. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, 499–500. Silva, Carlos Nunes (1994). Política Urbana em Lisboa, 1926–1974. Lisbon: Livros Horizonte. ——— (ed.) (2015). Urban Planning in Sub-Saharan Africa: Colonial and Post-Colonial Planning Cultures. New York: Routledge. ——— (2015a). Urban Planning in Sub-Saharan Africa. An Overview. In Silva, Carlos Nunes (ed.). Urban Planning in Sub-Saharan Africa: Colonial and Post-Colonial Planning Cultures. New York: Routledge, pp. 8–40. Silveira, Joel (1989). La spatialisation d’un rapport colonial: Bissau (1900–1960). In Cahen, Michel. Bourgs et Villes en Afrique Lusophone. Paris: L’Harmattan, pp. 74–98. Silveira, Luís (1956). Ensaios de Iconografia das Cidades Portuguesas do Ultramar (vols. I and II). Lisbon: Junta de Investigações do Ultramar. Sinou, Alain (2014). The ‘Plateau’ in West African, French Speaking Colonial Towns: Between Garden and City. In Bigon, Liora and Yossi Katz (eds). Garden Cities and Colonial Planning: Transnationality and Urban Ideas in Africa and Palestine. Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, pp. 74–97. Teixeira, Manuel and Margarida Valla (1999). O Urbanismo Português. Séculos XIII–XVIII. Portugal – Brasil. Lisboa: Livros Horizonte. Uduku, Ola (2006). Modernist Architecture and the Tropical in West Africa: The Tropical Architecture Movement in West Africa, 1948–1970. Habitat International, 30: 396–411. Vanin, Fabio (2013). Maputo, cidade aberta – Maputo, Open City. Lisbon: Fundação Serra Henriques. Veloso, António Matos, J.M. Fernandes and M.L. Janeiro (2008). João José Tinoco. Arquitecturas em África. Lisbon: Livros Horizonte. Webb, Denver A. (2013). Lords of All They Surveyed? The Royal Engineers, Surveying, Mapping and Development in South Africa’s Eastern Cape. African Historical Review, 45(1): 22–45. Windsor-Liscome, Rhodi (2006). Modernism in Late Imperial British West Africa: The Work of Maxwell Fry and Jane Drew, 1946–56. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, 65: 118–215. Winters, Christopher (1982). Urban Morphogenesis in Francophone Black Africa. Geographical Revue, 72: 139–54. Wright, Gwendolyn (1987). Tradition in the Service of Modernity: Architecture and Urbanism in French Colonial Policy, 1900–1930. Journal of Modern History, 59(2): 291–316. Notes 1 The literature on the evolution of overseas Portuguese urbanism is vast and deals with Africa, South America, Asia and Oceania, as well as with the islands in the Atlantic (Madeira and Azores). These islands, the first to be colonized, were laboratories for the new urbanism that was later applied in the colonies in South America and Africa during the first centuries of Portuguese maritime expansion. Among others, see: Amaral (1987); Rossa (1995); Fernandes (1996);

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Carita and Araújo (1998); Teixeira and Valla (1999); Fernandes et al. (2006); Fernandes et al. (2010); Matoso (2010). Two of the first technical manuals written and published in Portugal that influenced the way fortresses, military posts and other settlements were built were: Luís Serrão Pimentel (1680) Methodo Lusitano de desenhar as fortificações das praças regulares & irregulares, fortes de campanha e outros pertencentes à arquitectura militar; and José de Figueiredo Seixas (ca 1760) Tratado da ruação para emenda das ruas, das cidades, villas e logares deste reino. The Portuguese words ‘ruação’ or ‘arruar’ meant in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the design of streets. However, a full assessment of the impact these norms, procedures or models had in the Portuguese ruled African territories still requires further research. 2 See the essays in Silva (2015) for a comparative perspective of the different colonial urban planning cultures in subSaharan Africa in this period. In this chapter, I follow, as a reference, my overview of the colonial urban planning culture in sub-Saharan Africa, published in Silva (2015, chapter 2). Note on terminology: quotation marks and italics have been avoided in the text, as much as possible. For that reason, words such as ‘native’ and ‘indigene’ have been used without quotations or italic, despite the fact that these words are not used as my own words. This observation also applies to the other chapters of the book. 3 Portuguese-Brazilian urbanism during the colonial period has important differences compared to Spanish colonial urbanism in South and Central America (Bruna, 2012). 4 See, for example, the cases of Ribeira Grande, in the Island of Santiago, Cape Verde; São Tomé, capital of São Tomé and Príncipe, built in the Ana Chaves Bay; for Luanda, capital of Angola see Amaral (1962; 1968), and for the twentieth century, ‘modern’ period, see, among others, Martins (2011), Fonte (2012), Magalhães (2009). For Lourenço Marques / Maputo, capital of Mozambique see Mendes (1979); Morais (2001); Morais et al. (2012); and Lima (2013). For an analysis of Ribeira Grande, Mindelo and Cidade da Praia, in Cape Verde, see Silva (1998); and Morais (2010) for Mindelo. For São Tomé and Príncipe, see Madeira (1999) and Morais and Malheiro (2013). Silveira (1956) provides a significant collection of images of Portuguese colonial cities and urban plans. 5 For an overview of colonial urban planning cultures, see Silva (2015), in particular my chapter in that book, ‘Urban Planning in Sub-Saharan Africa: An Overview’, which I follow here as a reference in the analysis of the Portuguese colonial urban planning culture in sub-Saharan Africa. 6 As referred to in Silva (2015a), the need to learn with the local conditions and traditions in the colonies is present in the work of some colonial architects and planners in Africa during the twentieth century. As Milheiro (2012a, pp. 416–59; and 2013) argues, this incorporation of local cultures is also present in the work of some architects/planners in the Portuguese colonies in Africa. As Milheiro (2012a: 291) states, some of these architects/planners that worked at that time in the Portuguese Overseas Urbanization Office (e.g., Architects Possolo, Schiappa de Campos and Seabra) received training in tropical architecture and urbanism in London at the Architectural Association, studying with Fry and Drew and with Otto Koenigsberger in the 1950s. 7 A. Galvão (1927) provides an interesting view of the importance of the colonial governor in the development of the colony. In the Portuguese case, Norton de Matos in early twentieth-century Angola provides a good example of the difference a governor could make, as were, before the period being considered here, the urban reforms carried out during the Marquês de Pombal period in the eighteenth century. The role of governor António de Spínola in Guinea, now GuineaBissau, in the last period of the Portuguese presence in the territory, still needs to be researched, although the evidence already available does suggest the existence of a strong effort in the field of spatial planning, as mentioned in this chapter. As referred to in Silva (2015a), another example of the importance colonial governors had in the formatting of colonial urban policies, frequently quoted in the literature, is the case of Nigeria, comparing the governors Frederick D. Lugard and William MacGregor (Home, 1983; Cell, 1986). 8 For the long period up to the first Republic, see Caetano (1934). Lei Orgânica do Ultramar 1953 / Carta Orgânica do Ultramar (Lei 2066, 27 July 1953; new version 24 June 1963) established the possibility of a non civil servant becoming president of the municipality in the colonies, in full time and with a salary. Nonetheless, this did not change the complete lack of political autonomy of this post. 9 In the Island of Príncipe, in São Tomé and Príncipe, the sleeping disease almost killed the entire local population at the end of nineteenth century and early twentieth century. For that reason, the colonial government considered abandoning the island. However, the intensive activity developed from 1911 until 1914 by one of the Missions of what later became the Portuguese Tropical Medicine Institute, under the leadership of Dr Bruto da Costa, almost eradicated the cause of the disease (Conference on the Sleeping Disease in the Island of Príncipe, by Fraga de Azevedo, director of the Tropical Medicine Institute – quoted in BGU, 1959). 10 Carta de Lei, 24 April 1902.

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11 Tropical medicine is considered to have been created in 1877 by Sir Patrick Manson. Until June 1956, 1,924 Portuguese doctors received the degree in Tropical Medicine awarded by the School of Tropical Medicine / Institute of Tropical Medicine, of which three quarters are estimated to have settled in the colonies. It was compulsory for any doctor interested to work in the Portuguese colonial health system to have this specialization (BGU, 382, 1957). In the post-Second World War period, several initiatives for the study and combat of tropical diseases were implemented (e.g., among many others, Missão de Estudo e Combate da Doença do Sono da Guiné, in 1945; Missão de Estudo das Endemias de Angola, in 1949). In the last part of the colonial period, research institutes in this field were created in Angola and in Mozambique – Instituto de Investigação Médica de Angola and Instituto de Investigação Médica de Moçambique, both created in 1955, and a Permanent Mission for Cape Verde (Missão Permanente de Estudo e Combate de Endemias de Cabo Verde). 12 In Guiné, now Guinea-Bissau, several measures against the transmitter mosquitoes were adopted in 1911 (Decreto 14 October 1911) and in 1912 in the Regulamento da Profilaxia Anti-palustre e doutras doenças congéneres (Portaria Provincial, 2 December 1912; and Diploma Legislativo Provincial 228, 29 August 1924, this one regarding the distribution of quinine among civil servants and the respective families). In 1910 the first technical mission focused on the sleeping disease was sent to Mozambique. 13 Ronald Ross identified in 1892 the mechanism by which malaria was transmitted from mosquitoes to humans, and for that reason he won the Nobel Prize in medicine in 1902 – ‘for his work on malaria, by which he has shown how it enters the organism and thereby has laid the foundation for successful research on this disease and methods of combating it’ (source: http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/medicine/laureates/1902/ross-facts.html, last accessed 28 July 2014). If it is true that malaria lost its importance as a constraining factor for human settlements in the following decades, in particular due to the use of new and more powerful pesticides, it continued to be an important factor to be considered by urban planning and by Portuguese colonization in general. Until the end of the colonial period, malaria in the Portuguese African colonies continued to attract national and international interest. For example, the World Health Organization and the Portuguese government organized in Mozambique, in December 1960, an international conference on the eradication of malaria. In the same year Mozambique received foreign experts to work with local Portuguese experts in the Mozambique Health Service on the eradication of Malaria (BGU, 427–8, 1961). The drainage of swamps as part of the fight against malaria was still an important task of colonial administration in charge of urbanism in the early 1960s, as the case of the capital city of São Tomé and Príncipe illustrates well (BGU, 1961 and 1962). 14 In the Portuguese colonial empire, national laws were applied in the colonies frequently through a specific legal act (‘Portaria’) that more often than not adapted the norms to the specific conditions in the colonies, in particular considering the different statute of the population: the Europeans and the natives. Important laws were only applied to the European citizens and not to the natives (e.g. laws on the organization of the corporative state) and were often applied only some years later (Political Constitution 1933, 19 March 1933, and Act 23 September 1933 were applied in the colonies through the Act 27552, 5 March 1937). 15 Fernandes (2002) and Milheiro (2008) offer useful information about the Portuguese colonial planners/architects of the twentieth century. In the first Congress of the Portuguese Architects, in 1948, the profession of colonial architect was addressed. Carneiro (1951), a Portuguese engineer with long experience of colonial issues, addressed and discussed the role of engineers in Africa. For the previous centuries, Teixeira and Valla (1999) provide useful information on Portuguese military engineers and architects and their role in the Portuguese colonial empire, information that is also useful and relevant for our analysis of the Portuguese African colonies. 16 Milheiro (2008: 4) refers to this procedure as a common practice: ‘prática generalizada entre os arquitectos da metrópole que desenham para as colónias sem conhecimento directo do território. Há consciência dos problemas que enfrentam os projectos realizados à distância’. 17 Nonetheless, technical visits from members of the GUC (renamed GUU) continued until the end. For example, in 1947, the then head of the GUC, Rogério Cavaca, and two architects João Aguiar and João Simões, went to Nova Lisboa, now Huambo, Angola, to collect evidence for the urban plan the GUC was going to elaborate; from there, the three crossed the continent by train to Mozambique, where a similar task was carried out, namely in the Plan for Beira, Mozambique (BGC, 247 and 249, 1946); in 1961, a member of the new department that succeed the GUU (Direcção de Serviços de Urbanismo e Habitação – Ministério do Ultramar) visited São Tomé and Príncipe to deal with the implementation of the water service in several towns (‘vilas’) of the Island, as part of the urbanization process (BGU, 432–3, 1961); in 1965, Leopoldo de Almeida, Teixeira Veloso, and other members of that ‘Office’ travelled to and stayed up to three months in Beira (Mozambique) in order to examine, jointly with the local municipal planners, several planning issues, namely the

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integration of the Beira Urban Plan in the Regional Plan (BGU, 481, 1965). Also in 1965 is reported the second visit to Quelimane of Mário de Oliveira, architect working in the Gabinete de Urbanização do Ministério do Ultramar, in order to finish the respective urban plan (BGU, 485, 1965). 18 Forrestier, Alfred Agache, Étienne de Groër, among others. 19 Such as the 1st Congress of Tropical Medicine in Western Africa, which took place in Luanda, in 1923, and numerous other international congresses and conferences (e.g. the International Congresses of Tropical Medicine in Berlin, Budapest, London, Cairo, Paris, Marseille and Washington; the international conferences on the sleeping disease in London and Paris, between 1907 and 1928) and the VI International Congress on Tropical Medicine and Malaria, in Lisbon, in 1958 (BGU, 382, 1957). 20 Numerous conferences, in Africa and in Europe, served as platforms for knowledge sharing in the field of urban planning in the colonies. Also important were the study visits, such as those that have been reported by Milheiro (2012a, p. 351). According to Ana Vaz Milheiro, during the 1960s, following the independence of the British and French colonies, Portuguese architects/planners working in the Portuguese colonies visited regularly some of the new independent African countries. Also important were the new institutions created to support the new independent states, as detailed in Silva (2015a). The Portuguese colonies benefited from these new forms of technical and political cooperation. The first meeting of the UN Economic Commission for Africa took place in Addis Ababa, in 1959, considered at the time as the beginning of a new era and the end of the cycle that started with the Berlin Conference in the 1880s (BGU, 1959). The 6th Meeting of the World Health Organization Committee was held in Luanda, in 1956 (BGU, 1956). Other organizations for panAfrica cooperation were also created and implemented in this period: in 1958, the Foundation for Mutual Assistance in sub-Saharan Africa (FAMA – Fundação para a Assistência Mútua na África do Sul do Sahara), which was expected to extend technical assistance to all parts of Africa (doing a similar work to that carried out by France and Britain (e.g. FIDES and the Colonial Development and Welfare Fund) in the respective colonies and by South Africa and the Federation of Rhodesia and Niassaland in the neighbouring territories. It would be steered by the CCTA (Comission pour la Coopération Technique en Afrique), created in 1950 and implemented in practice in 1954 (signed in London by Britain, France, Portugal, Belgium, Union of South Africa, Federation of Rhodesia and Niassaland, with headquarters in London), whose aim was to promote the scientific and technical development of Africa. Ghana and Liberia joined in 1957, and Guinea in 1959 (BGU, 1959). Among other initiatives, the CCTA organized, in January 1959, in Nairobi, the 2nd Inter-African Conference on Housing and Urbanization (a group of Portuguese civil servants – architects and engineers working in Portugal, Angola and Mozambique in the respective Urbanization Departments – took part in this conference). The 4th Inter-African Commission on Housing also took place in January 1959 in Nairobi. The challenges of urban growth in Africa and housing technical issues were some of the themes addressed in these conferences (BGU, 1959). The VI International Congress of Tropical Medicine and Malaria was held in Lisbon in 1958; the II Inter-Africa Statistical Conference was held in Mozambique under the umbrella of the CCTA; the first was held in Rhodesia in 1952 (BGU, 1958). The meeting of the International African Cartography Commission was held in Cape Town (BGU, 1957). In 1953, Prof. Oliveira Boleo argued in Portugal in favour of the organization of an International Congress on African Geology. In the application of the Marshall Plan in the Portuguese colonies starting in the early 1950s (air transport, hydraulic infrastructures, harbours, railway lines and so on) there was also cooperation with the US and articulation with the other European partners. 21 The first master plan for Luanda was prepared by Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva in 1942 (Journal Província de Angola – Interview given in Luanda by architects Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva, reprinted partially in BGC, 202, 1942). This plan was not implemented, according to Rogério Cavaca, the then head of the GUC – Colonial Urbanization Office – due to the fact that its implementation was too expensive. For example, he refers the cost of expropriations as too high (BGC, 245. 1945). Marat-Mendes and Sampayo in Chapter 5 of this book raise other possible reasons for the non-implementation of this plan. 22 As an illustration of the sort of influence these publications might have had on Portuguese colonial policy is the article ‘O Urbanismo nas Colónias’ (‘Colonial Urbanism’) published originally in Le Monde Colonial Illustré, June 1925, in Paris, and reprinted in BAGC, 25, 1927. The article describes the intra-urban racial segregation practised in the French Colonial cities (e.g. Dakar, Tananarive, Hanoi), some of which had been seen in the exhibition in the Grand Palais in Paris. It is argued that it was necessary to create a city for the natives segregated from the city for Europeans, based on health and cultural arguments. Considering the influence French urbanism had in Portugal at that time it is reasonable to admit these publications (or their ideas) had some influence in Portugal.

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23 In 1926, the League of Nations organized a study mission to British and French West Africa, from 22 March up to 4 June 1926, in which a Portuguese delegation of two members (Dr Augusto Ornelas and Dr Damas Mora) took part. Among other health institutions, the mission visited: Hospital for the Natives; Maternity Centre for the Natives; Child Hospital for the Natives; Mental Health Hospital for the Natives and so on). 24 For instance, the new political regime first put an end to the Niassa Company concession in the north of Mozambique; and in 1942 ended also the concession to the Mozambique Company; in 1948 the rescue of important infrastructures, including the Beira railway line and the harbour of Beira, took place (the Van Laun concession). For an overview of the history of the Company of Mozambique, see Cunha (1925/1926). 25 Carta Orgânica do Império; Reforma Administrativa Ultramarina; Reforma do Ministério das Colónias. Also important were: (i) Estatuto político, civil e criminal dos Indígenas de Angola e Moçambique (Decreto 12583, 23 October 1926); (ii) Bases Orgânicas da administração colonial (Decreto 15241, 24 March 1928). 26 For example, Home (1983) refers to the case of A.J. Thompson, who was appointed in 1928 the first professional Town Planning Officer in Nigeria after working on Letchworth Garden City and from 1920 to 1927 on garden suburbs in Cape Town. 27 As Riboldazzi (2009) shows, the 11 IFHTP congresses were important sources for the transfer of planning ideas in the inter-war period. In the Congress in Mexico, in 1938, ‘housing in the tropical and sub-tropical regions’ was one of the themes addressed. 28 Portaria 33, 12 December 1942 (Ministry of the Colonies, Francisco José Vieira Machado). 29 Portaria 24, 7 December 1942 (Ministry of the Colonies, Francisco José Vieira Machado). 30 The implementation of the Urban Plan in Beira (Mozambique) was estimated to last 50 years (according to the mayor of Beira, quoted in BGU, 390, 1957). 31 Fernando Pamplona provides an overview in an article published in Acção and reprinted in BGC (235, January 1945). 32 DDT, HCH, and others. In 1955, the Sanitary Brigade in São Tomé and Príncipe made highly positive remarks regarding the use of DDT. In 1956, the Conference on Malaria in Africa, held in Nigeria, praised the benefits of these products. The almost complete absence of mosquitoes in the city of São Tomé was attributed to DDT (BGU, 359, 1955). Later, the world would learn about the negative effects of these products (e.g. the book by Rachel Carson, Silent Spring, published in 1962). 33 I Congresso Nacional de Arquitectura, held in Lisbon, 28 May – 4 June 1948. 34 Interest in the ‘modern’ generation of architects and planners in the Portuguese African colonies is relatively recent but has already produced numerous publications. Besides the various publications of Fernandes and Milheiro focused on the work of these architects/planners, see also, among others: Grilo (2011) on Vasco Vieira da Costa, in Angola/Luanda; Goycoolea et al. (2011b) on Francisco Castro Rodrigues, in Angola; Rodrigues and Dionísio (2009) on Francisco Castro Rodrigues, in Angola; Goycoolea et al. (2011a) on Fernão Simões de Carvalho, in Angola; Veloso et al. (2008) on Tinoco, in Mozambique; Vanin (2013) on Pancho Guedes and other architects/planners, in Lourenço Marques / Maputo. 35 The Native Statute (Estatuto dos Indígenas) defined a legal status that restricted the rights of the vast majority of the non-white population in the Portuguese colonies (in the so-called ‘colónias de indigenato’). The Native Statute was first promulgated in 1926, updated in 1954 (Decreto-lei 39666) for the three remaining colónias de indigenato – Angola, Guiné and Mozambique – and abolished in 1961 by Decreto 43893, 6 September 1961. All Portuguese citizens, Europeans and Africans, became entitled with the same formal rights and duties. Before 1926, the Civil Code had been applied in the Portuguese colonies since the Decreto of 18 November 1869, establishing the plurality of statutes by recognizing different legal traditions throughout the empire (in Africa and in Asia). The 1961 Land Law (Decreto 43894, 6 September 1961) allowed the African population to hold land. Gonçalves (1926) provides an overview of the land regime in Portuguese African colonies up to the 1920s. 36 Carvalho (1949) provides an overview of the Statute of the Natives up to the end of the 1940s. 37 Germany had lost its colonies in the First World War and Italy lost its at the end of the Second World War. 38 Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial – GUC (Colonial Urbanization Office) created by Decreto 34173, 6 December 1944, became effective 1 January 1945. It was renamed Gabinete de Urbanização do Ultramar – GUU (Overseas Urbanization Office) in 1951; in 1957, it became the Direcção de Serviços de Urbanismo e Habitação in the Ministério do Ultramar (the renamed Ministry of the Colonies) within the Direcção-Geral de Obras Públicas e Comunicações (Decreto-lei 41169, 1957, article 36). For the role GUC/GUU had in Angola see Milheiro (2011, pp. 99–131) and in Guiné (now Guinea-Bissau) see Milheiro (2012a, pp. 234–309; 2012b) and Milheiro and Dias (2009). See also some of the reports or news published by the delegation of the GUC in Angola (e.g. BGU, 355, 1955 on the plans for Caconda, Uíge, Lobito).

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39 The staff of GUC was relatively small for the competences assigned and for the geographic area to be covered (eight colonies, in Africa and Asia). In 1949, besides the administrative staff and director (Rogério Cavaca), the technical staff comprised the following members: four architects – Lucino da Cruz, Mário de Oliveira, Pinto Lopes, João A. de Aguiar (subdirector); six engineers – Jacques Lenderset, Bettencourt Moreno, Quinhones Levy, João Delgado, Araújo Ribeiro, Pinto Coelho (subdirector) (BGC, 294, 1949). 40 Decreto 40742, 25 August 1956: established planning norms to be observed in the capitals of the colonies and in all the other main urban centres in the colonies. 41 Decreto 40040, 20 January 1955. This law was prepared taking into account experience in both the home territory and abroad. The previous legislation on hunting, natural reserves, nature protection in Angola, Mozambique, Guinea, and Cape Verde already included some of the principles of the London Convention on conservation issues, namely the creation of natural reserves. 42 Between 1943 and 1964, 4,500 dwellings were built by the programme ‘Bairros Indígenas / Bairros Populares’ in Angola. 43 In São Tomé and Príncipe, the ‘bairro de casas económicas’, built by the Sindicato Nacional dos Empregados do Comércio, Indústria e Agricultura for its members, in 1961; in Beira, Mozambique, in 1947. 44 Portaria 8, 4 November 1942. 45 In an interview in 1956, the then president of the municipality of Bissau (Guiné) declared that the urban plan for Bissau had been approved by the Ministry of the Colonies, in 2 May 1956 (BGU, 1956). It was common for the Ministry of the Colonies to examine during a visit to a colony, among other initiatives, the urban plans being prepared in that colony (e.g. the visit to Mozambique in 1955). In 1955, the urban plan for Caconda (Angola) was prepared by the Overseas Urbanization Office and sent to the municipality in order to guide future urban development. The plan was based on a forecast of 1,500 ‘civilized individuals’ within 25 years (BGU, 357, 1955). This figure suggests well the character of a long-term physical plan and one that discriminates between the area for Europeans (the planned urban area / city) and that for Africans or ‘natives’ in the words of the time. 46 In the case of Mozambique the end of the Company of Mozambique, which controlled an important part of the territory of this colony, was also relevant for urban development, as was the rescue of the concession of the harbour and railway line at Beira. 47 Lei 2048, 11 June 1951 – constitutional revision; Lei Orgânica do Ultramar, 17 June 1953 (new version 24 June 1963). Estatutos Político-Administrativos of each colony (‘província ultramarina’). 48 Parecer 37/V da Câmara Corporativa. Projecto de proposta de lei 519 – Plano de Fomento – Parte II (Ultramar) – on the implementation of I Plano Fomento, 1953–1958. 49 Presentation of II Plano de Fomento (1959–1964) by César Moreira Batista, National Secretary for Information. Its preparation started in 1955. Angola received 51.1 per cent of the overseas total investment, Mozambique 36 per cent, Cape Verde 2.3 per cent, Guiné 2 per cent (now Guinea-Bissau), and São Tomé and Príncipe 1.7 per cent. The remaining investment was applied in Portuguese colonies outside Africa: India, Macau and Timor (BGU, 1958). 50 Interview by the Ministry of the Colonies / Ministro do Ultramar Silva Cunha (in Diário de Notícias, 14 November 1967; reprinted BGU, 509–10, 1967). Education, health and housing are just some of the sectors in which public investment in the colonies increased substantially under this plan. 51 According to Home (1983), E. Maxwell Fry, one of the planners working in the British colonies in this period, was appointed Town Planning Adviser to the Resident Minister for West Africa from 1943 to 1945. 52 Among the numerous international or pan-African organizations or meetings through which mutual exchanges took place, contributing directly or indirectly to the sharing of planning ideas, the following are of note: the Commission for Technical Cooperation in Sub-Saharan Africa, founded in 1950; the Regional African Conference on Soil Mechanics (the second in 1959, in Mozambique; the first in 1955, in Pretoria); the African Statistical Conference (the first in Addis-Ababa, in 1959); the Southern Africa Railway Conference (the fourth in Mozambique, in 1959); the International Architecture Congress (in Beira, Mozambique, 1959); the 6th Meeting of the Inter-African Commission for the Social Sciences, a specialized group within the CCTA (Lisbon, in 1959: Belgium, Federation of Rhodesia and Niassaland, Ghana, Guinea, Liberia, Portugal, Britain, Union of South Africa). 53 For a comparative view of this issue see the essays in Silva (2015), in particular Chapter 2. 54 The literature on this issue is vast. For an informed examination see, among others, the following references quoted in Silva (2015a): Gale, 1980; Curtin, 1985; Cell, 1986; Frenkel and Western, 1988; Goerg, 1985; 1998; Deacon, 2000; Nightingale, 2006; Njoh, 2009a; Omolo-Okalebo et al., 2010; Rich, 1990; Njoh, 2009b; 2010; Bigon and Katz, 2014; Coquery-Vidrovitch, 1988; Home, 1983; Fuller, 2006.

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55 For a description of the German case after the end of First World War see, among others, Schler (2003) and Bernhard (2013). 56 The case of Afonso de Albuquerque’s policy in India, following the instructions of King Manuel I in the early sixteenth century, and later the marriage policy applied in India by King John III; the legislation of Marquês de Pombal in the eighteenth century, initially applied in Brazil and later in Mozambique and in the other Portuguese territories in Africa. One example of this approach is the inter-marriage policy in the region of Tete and Zambezia. Mário de Oliveira, urban planner in the Portuguese Colonial Ministry, in the 1950–1960s, argued in favour of a racial mix approach in the planning of Portuguese cities in Africa (‘confundidos siempre en estos espacios urbanísticos la población blanca y negra’) (in ‘Urbanismo en Africa Negra. Entrevista com o arquitecto Mário de Oliveira’, Radiado por el III Programa de Radio Nacional de Espana, en Madrid, el dia 30 de Mayo de 1961 – reprinted in BGU, 1961). Similar arguments can be found in Oliveira (1962). Burity da Silva (1967) ‘Os princípios portugueses da integração racial’ (BGU, 499–500) is another good example of the prevailing ‘official’ vision regarding the Portuguese principles of racial integration in the last phase of the colonial period. Another example of this ‘vision’ can be found in: J. Oliveira Boléu (1957) ‘Sobre a falta de fundamento da doutrina de discriminação racial’ (BGU, 388, 1957); Andrade (1953) ‘O Tradicional anti-racismo da acção civilizadora portuguesa’ (BGU, 339, 1953); Agostinho de Carvalho (1950) ‘Problemas de assimilação’ (BGC, 305, 1950: 21–8). 57 As described in Silva (2015a), the French criterion for spatial segregation within the city appears clearly stated in the planning legislation issued after the yellow fever epidemics in 1904 in Bassam, Cote d’Ivoire, in Saint Louis in 1912, in Dakar in 1914, and in Conakry (M’Bokolo, 1982; Goerg, 1985; Coquery-Vidrovitch, 1988; Attahi et al., 2009). 58 As noted in Silva (2015a) and as Home (1983; 2013) shows, the guiding principle in the British colonies was the segregation of Europeans from Africans with the few exceptions being mining camps and mission stations. However, Catherine Coquery-Vidrovitch (2014), among others, points out for a more nuanced segregation pattern in most colonial cities, a perspective also shared by Neto (2012) in the case of Huambo / Nova Lisboa, Angola, founded in 1912. 59 For all, see the view of Prof. Paiva Boleo, an academic and supporter of the Portuguese colonial policy at that time (BGC, 329, 1952). For an overview of the land policy until the 1920s see Gonçalves (1926). 60 In 1942, the Ministry of the Colonies authorized the Colonial Government of Angola to build a ‘bairro indígena’ in Luanda (Portaria 2, 14 July 1942). The first ‘bairro indígena’ was built in Luanda by the Mayor of Luanda, Magro Romão, and Governor of the Colony, Freitas Morna (35 dwellings). In 1948, the new Governor, Silva Carvalho, created the programme ‘Bairros Indígenas’ and the respective administrative commission, and later a fund to finance this initiative (‘Fundo dos Bairros Indígenas’), which was responsible for financing, until 1951, almost 500 dwellings for the ‘natives’. Housing production increased substantially during the 1950s and 1960s all over the colony, in particular in the capital (e.g. Bairro Popular da Reserva do Caminho de Ferro; Sambizanga; São Paulo; Ilha de Luanda), following the 1957 housing legislation (Diploma Legislativo 2799, Regulamento dos Bairros Indígenas de Angola, 1957). However, this legislation was intended to be applied in several urban centres in the colony, not only in the capital. The programme ‘Bairros Indígenas’ was renamed ‘Bairros Populares’ in 1959. These houses were supposed to be built by the state, but could also be built by private companies for the respective labour force, and by cooperatives of ‘natives’. Only a minimum of the hygiene and safety conditions had to be met and not the full conditions defined in the 1948 Building Code of Angola (Portaria 6269, 19 April 1948). Important to note here is the fact that the rhetoric around these initiatives claimed that it was not a case of racial segregation since no rigid barriers were built (BGU, 356, 1955). In the 1950s, the urban plans prepared by the Colonial Urbanization Office included in all or in almost all of them an area for a ‘bairro indígena’ where the building requirements were inferior to those in the rest of the city, as was the case in Caconda and Uíge (BGU, 355, 1955). In Benguela, a ‘bairro popular’ was built in 1959 (BGU, 405, 1959), and in Lobito the first was the ‘Bairro Novo da Quileva’ built by the municipality, followed by another built by the state (BGU, 456–7, 1963). In Moçamedes (now Namibe, Angola) a ‘bairro indígena’ was built, for the first time, based on traditional architecture (similar to ‘cubatas’). This ‘house style’ was named ‘Caraculo’, the name of the experimental centre where it was first built. Based on this experience, it was suggested that a survey of traditional architecture in Angola should be carried out, and based on that the ‘bairros indigena’ should then be built with different layouts according to the regional/local characteristics (e.g. Congo, Lunda, Cuanhama, Moxico and so many other regions). Similar surveys had already been carried out in Portuguese Guiné and in French West Africa (BGU, 395, 1958). In some cases, a ‘bairro operário’ was also included in the plan (e.g. Luanda, Uíge, Lobito, Lourenço Marques). In this case, the colonial government provided the plot of land, the house project and a loan for the building materials. In 1952, a fund (‘Fundo dos Bairros Operários’) was created. In the 1960s, other names were also used to refer to similar low rent housing (e.g. in Angola, ‘Bairros económicos e marginais’, in Gabela; later, in 1964, these initiatives of the 1950s were referred to as ‘bairros autóctones’; in Mozambique, they were referred to as ‘bairros de renda económica para famílias

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indígenas’, built in Machava; or ‘bairro de casa subeconómicas’, built in Inhambane). In 1961 the construction of a ‘bairro para trabalhadores africanos do porto de Lourenço Marques’ (BGU, 429–30, 1961) was approved. In Mozambique in 1962 the ‘Junta dos Bairros e Casas Populares’ was created, chaired by the Governor of the Colony, to promote the construction of this kind of ‘social housing’. In Bissau a ‘bairro indígena’ was built in 1925 (Portaria 59-A, 28 March). In Lourenço Marques, now Maputo, land was expropriated in 1926 to build a ‘compound para indígenas’ (‘bairro para índigenas’ – Portaria 261, 13 February 1926). 61 This form of segregation was common at that time. In Conakry, in the early 1900s, as noted by Goerg (1985: 329) one cemetery for the Europeans and another for the Africans were built. 62 The differentiation between ‘colonies for Europeans’ (e.g. Colonato Europeu da Cela, Angola) and ‘colonies for natives’ (e.g. in Angola: Colonato Indígena de Caconda; Colonato Índigena do Vale do Loge; Colonato Indígena na Região de Catete) was seen at the time by some observers as a form of ‘apartheid’, which was promptly rejected by the Portuguese colonial authorities based on the argument that these were just experimental agricultural camps (BGU, 351, 1954 and BGU, 379, 1957). 63 ‘edificações europeias’ (‘European constructions’). 64 See also Silveira (1989) and other essays included in Cahen (1989) on Lourenço Marques / Maputo, Cape Verde and Angola. 65 In 1961 the construction of 22 dwellings in Sá da Bandeira, Angola, promoted by the government of the district, was reported; in 1962 the decision to build 48 dwellings in São Tomé and Príncipe in the towns of Trindade, Madalena, Guadalupe, Neves and Angolares was reported. 66 In Mozambique, it was estimated that in 1960 only around 20,000 km2 were occupied by non-native persons and by the state, when the total area of the colony was 777,909 km2. In the words of one colonial administrator 97.5 per cent was therefore ‘free’ land that could be used by the natives as communal propriety (Coelho, 1962). 67 For Europeans this option required 30 years of continued occupation. 68 Decreto 43894, 6 September 1961 – Regulamento da Ocupação e Concessão de Terrenos nas Províncias Ultramarinas. 69 Numerous examples of planning failure could be mentioned here. For instance, in 1964, the mayor of Mindelo, the second largest city in Cape Verde, reported that it would be impossible to apply the urban plan unless part of the city built illegally in the meantime was demolished. In the 1890s up to the 1920s new constructions were always licensed through a formal procedure that included topographic and building design elements. Only in the 1920s did a generalized practice start of illegal constructions that later affected the implementation of the approved urban plan (Orlando Levy, ‘A cidade do Mindelo e o seu município, O Arquipélago, Praia’ 17 December 1964, reprinted in BGU, 1964).

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Chapter 3

The City under the First Republic in the Former Portuguese Africa Ana Vaz Milheiro

Introduction What kind of colonial city was produced by the First Portuguese Republic? Research into the Republic and colonialism is only now beginning to look at the topic of the city and the production of public space. For a considerable period the perceived knowledge was that the troubled times between 1910 – the end of the monarchy – and 1926 – the beginning of the military dictatorship – did not allow for the development of an urban and architectural culture that reflected the values of the so-called ‘republican ethics’. While in mainland Portugal one could observe the persistence of the kind of urban production that developed during the constitutional monarchy, namely in the design of the public space and in the infrastructures of the main metropolitan cities, in the African territories there was urgency in taking action that manifested itself in the expansion and beautification of the existing cities and in the planning and foundation of new cities. Many of these plans also reflected the ideological values that the republicans cherished with regard to Africa. We know that support for the republican cause was promptly accepted by the majority of the colonial society, which included not only the white or European population, but also part of the local population. The Republic would even inspire the appearance of associations connected to proto-nationalist movements of indigenous inspiration, as was the case in Guinea. Did urban design accompany these ideological movements? Recent research has revealed that there was a series of projects that reflect the emancipation desires of the colonial societies in the African territory– although not necessarily in the independentist sense. New cities such as Huambo in Angola (1910–1912/1926) – renamed Nova Lisboa by the Estado Novo in 1928 – which was designed by the military engineer Carlos Roma Machado (see Figure 3.1), or ‘reborn’ cities such as Bissau after the new plan (1919), which was drawn up by mining engineer José Guedes Quinhones (see Figure 3.3) for the Department of Colonial Development, brought republican ideals into the design of the public space. These were cities with infrastructure, in terms of basic sanitation and street lighting, with wide avenues laid out in a radial structure that housed the main representation programmes, and equipped with health, sports and educational facilities. These plans combined the low density of the Garden City – single-family residential programmes – with the monumental composition of the City Beautiful movement. In particular, they followed Portuguese examples, like the new urban expansion plan for Lisbon, by the engineer Frederico Ressano Garcia, but also the results of the international competition for the construction of Canberra, won by Walter Burley Griffin in 1912, which definitively established the design for a new city in a former colonial territory. Radial layouts combined with low density construction thus became the hallmark of colonial cities and also of an African ideal that was to last until the 1960s. This chapter sets out to analyse how the republican principles are reflected in the designs promoted during the republican period, namely the idea of progressive ‘assimilation’ of Portuguese citizenship by the ‘native’ populations. Furthermore, it looks at how the city became receptive to a growing desire for autonomy, and also how the propaganda set-up for republican values and virtues was recreated. Historiography has already pointed out how these layouts were reused and adapted by the Estado Novo regime, which in general appropriated the republican signs, making them its own. Since the independence, these same layouts have continued to serve as a setting for contemporary regimes, proving their longevity and adaptability.

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Angola: The New City of Huambo The new city of Huambo initiated the cycle of colonial urbanism in the First Portuguese Republic. The establishment of the Republic, on 5 October 1910, found this process at the beginning, as the military engineer Carlos Roma Machado wrote in an article published in the Boletim da Agência Geral das Colónias (General Agency of the Colonies Bulletin) in 1926 (that expands on an earlier one printed in 1913 in the Revista de Engenharia Militar [Military Engineering Magazine], Machado, 1926: 51). The text, entitled ‘Beginning and Foundation of the City of Huambo’, provides some unique insight into the work methodology followed by Machado in executing the plan, from the reconnaissance visits, topographic survey of the place, choice of the site, climate analysis and so on, to the laying out of the roads and of the various plots distributed in accordance with the city’s main functions: housing, services, administration and industrial areas. It also allows one to speculate on the models used in defining his preliminary draft. The 1909 report of the Benguela Plateau Colonization Mission, which was responsible for an initial study on the geographical, geological and climatic characteristics of the region, also makes reference to the nearly one thousand Europeans already inhabiting the area and the ‘excellent conditions for the … fixation’ of new settlers (Proença in Rosas and Rollo, 2009: 210).1 Making a living from trade with the African populations, ‘they live completely isolated … monopolizing small sobados, where they reign as absolute rulers away from the sight of the authorities’ (Report of the Mission … 1909, in Nogueira, 1950: 18). The motivation for the construction of the new city in the central plateau of Benguela was part of the strategy for the settling of European populations in the vast Angolan hinterland, which the First Republic assumed as one of its main commitments regarding the challenges that the cohesion of the Portuguese Colonial Empire faced in the post-Berlin Conference (1884–1885) period. Ordinance 1086 of 24 August 1912, signed by Norton de Matos, then the province governor, serves as an example of the strategy followed by the Portuguese state, explaining that it is ‘imperative that the towns created have a civilization imprint far superior to the native ones, and that, without losing the essentially Portuguese character, which so notably characterizes our old colonial towns and cities, they conform to modern hygienic practices’ (Matos, 1912: 508). This comment precedes the determinations that were to guide the construction of the new city of Huambo. The same document, while confirming the segregation provisions separating the ‘white’ city from the ‘black’ city, required the conception of a ‘native house type, solidly built, and providing, at least, the most elementary hygiene conditions’ (Matos, 1912: 508), thus already identifying the housing question as the main official concern with the local populations. The colonial policies of the republican regime, which created the Ministry of the Navy and of the Colonies in 1911, were based on a strong nationalist spirit, resulting from international pressures as to the sharing of the African and Asian territories and from awareness of Portugal’s diminished standing in the European context (Alexandre, 2000: 184 ff.). From an ideological perspective, there was a decentralization effort aimed at allowing each overseas province progressive administrative autonomy and greater legislative specificity. However, these two goals proved to be unrealistic and were even to give rise to some instability in colonial governance (Proença in Rosas and Rollo, 2009: 206). The rapid changing of the heads of the Ministry of the Colonies and of governors very much reflects the uncertainty that marks the period of the First Republic and this situation would remain until 1926, when there was a change in the regime. From the launch of the project until its inauguration on 21 September 1912, six different people were appointed to govern the province. Work on the project commenced under governor José Augusto Alves Roçadas (1909–1910) who, in June 1910, charged Roma Machado and Mariano Machado with the study of ‘future population centres connected to the railway network’ (Nogueira, 1950: 19). He was succeeded by Caetano Gonçalves (interim governor, between 1910 and 1911), Manuel Maria Coelho (1911–1912), Manuel Moreira da Fonseca (Government Commissionaire) and António Romeiras Macedo (interim governor, both in 1912). However, José Maria Norton de Matos (1912–1914) was the first to unequivocally associate himself with the project, going as far as to legislate on technical and occupation aspects of the new city, as we have already seen. The need to assert Portuguese presence in the African continental territories, which were acknowledged as an integral part of the Portuguese Empire (Guinea, Angola and Mozambique), led to important transformations in the management of these regions; one began to see the ‘implementation of a modern colonial apparatus’ (Alexandre, 2000: 161). A rising creole elite – that ensured the colonial administration during part of the

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nineteenth century – was progressively and intentionally replaced by ‘white’ settlers. The foundation of Huambo was justified by the need to create a more favourable city for the settling of this European population, as explained by Carlos Roma Machado. To this end a ‘verdant, mild-climate location, with forested slopes, free from miasmas and animals that are dangerous to man, with the climatic conditions of a true sanatorium, and in which the white Portuguese population can live until the fourth generation’ (Machado, 1926: 37) was chosen, over the early coastal urban settings, considered ‘somewhat swampy and insalubrious, near the sea’ (Machado, 1926: 37), such as Lobito, Benguela or Moçâmedes (now Namibe). Machado would return to the ‘white’ colonization theme in several public communications, namely in colonial conferences (Machado, 1930), using his in-depth knowledge of the territories of Mozambique (where he travelled between 1898 and 1909) and Angola (where he lived between 1909 and 1920). His studies were essentially focused on regions where ‘the white Portuguese family could live in successive generations without the need for crossracial breeding’ (Machado, 1930: 1), thus also discarding the option of having foreign settlers. It is obvious that racial miscegenation was not a priority. The republican approach, as far as relations with the African populations were concerned, generally favoured a protectionist spirit, while allowing, at the same time, the acquisition of Portuguese citizenship, through an albeit restricted process of assimilation (Torgal in Pimenta, 2012: 13). The location of the new city of Huambo also derived, as previously mentioned, from the expansion of the rail network, the development of which was also part of the progressive ambitions of the Republic. The network was to be operated by the Caminhos de Ferro de Benguela (CFB) Company, for which Roma Machado was working at the time. The network’s design generated a group of villages or settlements that more or less served the function of urbanity. The structure of these villages was described as linear, aligned along the railway line, which essentially divided the commercial activity functions. On the opposite side to the location of the railway station itself, commercial warehouses were placed, but also ‘hotels, bars, houses, taverns, and especially the shops of exchanges with the natives … And everything was erected in a few weeks, after the CFB established its station and its yard’ (Machado, 1926: 31). These were, thus, settlements with pragmatic and functional characteristics. The buildings were precarious and followed the traditional ‘native’ building systems. Somewhat further away from this commerce centre, ‘two nucleus of houses [were] formed, the main one consisting of the CFB staff dwellings … – most of them dismountable, made of wood and with zinc ceiling, yet very hygienic and always located in a good site’ (Machado, 1926: 31). The military and customs authorities followed the process, also building temporary structures, which were abandoned and ‘brought up further upstream, as required by the service needs as the railway line advanced’ (Machado, 1926: 33). The ambiance that was lived, and described, in these settlements, had little to do with the vision that Machado valued for the new city which, as already pointed out, was essentially aimed at settling Portuguese colonizers. The city is located on the site of the catholic mission of the Holy Spirit, more specifically in Ombira and Ongombe, the presence of which was also testament to the salubrity and climatic suitability of the region for the ‘white race’, as Machado desired. The topographic survey allowed for the execution of the city plan, promptly ‘marked in the field’ (Machado, 1926: 36). In addition to the environmental guarantees – ‘In almost all the plateau there were no salalé [termite] hills, which was a guarantee for the conservation of the houses to be built. There were also no mosquitoes or tsetse flies’ (Machado, 1926: 40) – Roma Machado was also concerned about sanitary issues (sewer drainage, for example), the existence of ‘first quality [resources] for brick and tile making’ (Machado, 1926: 42) to guarantee building materials, the adequacy of the land for the practice of horticulture and an abundant supply of potable water (an estimate of 17,000 inhabitants with a need of 100 litres per inhabitant/day). He also made reference to the existence of hydraulic energy sources2 for ‘future industrial development’ (Machado, 1926: 46). Five arguments were presented as advantageous: the climatic conditions, the presence of the railway, the potential for the settlement serving as a trading post and an important agricultural centre, the possibility of establishing a group of administrative authorities and services ‘inherent to a capital city in the Angolan interior’ (Machado, 1926: 46) and the presence of energy sources for industry. Later, Machado would criticize the lack of investment in industry and the predominance of trade-related economic activities as proof of a certain absence of private enterprise and in developing the natural potentials of Huambo, while benefiting from the presence of the railway and from excellent connections with the coast.

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Figure 3.1 Preliminary study for the Huambo plan by engineer Carlos Roma Machado Source: Boletim Geral das Colónias (1926), vol. II, no. 7

The sanitary structures were located outside the population centre. Important facilities were also included in the plan, such as a ‘laundry, abattoir, municipal barn, waste incinerator and septic tanks’ (Machado, 1926: 47). Their locations were based on the prevailing winds: ‘… shows well that the site for the sanitary [facility] was chosen for being on the windward side; the indigenous neighbourhood, cemetery and sanitary annexes, on the leeward side’ (Machado, 1926: 47). The plan thus followed the basic principles of zoning, probably inspired by the Garden City plans and the designs of Ebenezer Howard. The buildings representing the administrative and colonial powers accordingly occupy the roundabout, an axial plaza that marked the civic centre of the city.3 The Anglo-Saxon inspiration was assumed in the residential neighbourhoods, where the ‘lots’ following the ‘English system should have a frontage to the wide streets or to the avenues, and another narrower one to the rear streets to be used by the natives and for cleaning and sewer drainage’ (Machado, 1926: 50). Each single-family house was to ensure individual sewer drainage being integrated into the city’s general sanitation system.4 These neighbourhoods were also served by proximity facilities, such as markets. In the proposed plan, the governor’s palace and respective garden occupied the site of the old mission, which meanwhile relocated to the Cuando region (Nogueira, 1950: 19). As explained, in 1912 there were already facilities for the administration, which occupied a building described as a ‘convenient chalet’ (Machado, 1926: 50). This was followed by buildings for the inland revenue and agricultural departments, and a school. The military authorities also had their own facilities in a nearby barracks. In line with the zoning principles, the plan also defined the location of the indigenous neighbourhood, the hospital specializing in infectious diseases, the cemetery and its crematorium, the school park, the working-class neighbourhood, the industrial workshops, the prison facility and, above all, a space of ecumenical worship ‘reserved for the churches of all cults, inspired by the church of Blantyre’ (Machado, 1926: 50), confirming the religious tolerance advocated by the republican ideology. Thus, the symbolic weight of the Catholic Church was reduced in the republican

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colonial space, and it was only later, with the political regime change in 1928, that it (progressively) recovered part of its urban centrality. Vasco Regaleira would design, between 1943 and 1945, a new cathedral for the city (Fonte, 2012: 359–61). One of the central aspects of the city’s design was naturally the railway facilities, station, warehouses and ‘indigenous commerce’ areas. Heavy traffic was also removed from the centre and did ‘not cross the city’ (Machado, 1926: 50). Machado’s preliminary draft defined the main guidelines, not only in terms of planning on the ground, but also for the development strategy plan for the interior region of the Benguela plateau. Machado acknowledged the influence of the ‘new cities of America’ (Machado, 1926: 54) and, at the conclusion of 1926, he added that the plan was also ‘studied with a view to achieving the greatest harmony with the most modern currents at the time, and [with] the design and hygiene of cities … in Europe’ (Machado, 1926: 59). He also recalled the four guidelines that he had identified in 1912 and that would be, in his opinion, key for the future success of the plan implementation, and ‘urgent in a new city …: don’t separate, for sake of economy, the houses too far from each other; the water supply; the sanitation, at least by way of cesspits; and the lighting’ (Machado, 1926: 54). Ongoing resistance from the resident population to the ground layout, particularly with respect to the lots allocated for housing, leading to changes in the ownership boundaries, reflected a sensibility, among the colonizers that was unfamiliar with rigorous regulations and layouts (Machado, 1926: 55). This episode took on new contours in the July 1912 edition of O Jornal de Benguela (newspaper) where it was interpreted as a consequence of the people’s dissatisfaction with ‘the placing of the railway station far away from the central “plateau”’ (Nogueira, 1950: 20). Nevertheless, Machado is referred in the same article as the ‘new city maker’ (Nogueira, 1950: 20). As Machado wrote, 13 years after its inauguration the city of Huambo already boasted 200 houses ‘ornamented in the Portuguese modern style …, in the vast majority, the respective lots aligned with the original plan’, and built in masonry, according to the already cited ordinance issued by Governor Norton de Matos (Machado, 1926: 56).5 And in 1930, journalist Carlos Soromenho provided the following description: ‘Irradiating from the settlement, the [region] was covered with roads in all directions for hundreds of kilometres; permanent bridges and public buildings were constructed … a school building was built …, and like a metamorphosis from thicket into town, it grew day by day, in a feverish desire of life and progress’ (Soromenho, [Plateau, 21 September 1930] in Nogueira, 1950: 21). Twenty years later, Nova Lisboa was the second most important city after Luanda. Henrique Galvão and Carlos Selvagem wrote of the still dispersed character of its occupation, ‘but with its urbanization plan being accomplished rapidly’ (Galvão and Selvagem, 1952: 425). In the previous decade, João Aguiar, already at the service of the Colonial Planning Office, where he played a leading role in the development of the urban plans (Milheiro, 2012a: 217), designed a new urbanization plan for the city – now named Nova Lisboa – reaffirming the guidelines of 1912. Aguiar strengthened some sectors that were fundamental to the urbanism of the Estado Novo which followed the republican period (Milheiro, 2012a: 218), namely in the fields of education (meeting the needs of extending education to secondary level and technical teaching) and health/hospitals. The monumental structures were accentuated and the roundabout – now named Praça Manuel de Arriaga and later Praça Dr Agostinho Neto (following independence) – finally received administrative buildings designed in accordance with the stylistic, construction and functional standards developed by the Colonial Planning Office from 1946 onwards (Milheiro, 2012b) (see Figure 3.2). Returning to the original layout of Huambo, it is tempting to compare it with the winning plan by the American architect Walter Burley Griffin for Canberra, the new capital of Australia. The results of that competition were published precisely the same year that Machado defined the Angolan city’s design.6 In Canberra, Griffin adjusted the layout of its radials to the rugged topography of the region, introducing a new road system made up of large avenues and using zoning as a way of functionally organizing the city. The monumental axes ensure the representation role of the public space and the division of ‘powers’ (central and municipal), as well as framing other programmatic sectors, such as higher education. The Canberra design can likewise be aligned with the City Beautiful tradition and its road network confirms a desire for mobility, along with the monumentality inherent to a city representative of the central power representation (be it colonial or emancipated).

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Figure 3.2 Huambo in the 1950s

Source: Boletim Cultural do Huambo (1950), no. 3. Published by the municipality of Huambo (Angola) during the colonial period

Cities built in un-urbanized landscapes, located in inland regions of previously colonized territories advance the entrepreneurial capacity of their respective new nations, as was the case, for example, with the foundation of Belo Horizonte (Aarão Reis, 1897), the new capital of the Brazilian state of Minas Gerais, which combined the monumentality of the great thoroughfares with an urban block layout inspired by Cerdà’s plan for Barcelona (1859). The process of founding new capital cities, in independent countries, such as Brazil, as well as in territories still under colonial governance, was nevertheless expressive of a new entrepreneurial spirit that embodied a breaking with the old colonial past. In the Portuguese case, the cities founded or redeveloped during the Republic sought to inscribe the new regime in a progressive and modernizing movement, advocating new models of development that were related, albeit modestly, with the urban space production. The relation between Canberra and Huambo, despite the limited scale of the latter in comparison to its Australian relative, is manifested, in our opinion, in the most dynamic aspects and in the adaption to the topography that Machado’s plan seems to indicate, when comparing to more static international plans that Portuguese urban planners could equally refer to from the early decades of the twentieth century. Guinea: Bissau and Bolama In Guinea, in a geographical and landscape context that was very different to the Central Plateau of Benguela, and in a colonial region without the economic and development potential of Angola, the military engineer José Guedes Quinhones drew up at least two expansion plans for already existing cities in the period following the assassination of president Sidónio Pais in 1918: Bissau (1919) (see Figure 3.3) and Bolama (1920–1921), both conceived as ‘new towns’. The Portuguese taking effective control of the territory coincided with the establishment of the First Republic, following the military campaigns of João Teixeira Pinto in Guinea (1913–1915). The design process for the two projects also spanned – as was the case with Machado’s plan for Huambo – a series of governors for the Guinean province. Carlos Ivo de Sá Ferreira, José de Oliveira

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Duque and José Luís Teixeira Marinho came and went during 1919. They were followed by Henrique de Sousa Guerra (1919–1920) and Jorge Frederico Velêz Caroço, who spent longer in office, from 1921 to 1926. Guedes Quinhones accumulated the double responsibility of chief engineer at both the Public Works and Land Surveying directorates in the local Economic Development Department. For Bolama, then the capital of the colony, he proposed a somewhat grandiose plan that can also credibly be attributed to a model inspired by Griffin’s Canberra design. In this context, the circular plazas constitute rotating structures, ensuring excellent adaptation to the site’s morphology. Quinhones produced at least four key documents that provide some insight into his project methodology: a preliminary report (1921), the existing city’s survey plan,7 the proposed city plan8 and the topographic survey with indication of the newly planned axes.9 According to the New City of Bolama Plan, the centre of the town, in the vicinity of the harbour, already had the following facilities (most of these were located in the existing city, an urban structure criticized greatly by Quinhones in his preliminary report): a Governor’s residence, the West Africa Trading Company, the Town Hall and Council Administration, the António Silva Gouveia trading depot (which held three plots in the town, two of which were already in the expansion areas), the market, the Official Printing Office, the Post Office and Telegraph building and the naval workshops. In what could be considered a second perimeter were located the Banco Nacional Ultramarino (National Overseas Bank) headquarters, the primary school, the site of the Military Civil Hospital, Praça do Governador Sousa Guerra (then the province/ colony governor), lots held by the West African Telegraph Company and by José Rodrigues Guimarães and, finally, the experimental farming establishment. In a third suburban level, the plan identified the new country house belonging to A.S. Gouveia, the water supply source, the cemetery and a cattle enclosure. Despite Quinhones critical view, the new design adapted itself to the surveyed city, monumentalizing the public space by opening up and redesigning the squares, such as the aforementioned Praça Sousa Guerra, which was proposed as the location of the new Town Hall building, also designed by the Portuguese engineer and probably from the same year.10 Its neoclassical configuration contrasted with the pragmatic character of the model design that he applied to the primary schools (single room for 42 students, teacher’s house, sanitary installation and covered playground11) in 1917. The use of the large existing facilities (water supply, cemetery, barracks, experimental farm, harbour, Economic Development headquarters, Bank …) and the rationalization of some of the land plots’ uses had to do with the layout itself, imposing directions and axes. There is no reference to any religious building. The peripheral areas were defined by a ring avenue that indicated the town’s limit. Little of this was implemented in the field, perhaps foreseeing the decision to change the Guinean capital to Bissau, a decision that was only taken after the change in political regime that took place in 1926. Contrary to the urban project for Bolama, the ambitious plan of the ‘New city of Bissau, demarcated and designed by chief engineer José Guedes Quinhones, 1919’ (Figure 3.3), compared to the scale of the existing town (rapidly referred to as ‘Old Bissau’), was completed, at least in its general guidelines. The then town of São José de Bissau (as it was then known, at least in 1884, Silveira, 1956: 148, print 193) was a small settlement with a regular layout and triangular perimeter, located next to the walls of the São José fortress, which was founded in 1766. In the plan, registered circa 1864, ‘one can recognize’, writes Luís Silveira, ‘the permanence of the star-shaped land fortifications, but protected by the fortress, it is already developing a populated settlement facing the sea and protected from attacks from the land’ (Silveira, 1956: 147). It was this settlement that the Quinhones plan was to expand. Structured along a monumentalized avenue that linked the lower part of the city (the harbour) and its highest height, where he placed a single plaza/rotunda12 that was to house the main official facilities of colonial representation, this republican period plan was more rhetorical in scenographic terms than the one attempted for Bolama. The background of international colonial urbanism, exemplified by the New Delhi plan, which George V announced in 1911, may have influenced the Guinean layout. In the case of New Delhi, the plan was also for the transfer of the political and administrative centre, which moved from Calcutta to a more inland region of the British colony. Like Old Bissau, Delhi was an already existing settlement that was to be monumentalized in accordance with the triumphalist spirit of the British Empire. Edwin Lutyens was the architect who presided over the Delhi Town Planning Committee on the planning of the new imperial capital, from 1912 onwards. Herbert Baker joined the process later, appointed by Lutyens himself. The actual building works commenced after the First World War.

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Figure 3.3 The new city of Bissau by engineer José Guedes Quinhones, 1919 Source: Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino. Reproduction authorized by the AHU)

The New Delhi plan was based on an east-west directional axis (then Central Vista and King’s Way), a monumental avenue that led to the Viceroy’s House (now Rashtrapati Bhavan, 1911–1916), properly framed by the vista, in the background, of Raisina Hill (Kostof, 1993: 176). It was executed in the true Western Baroque style that also crossed the Atlantic in the form of Pierre Charles L’Enfant’s urban plan for the new city of Washington (1791). The road network was formed by diagonals that configured large triangular lots. The various urban functions are equally distributed throughout the sectors. Lutyens designed the original neighbourhood for colonial employees, now called Lutyens Bungalow Zone. In Bissau, an axial vista framed the Governor’s Palace, which underwent several renovations until it was given its current design by the architects of the Colonial Planning Office13 (Milheiro, 2012b: 262–5). In 1921, Quinhones admitted that the design of the roundabout was ‘comparable to Marquês de Pombal Square’ (Quinhones, 1921: 13) in Lisbon, thus establishing a parallel between the design of the new colonial cities of the republican period and the recent expansion works of the capital of the Portuguese Empire. The main avenue of Bissau was named 31 de Janeiro (during the Estado Novo it was renamed Avenida da República, and is now Avenida Amílcar Cabral). The orthogonal structure of the network was organized from this main axis, parallel to the Geba River. The inland boundaries were also defined by a ‘ring’ avenue that bordered the ‘suburbs’. Ordinance 192, partially published in the Boletim Oficial da Província da Guiné (Official Bulletin of the Province of Guinea) of 9 April 1921, approved the ‘City of Bissau Plan, surveyed by the Land Surveying Directorate’. Its second article determined the perimeter contour of the city … defined by nine masonry marks with a height of 1.50 metres … and by the stretching of the alignments 2-1 and 8-9 down to the sea. … The total perimeter of the city encompasses an area of 1,380,469.00 sq. metres, that is 138 hectares, 4 ares and 69 centiares.

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The next article defined the dimensions of the suburban zones: ‘the suburbs of the city are marked 2.000 m from the perimeter of the city by means of straight alignments, parallel to the sides that form the perimeter contour of the city, encompassing the area of 13,138.00 sq. metres, that is 1.332 hectares and 70 ares’ (Barbosa, 1921: 147). The Quinhones plan clearly identified some functions that were or could be included in a progressive framework, although less complete than the detailed description of Roma Machado for the city of Huambo. Land lots are defined for the electrical power and water supply facilities, for the Governor’s Palace, for the new hospital and for the BNU Bank, which were indispensable for the proper functioning of the new city, and some avenues are marked, signalling regional connections such as the Avenida de Incali and Avenida de Antula. Thus, a first set of facilities implemented by the Republic (to which was added the Primary School, around 1922, near Bissau Velha, now transformed into a city neighbourhood) was proposed, which the Estado Novo would later expand. One should note that the plan did not identify a site for any religious building. However, a church would eventually occupy a privileged site in the city, benefiting from the representation potential of the Avenida Central. As in Huambo, Vasco Regaleira emerged as the chief designer of Bissau Cathedral (1942?, though Regaleira was replaced by Paulo Cunha of the Employees’ Houses Construction Brigade, and the final design was by João Simões, already under the auspices of the Colonial Planning Office, in the Estado Novo period, which returned to religious structures their prominent place in colonial cities). The new urban plan, which was implemented after the Second World War, also provided for the building of a new bishop’s palace in one of the newly designed squares. Both the palace and the square were never built. The applicability of the Quinhones project can be evaluated by the ‘Report on the survey of the city of Bissau and other population centres of the colony of Guinea’, drawn up by engineer José António dos Santos Guardiola as part of a Colonial Planning Office mission, together with architect José Manuel Galhardo Zilhão (report undated, probably conducted between 1945 and 1946). The document began by criticizing the location of Bissau, and the proximity of the Geba River, whose ‘sludge [is deposited] on the shore near the city, with clear damage to the city in terms of salubrity and aesthetics’ (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 2) (see Figure 3.4), also noting the three swamp zones that surround it. The First Republic initiative of monumentalizing the city was also questioned, because of the decision to allow ‘the growth of this city in such an unfavourable place’ (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 4). The main functioning facilities were also analysed: the ruinous state of the Pidjiguiti landfill pier (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 6); the ‘electrical energy distribution network for lighting and power’ (provided by the power plant located near the sports area; Guardiola, 1945/1946: 9); the municipal market (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 13); the municipal abattoir, ‘badly located, ought to be moved to an outer zone of the city’ (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 16); the cemetery, near the hospital area, serving both the so-called civilized people and the ‘natives’14 (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 16–17). The report also confirmed the nonexistence of ‘a water supply distribution network, or sewers, or paved or even clean streets’ (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 17).15 The ‘road plan of the city’ was criticized, namely the width and the profile of the streets (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 18). Furthermore, the report noted that in the old town the streets were ‘in their majority, very narrow and surrounded by poor buildings, with no air or light’ (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 19), advocating, for public health reasons, their near total demolition (keeping only the trade houses and some important streets). The remaining neighbourhoods of the city, where precarious housing predominated, i.e. housing built using native building systems, also came in for criticism, particularly for promoting racial miscegenation between Europeans, Cape Verdeans and Guineans, ‘mixing the various building types: the straw-hut native style, construction in earth covered with thatched, zinc or tile roofs and the construction in sun-dried mud blocks’ (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 19) (see Figure 3.5). The report was critical of the main public space-shaping element inherited from the First Republic – the Praça do Império, which was regarded as exaggerated in its dimensions and without any leisure function (or green area) (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 25). Regardless of Bissau’s precariousness, José António dos Santos Guardiola recognized that ‘in the early period following the change of the capital [in 1941], the city evolved in a way that can be considered remarkable’ (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 14), thus ensuring the essentials of the republican design proposals. The

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Figure 3.4 Aerial view of Bissau

Source: José António dos Santos Guardiola’s report (1945/1946), Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, Portugal – Reproduction authorized by the AHU/IICT in the context of the research project ‘The Colonial Urbanization Offices: Architectural Culture and Practice’. FCT: PTDC/AUR-AQI/104964/2008

survey that he then carried out was intended to serve as a basis for the design of a new urban plan by the Colonial Planning Office, headquartered in Lisbon. The new General Urbanization Plan was approved on 12 June 1948, still under the governorship of Manuel Sarmento Rodrigues. The laying out of three new avenues parallel to Avenida da República and, like the latter, perpendicular to the banks of the Geba River was proposed; these avenues were also to end in roundabouts, flanked by public buildings. The urban network was organized in a grid defined by the three newly proposed avenues, which were designed as boulevards with central tree-lined islands. In the expansion zone, the size of the urban blocks increased. The locations of the old and new structures equipping the city were identified: cemetery, hospital, stadium, industrial zone, residential neighbourhoods, low income zones and shopping/ business zones; very specific buildings were also identified: the palace of the Government, the Commercial Association (that would move to another place later), the cathedral, the City Hall and the new market (the last two were never built), the power plant and the museum. The tendency of locating the main facilities in the proximity of Avenida da República was accentuated, confirming its vocation as a representation structure. The identification of the education sector would come later. An onsite evaluation of the city shows that little of the 1948 plan designed by the specialists of the Colonial Planning Office was actually implemented. The Estado Novo strengthened the pre-existing structures defined by the 1919 Quinhones plan, gradually occupying the public spaces of the First Republic and giving them a political rhetoric in line with the ideological discourse that presided over the colonial representation of the pre-independence period. These same spaces are still today being transformed as places for the staging of political power, now in a post-colonial framework, confirming their capacity for adaptation.

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Figure 3.5 House with six bedrooms for rent in Chão de Papel, property of João Silvestre, where 15 men, 13 women, seven girls, one boy and five children lived together

Source: José António dos Santos Guardiola’s report (1945/1946), Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, Portugal – Reproduction authorized by the AHU/IICT in the context of the research project ‘The Colonial Urbanization Offices: Architectural Culture and Practice’. FCT: PTDC/AUR-AQI/104964/2008

Final Considerations As the case of Bissau shows, the urban plans developed during the First Republic were increasingly criticized by the Estado Novo regime which followed it. However, the dictatorial regime’s interventionism failed repeatedly in its attempts to replace the structures and plans inherited from the republican period with new plans. While it failed in terms of implementation in the territory, it did benefit from the already consolidated structures, and appropriated what these represented for itself. So much so that the Portuguese colonial city, which can still be recognized in some of the former colonial territories, became closely identified with the new regime. But it was, particularly in the case of the new cities, often a product of the First Republic. Having inherited the zoning system from the republican plans, the Estado Novo architects were quite successful in reconfiguring the imaginary of these same urban spaces. Anticipating the transformative dynamics of the independence movement, the Salazar regime defined new uses for the pre-existing structures. It was successful, for example, in inverting the functional hierarchies of the republican programme, reinstating the function of religious buildings and strengthening new functional areas that were deemed to be of strategic importance for the longevity of the colonial, sanitary and educational policies. Bissau, the part that still exists today and corresponds homogenously to the plan developed by Guedes Quinhones, is rarely associated with the First Republic. The same is true for Huambo and, to a lesser degree, Bolama. Nevertheless, the decisions taken in building these ‘new cities’ ended up defining the model that was to be followed in the final period of Portuguese colonialism, becoming a reference for the capacity for colonial enterprise of the Portuguese ‘urbanists’ of the latter half of the twentieth century.

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References Alexandre, V., 2000. Velho Brasil, Novas Áfricas. Lisboa: Edições Afrontamento. Barbosa, S.J., 1921. Portaria nº 192, aprovando a planta da cidade de Bissau, levantada pela Direcção de Agrimensura [Repartição do Fomento]. Boletim Oficial da Província da Guiné, 9 April, 15, p. 147. Fernandes, J.M., Janeiro, M.L. and Fonte, M.M., 2010. Angola no século XX, Cidades, Território e Arquitecturas 1925–1975. Lisboa: Edição de Autor. Fonte, M.M., 2012. Urbanismo e Arquitectura em Angola. Lisboa: Caleidoscópio. Galvão, H. and Selvagem, C., 1952. Império Ultramarino Português – Monografia do Império, volume 3: Angola. Lisboa: Empresa Nacional de Publicidade. Guardiola, J.A.S. [ca. 1945/1946]. Relatório sobre o inquérito à cidade de Bissau e outros centros populacionais da colónia da Guiné. Lisboa: Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial [IPAD 994]. Kostof, S., 1993. The City Shaped: Urban Patterns and Meanings Through History. New York: Bulfinch Press [1991]. Machado, C.R., 1926. Início e Fundação da cidade de Huambo. Boletim da Agência Geral das Colónias, Ano II, 7, January, pp. 30–59. ———, 1930. Colonisação da raça branca portuguesa em Angola – urgência da sua efectivação para a nossa preponderância e autonomia na mesma colonia. 3º Congresso Colonial Nacional. Lisboa: Tipografia a Papelaria Carmona, pp. 30–59. Matos, N. [gov.], 1912. Portaria nº 1086 [relativa à Creação de novos Centros Urbanos em Angola]. Boletim Official de Angola, 21 August, pp. 507–8. Milheiro, A.V., 2012a. O Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial e o Traçado das Cidades Luso-Africanas na Última Fase Do Período Colonial Português – The Colonial Planning Office and the Layout of LusoAfrican Cities in the Last Stage of the Portuguese Colonial Time. Urbe – Revista Brasileira de Gestão Urbana, Circulação de Ideias no Mundo Lusófono, 4, 2, July–December, pp. 215–37. ———, 2012b. Nos Trópicos sem Le Corbusier: Arquitectura Luso-Africana no Estado Novo. Lisboa: Relógio d’Água. Nogueira, J.A., 1950. Assim nasceu Nova Lisboa. Boletim Cultural do Huambo. Nova Lisboa: Câmara Municipal de Nova Lisboa, Ano III, 3, December, pp. 7–21. Pimenta, F.T., ed., 2012. República e Colonialismo na África Portuguesa. Lisboa: Edições Afrontamento. Quinhones, J.G., 1920–21. Relevo da cidade de Bolama [material cartográfico]. [Cota: 2-A-17|SGL]. ———, 1920–21. Nova cidade de Bolama abrangendo a parte existente [material cartográfico]. Bolama: Câmara Municipal [Cota: 2-A-18|SGL]. ———, 1920–21. Planta da cidade de Bolama [material cartográfico]. Bolama: Câmara Municipal [Cota: 2-A-19|SGL]. ———, 1921. Nova Cidade De Bissau – Nivelamento Geral do Terreno – Projecto de Viabilidade das Avenidas I e II, Ruas transversais de ligação e rotunda. Guiné Portuguesa: Câmara Municipal de Bissau, September. Quinhones Levy Archive. Rosas, F. and Rollo, M.F., eds, 2009. História da Primeira República Portuguesa. Lisboa: Tinta da China. Silveira, L., 1956. Ensaio de Iconografia das Cidades Portuguesas do Ultramar, volume 2: Africa Ocidental e Africa Oriental. Lisboa: Junta de Investigações do Ultramar. Notes 1 The mission was founded in 1907, according to Maria Cândida Proença (Proença in Rosas and Rollo, 2009:210). 2 ‘Waterfall in the Cunhangumua River, 7 metres high’ (Machado, 1926: 46). 3 ‘The lots for notaries’ offices, banks, theatres, casino and courthouse, post-office and government departments, should all be in the Roundabout and to the front of the Town Hall building that should be facing the CFB [railway] station, and be near to it’ (Machado, 1926: 46). 4 ‘We have proposed a system of cesspits, followed by septic tanks for groups of houses, following the general exit collectors, by way of the main avenues to the slope of the Cussayi River, using the natural slant of the plateau, and to the

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deposit from where the liquid waste was released into the river or, after disinfection, used for irrigation in the hillside of the valley’ (Machado, 1926: 50). 5 Machado also listed other public buildings: ‘The geographical mission of Angola has four masonry buildings, of very good taste …, the Public Works department has built four houses for employees. In wood there is still the original hospital and the post-office building’ (Machado, 1926, pp. 56–7). 6 This hypothesis was previously put forward by José Manuel Fernandes, though without reasoning (Fernandes, Janeiro and Fonte, 2010). 7 City of Bolama Plan surveyed by Military Engineer José Guedes Quinhones 1920–1921 (SGL, 2-A-19). 8 New city of Bolama encompassing the existing part, project by Military Engineer José Guedes Quinhones 1920–1921 (SGL, 2-A-18). 9 Terrain of the city of Bolama, Military Engineer José Guedes Quinhones 1920–1921 (SGL, 2-A-17). 10 Building for the Town Hall of Bolama, designed by Guedes Quinhones, drawing by Duarte Pinto (no. 193). Portuguese Guinea – Economic Development, Chief Engineer Office [perspectives]. This location was, however, introduced in the first surveying plan of the existing city. 11 Model School for 42 students, Portuguese Guinea, Economic Development Department (signed, José Guedes Quinhones, 1917). SGL. 12 The Quinhones plan proposed two more circular plazas, but which were smaller in size. 13 There currently is no information available on the renovation project recently carried out with Chinese cooperation, apparently based on the original Colonial Planning Office project. 14 Although, as was affirmed, ‘there is the tendency to keep, in some races, their primitive habits – burying the dead by the straw huts where they lived’ (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 17). 15 ‘The sewer drainage is made directly to the river, in the waterside houses; to fixed or movable pits (more modest houses), in the houses away from the waterside zone’ (Guardiola, 1945/1946: 18).

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Chapter 4

Empire, Image and Power During the Estado Novo Period: Colonial Urban Planning in Angola and Mozambique Ana Tostões and Jessica Bonito

Introduction The research on modern urban planning in Lusophone African cities is particularly stimulating, as traces of the urban laboratory and utopia of the 1950s are still evident despite the violent and rapid transformations these cities have been through. Excellent examples include cities in Angola and Mozambique, countries that experienced rapid growth in the period between the end of the Second World War and their independence in 1975. Before that and until the end of the nineteenth century, the Portuguese presence in these African territories consisted mainly of a few settlements along the coast which, in general, existed without a defined formal urban plan. The aim of this chapter is to analyse the evolution of colonial urban planning, focusing on the Estado Novo dictatorship period ([1926] 1933–1974), especially after 1944, when colonial urban planning was centralized in Lisbon, the empire’s capital, and was used to show that Portugal was not a European ‘small country’, but an immense empire spread throughout five continents. The first section of the chapter addresses urban development in the Portuguese African colonies at the end of the nineteenth century, namely after the Berlin Conference, the regicide and the establishment of the Republican regime. The second section examines the core issues in the emergence, peak and subsequent failure of the centralized planning policies and design layout. The final section argues, in conclusion, that the changes that occurred with the shift from a planning process centralized in the capital of the empire to a planning process conducted in the colony with the birth of local professional milieus represented important achievements for pragmatic urban planning in the Portuguese African colonies. The Rise of Urban Planning after the Berlin Conference To understand the evolution of urban planning in the former Portuguese colonies we need to go back to the nineteenth century when the Portuguese government initiated the development of a systematic urban policy for its African colonies. This change in the administrative policy was the result of the Berlin Conference, which took place from 19 November 1884 to 26 February 1885 with the objective of organizing the possessions of the European countries in Africa.1 Some of these countries did not possess any colonies, but due to their economic interests they were involved in the process and received territories in Africa to administer, as was the case with Germany. Portugal proposed a division – known as ‘Mapa Cor-de-Rosa’ – in which Angola and Mozambique would be united from east to west. All of the countries involved in the conference agreed to this proposal, with the exception of Great Britain, which in 1890 gave Portugal an ultimatum, called the ‘British Ultimatum’, threatening war if Portugal did not abandon the plan. Lourenço Marques (1887) Having lost the dispute with Britain over the issue of the ‘Mapa Cor-de-Rosa’ Portugal urgently needed to reinforce its position in the colonies. The plan for and the settlement of the new capital of Mozambique – the

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Projecto de Ampliação da Cidade de Lourenço Marques – were prepared and implemented in order to reinforce the empire’s geostrategic position. Thus, two years after the Berlin Conference, the capital of Mozambique was transferred from Mozambique Island to Lourenço Marques (now Maputo) in the south of the colony, a move that required an urban plan. This plan, known as the ‘Araújo Plan’ (1887), was part of a strategic move to occupy and invest in the southern part of the colony, taking advantage of its direct relationship with South Africa, and in the process leaving behind Mozambique Island and the Zambezi valley where the Portuguese presence was no longer as important as it was in the south. After the foundation of Luanda in 1575, the city of Lourenço Marques became one of the main urban centres created in Portuguese colonial Africa. The city developed according to the plan created by António José de Araújo (Morais, 2001, p. 57), a military engineer who applied a reticular expansion system to enlarge the existing small town founded in 1782 (Figure 4.1). The plan was developed based on a large grid of unlimited growth, with a network of large roads, initially composed of 10 pathways running SW-NE and eight running NW-SE. This plan assimilated the old street layout, merging it seamlessly with the new one. One small part of the urban structure stands out for its different direction and scale when compared to the rest: located at the western limit of the city, this area corresponds to an indigenous neighbourhood, and according to the principles of the plan, is a small module that can also be reproduced according to the need to expand the neighbourhood. The plan for Lourenço Marques was implemented in full and became the basis for the orderly growth of the city, balancing a strategy of native segregation with a cosmopolitan character that is still visible today, from the allotment to the large profile of the pathways. Indeed it is still possible to identify some of the avenues and plazas.

Figure 4.1 Plan for Lourenço Marques (Maputo), Mozambique, António Araújo, 1887 Source: Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino (AHU). Published in Morais (2001)

The Establishment of the Republic and the Huambo Plan (1912) The Portuguese Republic was established on 5 October 1910, the result of a revolution organized by the Portuguese Republican Party in reaction to, among other things, the subjugation of Portugal to British colonial interests in the form of the ‘British Ultimatum’. Immediately following establishment of the Republican regime, Angola was granted greater status within the Portuguese colonial empire with the creation in 1912 of Nova Lisboa (currently Huambo) as a symbol of the new regime’s development strategy, which included,

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among other things, the penetration and effective occupation of the fertile Huambo upland. In this context must be highlighted the actions of General Norton de Matos, who in 1912 came to Angola having been appointed to the position of Governor (Fonte, 2007, p. 29). He intended to ‘develop Angola, to promote the indigenous people and to reinforce Portuguese sovereignty’ (Norton, 2002, p. 184, cited in Fonte, 2007). His goal was to establish a city with an administrative function, in the centre of the territory, that would reinforce Portuguese dominance and ensure the effective occupation of the territory as well as make clear the vast dimensions of the Angolan colony. Huambo was symbolically re-named Nova Lisboa (‘New Lisbon’) in 1928. The plan for Huambo reflects the influence of Ebenezer Howard’s Garden City concept but represents an unusual case of urbanism in the Portuguese colonial context, not only for its polygonal layout and irradiating centred matrix but also for its dimension. This city had a peculiar origin, resulting from the will to occupy the interior of the colony made possible by the construction of the Benguela railway. Consequently, unlike most of the cities in these territories that evolved from older, less-populated areas, Huambo was created from ground zero, through the project of the military engineer Carlos Roma Machado. The project developed from a roundabout plaza, linked with eight rectilinear avenues. The proposal divided the city into zones, taking advantage of the topography, and created rectangular land plots, mainly close to the roundabout. This plan became the basis for the development of the future city. Centralized Urban Planning in the Estado Novo Period During the first years of the dictatorship in Portugal, the colonies were not regarded as important. It was only in 1930, when Salazar became the interim Minister for the Colonies for a period of six months, in addition to maintaining his position as Finance Minister (Léonard, 1999), that the colonies became a strategic objective for the new government in Lisbon. Recovery from the financial crisis, which had worsened due to the Wall Street Crash the previous year, became a necessity, as did the reinforcement of Portuguese sovereignty over the colonies. On 8 July 1930 the Acto Colonial was promulgated. It ensured the ‘fundamental warranties of the Portuguese nation as a colonial power, the indigenous people, the overseas government and economic and financial relationships between the metropolis and the colonies’ (Léonard, 1999, p. 15). With this act, the colonies no longer had financial authority, and their budget had to be approved by the Minister of the Colonies. The colonies were also prohibited from contracting loans in foreign countries. This was the beginning of a new period in the political, economic and social life of Portugal, with strong nationalist and centralizing ideas, where colonialism was addressed as a vocation and an historical right. As the Minister of the Colonies Armindo Monteiro stated at a conference in 1932: ‘Portugal may be a nation that possesses colonies, or it can become an empire’ (Léonard, 1999, p. 20). On 11 April 1933, the new Constitution of the Estado Novo was approved. It contained the revised Acto Colonial, to which was added, on 15 November of the same year, the Carta Orgânica do Império Colonial Português and the Reforma Administrativa Ultramarina. These documents reinforced the Minister of the Colonies’ centralizing power over the colonial administrative organization. The idea of a Portuguese empire was transmitted to the Portuguese people and to the world by means of powerful propaganda based on imagery and symbols. Examples of such propaganda include: the map entitled by Henrique Galvão, ‘Portugal is not a small country’, which showed the dimensions of the Portuguese empire; the organization of ‘Colonies week’ by the Sociedade Portuguesa de Geografia de Lisboa, that took place annually after 1927; and publications such as the Boletim da Agência Geral das Colónias, established in 1925 and restructured in 1932, and O Mundo Português, established in January 1934, with the goal to ‘increase faith, a patriotic ideal, and a hope for the Portuguese future’. According to the Minister of the Colonies (Léonard, 1999, p. 25) both magazines were translated into French and English to facilitate their distribution abroad. The necessity to increase the white population in the colonies was one of the justifications for this propaganda. The main targets were young people, and the best way of spreading the message was through the educational network of schools. The reform of Portuguese education by Carneiro Pacheco (Alegre, 2009) in 1936 initiated the following two courses: ‘Educação Moral e Cívica’ and ‘Organização Política e Administrativa da Nação’, with the purpose of increasing interest in the Empire’s territories. Patriotism,

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knowledge of and the valorisation of Portuguese history, Christian ideals, and a Portuguese colonial vocation were some of the key themes that this reform in the education system aimed to transmit to the younger generations. Other propaganda measures included the creation of Mocidade Portuguesa,2 in the same year, and, starting in 1935, the organization of summer cruises to the colonies for students in the seventh and eighth grades. Exhibitions, colloquia and conferences were also used for propaganda purposes. Colonial international exhibitions, such as those that took place in Antwerp (1930) and in Paris (1931), the exhibition of colonial art in Napoli (1934) and the Great International Fair in Tripoli (1935) allowed Portugal to present its empire to other countries. The I Exposição Colonial (1934) took place in Portugal, organized by Henrique Galvão, in the Palácio de Cristal do Porto, with the aim of showing the empire to the greatest number of Portuguese people possible. The exhibition included elements that could be understood by both the less literate people and the most erudite audience. The exhibition counted more than a million attendees (Léonard, 1999, p. 27). In Lisbon, propaganda measures continued to be enforced with the organization of the Conferência Imperial Colonial (1933), I Congresso de Intercâmbio Comercial com as Colónias (1934), I Conferência Económica do Império Colonial (1937) and Exposição Histórica da Ocupação (1937). Several exhibitions were organized in the colonies: I Exposição Provincial de Benguela, Feira de Amostras no Huambo (1935) and the Exposição-Feira de Angola (1938). The purpose of these exhibitions was not only to praise the empire, but also to advertise each colony’s economic development. The Exposição-Feira de Angola, the responsibility of Vasco Vieira da Costa, coincided with the visit of President Óscar Carmona to Angola, and was meant to show both the colonizers’ efforts and their ability to be autonomous with regard to the metropolis. A feeling of rebellion against the imposed centralizing power could thus be detected in the events (Pomar, 2013). The show’s main pavilion was designed by Fernando Batalha and the Banco de Angola pavilion was designed by Vasco Regaleira.3 The Exposição do Mundo Português in 1940 was another exhibition that stood out. It ran in Lisbon, in Belém, from the 23 June to the 2 December. The location was chosen due to its historical significance in marking the foundation of the kingdom of Portugal (1140) and the restoration of independence (1640). Cinema was also used as a means of propaganda: the film Feitiço do Império (1940), directed by António Lopes Ribeiro, showed Portuguese action in Africa. The 1930s and 1940s were striking for the Portuguese African territories, especially for Angola and Mozambique. Celebrated by the state’s propaganda efforts, these colonies received numerous presidential visits, exhibitions and celebrations were organized, and great development in infrastructure, particularly the transport and communication networks, was registered (Fernandes, 1999, p. 346). However, during this period urban planning was not yet a practice that had become general to all urban settlements in the Portuguese colonies. The following section analyses two plans: the Projecto da povoação de Mocuba e seus subúrbios, in Mozambique, and the Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda, in Angola. The First Estado Novo Plans for the Colonies: Mocuba and Luanda In 1936 architects João António de Aguiar and Mário de Oliveira developed the first plan for Mocuba, a small settlement in the district of Quelimane. Located near the Licungo River, in Mozambique territory, Mocuba was urbanized as it was to play an important part in providing support to the tea and cotton production in the area. Together with the city of Quelimane, it would promote the expansion of commercial routes to the interior of the country, through the river and the railway line. This would increase Portuguese territorial occupation and exchanges with the surrounding colonies and countries. The plan presented a simple layout, with large roads and a reticulated network. A central plaza articulates the various proposed areas, differentiated by plot size. The tightest plots corresponded to the residential area, while the remaining ones, with their strong connections to the train station, were destined to become commercial and storage areas. Today, parts of the plan can still be identified as the only planned areas of the city.4 Although it is shown in the plan, the railway did not extend into the continent. In 1942, taking advantage of the presence in Portugal of the urban planner Etienne de Gröer, the Luanda Plan was elaborated by Gröer in collaboration with David Moreira da Silva. The plan, based on a radial

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structure, proposed the creation of five satellite cities (each with 50,000 inhabitants), separated from the original city but united by a ring road. The five satellite cities are described as cities numbers 1 and 2, advantageously situated by the sea would be served, the first by two roads and an existing railway, the second by identical means of communication, as soon as the railways and roads to the coast were built; number 3 would be served, by the Malange railway and the Catete road; and numbers 4 and 5, would be built once urban growth justified their construction. (Plano de Urbanização da cidade de Luanda por Etienne de Gröer e David Moreira da Silva (1942), cited in Costa, 1984 [1948])

A rural area 2 km wide separated the great city of Luanda from the new satellite cities and served simultaneously as a protection and separation zone. The satellite cities would work as dormitories, thus creating a flow of circulation around the city which would alleviate urban congestion. The zoning of the city, which was a natural process due to its morphology, was accentuated by the plan: the commercial and industrial zone downtown and the residential area uptown. This plan would never be implemented, but it showed contemporaneity with the urban strategy being applied in Lisbon (1938–1948) by Gröer. These principles followed the ideas of Ebenezer Howard’s Garden City concept balanced with his French academic training. The Colonial Urbanization Office In 1944, in a pre-post-war scenario, the Colonial Urbanization Office5 was created by a decree of 6 December6 by Marcelo Caetano, Minister of the Colonies (see Milheiro and Dias, 2009 and Milheiro, 2011, pp. 99–131). Based in Lisbon, its board comprised architects and engineers, and had the purpose of concentrating in a single public entity all projects of architecture and urbanism promoted by the Portuguese state for its African colonies. The Colonial Urbanization Office had three strategic directives: (1) to study colonial urbanization problems and to promote the creation of plans to rearrange and expand the cities and towns of the African colonies; (2) to promote topographic surveys of the main urban settlements according to a certain programme of activities; (3) to elaborate instructions for the colonial administrative entities regarding the organization and growth of the human settlements in the colonies. The result of bringing together the development of all architectural and urban designs for the colonies was a network of urban settlements with almost the same layout, whether they were located north or south the tropics. Under the leadership of João António de Aguiar, the Colonial Urbanization Office preferred urban designs consisting of buildings and public spaces with a neoclassical scale or with a regionalist image, developing a somewhat artificial expression, resulting in morphologies that contrasted with the wild native environments.7 The main problem with the kind of urban planning developed by the Colonial Urbanization Office was the fact that all plans were developed in Lisbon and suffered therefore from some lack of knowledge of the characteristics of the colonial territories.8 Marcelo Caetano defended locating the headquarters in Lisbon, arguing that one of the institution’s main goals was to ‘create a doctrine and a style for the Portuguese colonial architecture, in view of the fact that architecture is meant to be art that represents the community’s tastes, habits, aspirations and ideals as a collective’ (Caetano, 1948). Therefore, it was argued, the headquarters should be located in the empire’s capital, where most of the professionals were living and working, promoting between them constant discussion and the exchange of experiences and knowledge, and thereby generating focused research on how to construct in the tropical regions. Years later, in the 1950s, during the office’s most active phase, architects working in the now named Overseas Urbanization Office attended a course on tropical architecture (Milheiro and Dias, 2009, p. 87) at the Architectural Association (AA) in London under the direction of Maxwell Fry and Jane Drew, specialists in the study of architecture in the tropical zones. The couple had worked in Chandigarh in India with Le Corbusier and Pierre Jeanneret.9 The course was inaugurated in 1954. Luís Possolo, Fernando Schiappa de Campos and António Seabra Sáragga were the first to attend. Maxwell Fry and Jane Drew had already published various monographs on architecture in the tropics, including Tropical Architecture in the Humid Zone (1956) and Tropical Architecture in the Dry and Humid Zones (1964), where they gathered all the information and experience they had gained, ‘in order to augment, define and perhaps refine the vocabulary that each reader

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may bring to the creation of new works of architecture’ (Fry and Drew, 1964, p. 17). The research functioned as a manual of good practice, highlighting three points regarding the purpose of architecture: the people and their needs, the climate and the diseases that accompany it, and the construction materials and resources. The Colonial Urbanization Office10 promoted studies on different issues: hydrographical, maritime infrastructures, such as harbours, terrestrial infrastructures, such as railway lines and communications. The urbanization plans that came together exhibited a characteristic language with influences from the concepts of the City Beautiful and the Garden City. In general, the first element to be conceived was the Anteplano Geral de Urbanização, and, following its approval by the local administration departments within the Ministry of the Colonies, the Plano Geral de Urbanização (Mendes, 2008, p. 571) would be developed. The following analyses some of these plans in terms of their formal characteristics and their presence in the existing image of the city. The General Urbanization Plan for Nova Lisboa (1945–1957), Angola In 1946, the Colonial Urbanization Office architect João António Aguiar designed the General Urbanization Plan for Nova Lisboa. At that time, the city suffered a disconnection between the downtown area, the area developed near the railway station, and the uptown area, which was still in development following the proposals of the 1913 Roma Machado Plan. Consequently, one of the main objectives of the new plan was to integrate these areas, by proposing the creation of a new system of hierarchical pathways that served the new residential neighbourhoods and facilities, as well as the zoning of the city articulated by tree-lined streets. Zoning was achieved through the creation of better functional areas that considered the purpose of each parcel: residential zone, mixed zone, industrial zone, railway zone, public open spaces and reserve zones. These measures were intended to ensure the healthy growth of the city, in order to guarantee the minimum conditions for a salubrious lifestyle, and to quadruple in size the population (20,000 civilized inhabitants). The administrative aspect of the uptown area was retained and reinforced. This plan, presented by Aguiar during the XII Congresso Internacional de Habitação e Urbanismo (Lisbon, 1952), with a presentation entitled ‘A habitação nos países de clima tropical’, retains the premise of the previous plans: a great roundabout plaza from which departs the main pathways of the city. Similar to other projects developed by the plan’s author, the separation of the populations is evident, following the logic ‘the indigenous population serves the colonizing population, thus they should be close by, but never in the same urban space, from which result the indigenous neighbourhoods on the outskirts of the city, creating autonomous units known as indigenous residential units’ (Fonte, 2007, p. 252). The residences of the Europeans were therefore located uptown, with better climatic conditions, while the indigenous neighbourhood was located on the periphery. Two additional residential areas were proposed to the north and east, destined to be inhabited by ‘natives with a high degree of civilization’ (Mendes, 2008, p. 355). The plan was approved in 1947 and was used to manage the development of the city for over two decades, having been implemented almost entirely. Today it is still possible to identify the guidelines of this plan, for example the indigenous neighbourhood. The General Urbanization Plan for Lourenço Marques (1947–1955), Mozambique In 1947 (Morais, 2001, p. 155) João António Aguiar visited Lourenço Marques with the purpose of understanding the needs of the city in the context of the plan that was being prepared by the Colonial Urbanization Office. Part of a set of plans conceived during the ‘golden years’ of the Colonial Urbanization Office, this plan, based on the first plan for the city (Plano Araújo), proposed large green areas, designed for sports and leisure (Figure 4.2). In the east zone, the Costa do Sol, a great residential area was proposed, following the sequence of the existing neighbourhoods, with a tighter network than in the older parts of the city, and the creation of a great roundabout in the centre on which large pathways converged. Parallel to the existing ring road, a new road was proposed, and, between the two of them, the creation of residential areas that would no longer follow the grid of the Plano Araújo. The road system followed a hierarchy of ‘three levels: the urban (of interest only to the city), the interurban (of regional interest) and the secondary arteries (of local interest)’ (Morais, 2001, p. 158). It was a plan of monumental urban proportions, not only at the road

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Figure 4.2 Plan for Lourenço Marques (Maputo), Mozambique, GUC, João António Aguiar, 1947–1955 Source: Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino (AHU). Published in Mendes (2008)

level but also it terms of the buildings. The design followed local topographic characteristics, proposing for the central zone of the Costa do Sol two great civic centres, verticality contrasted with the horizontality of the residential areas. One of the main goals of this plan was to control the informal growth of the city, proposing the creation of indigenous neighbourhoods and ensuring the minimum conditions for living, with basic sanitation and drinkable water for everyone. These neighbourhoods should be beyond the city’s ring road but close to it, similar to the strategy of the ‘Araújo Plan’. The development of Lourenço Marques’ harbour, with its profits having increased by the end of the 1940s due to its strategic position relative to South Africa and Swaziland, justified this urban expansion. However, the plan still displayed a physical limitation to the north, the Marracuene road, contrary to the plan that followed it. The Costa do Sol zone would be occupied in two phases; first the interior area corresponding to an elevated plateau at about 20 metres above sea level, which meant it had fewer building problems. Later, the remaining costal area would be occupied as the beach area of Lourenço Marques was linked via an important road to the civic centre. For the areas of intersection with the existing city some improvements were proposed, for example three residential units: Malhangalene, Alto Maé and Lagoas. In the centre of the city, the Praça do Centro Oficial was to become a new administrative centre. Its design referenced the Praça do Comércio in Lisbon: an open plaza, in this case facing a bay with three built fronts and in the centre a symmetrical garden landmarked by a central obelisk. None of this plan was implemented, with the exception of the residential neighbourhood on the periphery of Costa do Sol, which corresponds today to the Sommerschield neighbourhood. The General Urbanization Pre-Plan for Vila de Tete (1947–1951), Mozambique Tete is one of the oldest settlements in Mozambique. It was founded in the sixteenth century and was elevated to town status in 1761. Due to its strategic location on the right margin of the Zambezi River, which facilitated communications with Rhodesia and Nyasaland, and the wealth of its soil, this was always an interesting zone. These facts justified the creation and implementation of the urbanization plan of 1951, developed

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in the Colonial Urbanization Office by Aguiar (Mendes, 2008, p. 571). In this plan all previously existing constructions were taken into account, since the town was well furnished with social facilities, services and wide roads, although public spaces and gardens were missing. Therefore, and as is common in this architect’s plans, the city was divided into zones: central zone, local commercial zone, public interest buildings zone, southeast residential zone, northeast residential zone, green zone, free zone and rural zone. In the central zone, the existing constructions and orthogonal layout were used, but it was proposed to plant trees along the roads and in the land plots that were at that time without trees. On each side of this zone a residential area with school and commercial activities was to be built. The layout of these areas was more organic due to the characteristics of the terrain and the integration of existing constructions. In general the plan was characterized by an intense urban forestation, a peripheral road that defined the urban area, and by the differences between the kinds of street network found in the central area (administrative and commercial) and the two residential zones. Today, the plan is still identifiable in the central zone with its orthogonal street network but not in the residential neighbourhoods where its proposals are no longer visible, being identifiable only by a few main roads. The General Urbanization Plan for Porto Amboim (1948), Angola The origin of this settlement dates back to 1884 with the name Benguela Velha. In 1923 it was elevated to town status (‘vila’) and started to be known as Porto Amboim, since it was the railway terminal of the Amboim Railway Line, an infrastructure that connected the sea (‘harbour’) with the agricultural region of Amboim (Gabela), an area producing coffee and other agricultural products. The town had an uptown area, with the railway station and the workers houses, and a downtown area, with commercial and administrative functions. In the general urbanization plan for Porto Amboim, developed in 1948 in the Colonial Urbanization Office by Aguiar, one of the aims was to integrate some of the pre-existing constructions, such as the train station. The main changes were therefore targeted at reorganizing the downtown area. Existing road profiles were reduced (they were between 25m and 42m wide) and transformed into allotments for construction. The plan is characterized by an orthogonal street network, with seven roads running SW-NE and five SENW, designed for different functions in the city: commercial, industrial, official, port, railway and mixed. The mixed zone (commercial, official and residential) was located between the sea and the hill. For the top of the hill an exclusively residential area was planned, with a more organic street network, composed of single-family residences with private playgrounds that benefited from the best climatic conditions in the area in terms of exposure to wind and sun (Mendes, 2008, p. 369). Today the plan’s pattern is still clearly identifiable including in the residential area on top of the hill. However, only the roads are similar to what was proposed in the plan, since construction on the allotments was carried out without any strict rule and in a random fashion. The General Urbanization Plan for Catumbela (1951), Angola The 1951 General Urbanization Plan for Catumbela was developed in the Colonial Urbanization Office by Aguiar in collaboration with architect Fernando Batalha (Mendes, 2008, p. 281). This settlement had existed since 1846 and saw its commercial importance grow throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The plan praised and proposed the maintenance of the existing urban elements, such as the city hall building, the market, the church, the administrative post, the railway station and the elementary school. It proposed the redesign of blocks in an organic network, with large roads and the construction of a basic sanitation infrastructure. As was common in the plans of that time, the city was divided up by function: public interest buildings zone, commercial/residential zone, residential and industrial zone, railway zone, green zones, free zones and rural zones. The plan proposed vast forested areas, as exemplified by the protective area between the peripheral road and the river, avoiding erosion and floods. Starting from the 1950s, Catumbela gained importance in industry, mainly in sugar, alcohol and palm oil production. It formed an industrial triangle with neighbouring Lobito and Benguela, with all three cities supplied with energy by the Biopic power plant. Today the plan’s guidelines are still very much in evidence. The main roads, the proposed blocks and some of the buildings such as the church are all identifiable.

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The General Urbanization Plan for Malange (1951), Angola The 1951 General Urbanization Plan for Malange was also developed in the Colonial Urbanization Office by Aguiar and Batalha (Mendes, 2008, p. 349). The elaboration of this plan was justified by the importance of the city in the Angolan territory. Located in the interior of the colony, in an agricultural and mining area, it connected with the Luanda harbour through the Malange railway line, ensuring the trade and export of these products. In the twentieth century it was a strategic point because it possessed a road network that irradiated in all directions, supporting regional development in this part of Angola. As the settlement had been established in a less than salubrious area, the plan contemplated measures that would attempt to correct the harsh climatic conditions of the region, namely by orienting the roads and buildings in accordance with favourable winds. The plan took into account both Malange’s economic growth, due not only to its commercial activity but also to its agricultural production, and its growing administrative importance. Reorganization was proposed at the level of the road network, eliminating some of the existing roads and creating peripheral roads that limited urban growth to the south and the east. This extendable area was defined by a hierarchical road structure, with roads between 9m and 20m wide, articulated with large plazas, where there would normally have been a public building (for example a hospital, market, civic centre, new church). Such was the case with the vast residential complex proposed for the higher area of the territory, which had better conditions for inhabitants since it was well ventilated and the railway in the north provided vital links. The city areas were organized according to their function, taking into account the demography of the population, including in designing zones to locate ‘non-civilized’ inhabitants far from the ‘civilized’ and separated by a green forested area. As was common at the time, the plan highlighted public interest as its justification for building areas according to racial and functional zoning. A small industrial zone of local interest was also proposed. In the plan the strong presence of green zones of various dimensions is evident, from forestation to the city’s great sports park, with a municipal stadium. Today the implementation of this plan is still noticeable, mainly in the central zone of the city, where the structural roads still exist, as well as the internal organization of the blocks. The city did not expand according to the guidelines of the plan, mainly in the east residential areas, which developed in an organic fashion with no apparent planning. The General Urbanization Plan for Benguela (1952), Angola São Filipe de Benguela was founded and developed as a trading post in the early seventeenth century. The slave trade was initially one of its main commercial activities but later its development was based also on trade in other goods. For several centuries it was considered a settlement with poor living conditions. In the beginning of the twentieth century, with the construction of the railway line, Benguela registered rapid urban growth and experienced considerable urban improvement. However, later, with the foundation of the nearby city of Lobito, its regional importance diminished or was shared with this neighbouring new city (Fernandes, 2010). The city is naturally limited by the Atlantic Ocean to the west, by the Cavaco River to the north and by a canal to the south. These limits were considered in the Colonial Urbanization Office’s 1952 plan but were later exceeded by the growth of the city. The plan presents a compromise between the Garden City model and the traditional city, with a mix of regular blocks containing single-family houses and irregular blocks with an interior green patio, using the existing structures (Figure 4.3). As is common in this type of plan involving great dimensions, a large green zone that would control the city’s growth was included. The plan is described in the catalogue for the XXI International Congress for Housing and Town Planning, which took place in Lisbon in 1952: With this plan, it was sought to not change the physiognomy of the city, respecting every aspect of the preceding city that should be kept, coordinating expansion according to the needs that the elements of the inquiry advised. With regard to the modern there was a concern to put in place every principle established by modern urbanism which brought, among other advantages, the valorization by contrast of the older part of town. Large afforested arteries and plazas to decongest the traffic offer attractive perspectives and contribute to improving the aesthetic aspect of the city. (Catalogue to the XXI International Congress for Housing and Town Planning Exhibition, Lisbon, 1952, p. 11)

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Figure 4.3 Plan for Benguela, Angola, GUU, João António Aguiar, 1952 Source: Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino (AHU). Published in Mendes (2008)

During its development a great mix of races inhabited the city, which reflected its spatial organization, although the European population tended to be separated from the rest, occupying houses in better condition. Today the implementation of part of the plan is still visible, however the zones that were proposed as free between the Cavaco River and the central zone of the city became occupied by informal constructions, raised without any type of planning. Conclusion: Centralization versus Decentralization in the History of Portuguese Colonial Urban Planning or the Need for a Locally Sensitive Planning Culture The Portuguese colonies were developed at a moderate speed compared to other African colonies. Indeed, active investment in the Portuguese African colonies in the contemporary period occurred mainly in the 1940s and afterwards, following the slow change from an economic policy based on rural exploration to an economic development policy targeting industry – this following Ferreira Dias’ strategy that saw the creation of the Ministry of Industry in 1942. Two years later, the creation of the Colonial Urbanization Office, and in 1953 the adoption of National Development Plans (Planos de Fomento), whose objectives included the rapid development of the colonies, are some of the factors behind the growth of urban planning activities in the Portuguese African colonies in the post-Second World War period. This modern cycle of colonial development took place in the context of a colonial policy that was highly contested internationally, in particular after the creation of the United Nations in 1945, and which, in spite of that international criticism, was actively strengthened after 1961 following the outbreak of the Colonial War that lasted from 1961 to 1974.11 In the

Empire, Image and Power During the Estado Novo Period

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context of the constitutional revision of 1951, some terms such as ‘empire’ and ‘colonies’ were abandoned, and new ones such as ‘overseas territories’ and ‘provinces’ started to be used: the Colonial Urbanization Office became the Overseas Urbanization Office and the Colonial Ministry was renamed Overseas Ministry. The spread of ideas about urban planning and architecture in the tropical region was stimulated by a series of conferences that took place in the 1950s and 1960s (Tostões, 2013a), in order to address the latent needs that emerged during the processes of decolonization, or in other cases, on the contrary, to justify ambitions of restructuring neo-colonial projects to reinforce the imperial project. The latter was the case with Portugal and its relations with its overseas colonies, known after 1951 as overseas provinces. In 1952, three conferences took place on three different continents (foreshadowing post-war rhetoric and the emergence of the coming Cold War), focusing on planning and tropical architecture: the International Congress for Housing and Town Planning, Housing in Tropical Climates, in Lisbon; a conference of the Building Research Advisory Board (USA), in Washington DC; and a UNESCO conference under the theme ‘Tropical Architecture’, in New Delhi, with the collaboration of the National Institute of Sciences of India. Each conference defined its theme with a different perspective, according to its own interests: in Lisbon, as a neo-imperial forum, in Washington, as a national project, and in New Delhi, as a technology and knowledge sharing forum (Baweja, 2008). The colonial ideological approach assumed by the Colonial Urbanization Office was portrayed in the papers presented in Lisbon at the International Congress for Housing and Town Planning, Housing in Tropical Climates. The conception of indigenous housing in slums (musseque) reflects the social and racial segregation that characterized the social and political organization of the colonial system.12 Several renowned architects worked at the Colonial Urbanization Office, among them Francisco Castro Rodrigues and Fernão Lopes Simões de Carvalho, who would later depart to Angola. Aware of the necessity to work locally, the majority of these architects started to live permanently in the African colonies. As a consequence, the architectural panorama in Angola and Mozambique gradually changed, developing away from the rigid ideals of the authoritarian and conservative political regime (see Tostões, 2013b). This transformation was furthered by the closing of the Overseas Urbanization Office in 1957, and by the creation of offices in the African cities that were dedicated to the local production of urban plans. In this phase, several urbanization plans started to be developed by ‘local’ architects, who had knowledge of the problems and the specific characteristics of each city and its relevant expansion needs. In 1959, the Angolanborn architect Fernão Simões de Carvalho (1929–)13 began his substantive work, conceived locally and based in the Luanda City Hall technical department. In Lobito, Francisco Castro Rodrigues undertook extensive work as planner and architect attached to the Municipality. In Mozambique, major roles were played by José Bernardino Ramalhete and Paulo de Melo Sampaio, who developed plans for the north of the country: Nampula, Nacala and Port Amélia (Pemba).14 In the 1970s, the growing pluri-disciplinarity in urban planning, mixed with the economic liberalization of the marcelista period, stimulated the activity of larger project companies located in Lisbon. Planning lead by local offices tended to disappear and to be replaced, similarly to what had happened in the home territory and metropolis, through the hiring of larger companies that conducted urban surveys, urban plans and other forms of spatial planning at a regional level.15 These companies, such as Profabril, for which the engineer Mário Azevedo had worked, and Gefel or Hidrotécnica Portuguesa, with their multidisciplinary teams based on the efficiency of structural engineering, answered technocratically to the geographic, social and economic challenges created by the various aspects of urbanization plans. As Pinto and Milheiro argue, the urban phenomenon for Azevedo was based on the assumption that the city is built as a part of a systemic process of regeneration. Infrastructures thus intersect with a broad interpretation of the territory, from which orientations resulting from the settling of time are drawn. This settling is brought about by the biophysical configuration and man’s presence’. (Pinto and Milheiro, 2012)

This different awareness took into account the place and the people, envisaging the connection between the formal and the informal city. At this point the Habitat issue emerged as a problem confronting urban planning and architecture. Planners began to recognize that most of them tended to think and act based on a European reference when it was necessary to know the local population, their desires and aspirations, and also their level of satisfaction

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Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

with their ways of life. Despite this growing awareness of the need for a planning culture sensitive to the local African contexts, which seems evident in the work and writings of some of the Portuguese planners and architects that worked in the colonies in the last years of the colonial period, the evidence so far available seems to suggest that most of the failures that were then identified by these planners, and which were thought to be due to the uncritical use of European references or external urban models, continue unaddressed in the two former Portuguese African colonies studied here, Angola and Mozambique. References Alegre, Alexandra (2009). Arquitectura Escolar. O edifício Liceu em Portugal (1882–1978), PhD, Lisboa: Instituto Superior Técnico, Universidade Técnica de Lisboa. Baweja, Vandana, A Pre-History of Green Architecture: Otto Koenigsberger and Tropical Architecture, from Princely Mysore to Post-colonial London. PhD, University of Michigan, 2008. Caetano, Marcelo (1948). O Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial, Diário de Notícias, Lisboa, 15 June. Costa, Vasco Vieira (1984 [1948]). Cidade Satélite n.º3. Concurso para a Obtenção do Diploma de Arquitecto, Porto: ESBAP. Fernandes, José Manuel (1999). Arquitectura e Urbanismo no Espaço Ultramarino Português, in Bethencourt, Francisco and Chaudhuri, Kirti (eds), História da Expansão Portuguesa, volume V: Último Império e Recentramento (1930–1998), Lisboa: Círculo de Leitores. ——— (2010). Arquitectura e Urbanismo na África Subsaariana: uma leitura, in Mattoso, José (ed.), Património de Origem Portuguesa no Mundo. Arquitectura e Urbanismo. África, Mar Vermelho, Golfo Pérsico, Lisboa: Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian. Fonte, Manuela (2007). Urbanismo e Arquitectura em Angola – de Norton de Matos à Revolução, Lisboa: Faculdade de Arquitectura da Universidade Técnica de Lisboa. Fry, Maxwell and Drew, Jane (1964). Tropical Architecture in the Dry and Humid Zones, London: BT Batsford. Kultermann, Udo and Frampton, Kenneth (2000). World Architecture 1900–2000: Central and Southern Africa, Vienna: Springer. Léonard, Ives (1999). O Império Colonial Salazarista, in Bethencourt, Francisco and Chaudhuri, Kirti (eds), História da Expansão Portuguesa, Volume V: Último Império e Recentramento (1930–1998), Lisboa: Círculo de Leitores. Mendes, Maria Clara (ed.) (2008). Urbanismo Colonial – Os Planos de Urbanização nas Antigas Provincias Ultramarinas, 1934–1974, Lisboa: Faculdade de Arquitetura da Universidade Técnica de Lisboa. Milheiro, Ana Vaz (2011). Fazer Escola: A arquitectura pública do Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial para Luanda, in Prado, R. and Martí, P. (eds), La modernidad ignorada. Arquitectura moderna de Luanda, Alcalá de Henares: Universidad de Acalá. Milheiro, Ana Vaz and Dias, Eduardo (2009). Arquitectura em Bissau e os Gabinetes de Urbanização Colonial (1944–1974), USJT – Arq.Urb, 2: 80–114. Morais, João (2001). Maputo. Património da Estrutura e Forma Urbana, Lisboa: Livros Horizonte. Pinto, Paulo and Milheiro, Ana Vaz (2012). From Monumentality to Diversity: Maputo between the Urban Plans of Aguiar and Azevedo (1950–1970), São Paulo: 15th International Planning History Society Conference. Pomar, Alexandre (2013). Luanda: Exhibition-Fair Angola 1938. BUALA – African Contemporary Culture, available at: http://www.buala.org/en/ill-visit/luanda-exhibition-fair-angola-1938 [2013.07.04]. Tostões, Ana (2013a). Transcontinental Modernism: How to Find the Shortcut, DOCOMOMO Journal, 48: 30–33. ——— (ed.) (2013b). Modern Architecture in Africa: Angola and Moçambique, Lisboa: ICIST, Tecnico. Notes 1 The participant countries were Portugal, Germany, Great Britain, France, Spain, Italy, Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, the United States, Sweden, Austria-Hungary and the Ottoman Empire.

Empire, Image and Power During the Estado Novo Period

55

2 Mocidade Portuguesa was a Portuguese youth organization under the regime of the Estado Novo. It was part of the national youth education programme, and membership was compulsory between the ages of 7 and 14, and voluntary until the age of 25. 3 The construction was 18 metres in height with a ‘monumental appearance and the beautiful result of a combination of Portuguese traditional architecture and modernist construction art’ (Revista Arquitectura, 41, February–March 1938). 4 Mocuba was considered a ‘vila’ (town) until 12 February 1968, when it was elevated to the status of city (‘cidade’). 5 The Colonial Urbanization Office (CUO) was a department of urban design and architecture in the Ministry of the Colonies, and associated politically and administratively with the framework of the Estado Novo. With the constitutional revision of 1951, it was renamed Overseas Urbanization Office (OUO). In 1957 it became the Direction of Urbanization and Housing (DSUH), under the jurisdiction of the General Direction of Public Works and Communications (DGOPC), also in the Overseas Ministry. 6 Decreto 34173. D.R. 269, Suplemento, Série I de 1944-12-06 – Ministério das Colónias – Gabinete do Ministro. Criação do Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial. 7 One of the Colonial Urbanization Office’s key figures was João António de Aguiar (1906–1974), who was involved in more than 11 plans for different cities, including Lourenço Marques (Maputo) (1947–1955), Nova Lisboa or Huambo (1947–1948), Quelimane (1947), Luanda (1949), Lobito (1949), Benguela (1952), Nacala (1954), Vila Pery (Chimoio) (1950), Vila Salazar (Matola) (1954) and Catumbela (1950). 8 The office was criticized greatly by people connected to the colonial issue. See, for example, articles published by Diário de Notícias, such as one published on 17 March 1948, in which Captain Henrique Galvão condemned the choice of an engineer (Rogério Cavaca) for the role of director of the Colonial Urbanization Office. 9 The course was divided in two parts: one theoretical and one practical. Two projects had to be developed, one for each dominant type of tropical climate, the hot and dry and the hot and humid. These projects were then evaluated by a group of professionals, in which the couple Maxwell Fry and Jane Drew took part. About their work developed in Chandigarh see: Maxwell Fry and Jane Drew, ‘Chandigarh and Planning Development in India: I. The Plan’; Jane Drew, ‘Chandigarh and Planning Development in India, II. Housing’, Journal of the Royal Society of Arts, 103(4948) (1 April 1955), pp. 315–33. 10 During its existence the Colonial Urbanization Office developed many urban plans for several colonial cities: Plano Geral de Urbanização de Nova Lisboa (1946–1947); Plano de Urbanização de Lourenço Marques (1947–1955); Anteplano Geral de Urbanização de Porto Amboim (1948); Plano de Urbanização de Luanda (1950); Plano de Urbanização de Cabinda (1950); Plano de Urbanização de Vila Pery (1950); Plano de Urbanização de Namaacha (1950); Plano de Urbanização de Novo Redondo (1950); Plano de Urbanização de Quelimane (1950); Plano de Urbanização de Tete (1950); Plano Geral de Porto Amélia (1950–1956); Esboceto de Urbanização de Vila Salazar (1951); Plano Geral de Urbanização de Catumbela (1951); Plano Geral de Urbanização de Malange (1951); Plano Geral de Urbanização do Lobito (1951–1952); Plano Geral de Urbanização de Benguela (1952); Plano Geral de Urbanização de Nacala (1954); Plano Geral de Urbanização de Vila Salazar (1954); Plano Geral de Urbanização de Inhambane (1956); Plano Geral de Urbanização de Porto Amélia (1956). 11 As Udo Kultermann (1927–2013) stated: ‘the events following the War and especially the foundation of the United Nations in 1945 had intense reverberations on the changing status in several parts of Africa. Among those who were advocating greater freedom were Kwame Nkrumah in Ghana, Leopold Sedar Senghor in Senegal and Julius Nyerere in East Africa. But it was the declaration of the United Nations and the subsequent ideology of the Cold War which had the strongest impact in the long awaited independence of African states from their colonial rulers. Independence was achieved by Libya in 1952, Ghana in 1957, and in rapid succession several other African states, such as Ivory Coast, the Central African Republic, Nigeria, Congo, Gabon, Dahomey, Niger, Mauritania and Senegal achieved their independence in 1960, a most important year for Africa in general’ (Kultermann and Frampton, 2000, p. xxiii). 12 The formula for this concept is documented in the paper by João António Aguiar, ‘L’Habitation dans les pays tropicaux’, XXI International Congress for Housing and Town Planning, Lisbon, 1952, pp. 20–22. 13 Fernão Lopes Simões de Carvalho was born in Luanda, Angola in 1929. He studied architecture at Escola Superior de Belas Artes in Lisbon (ESBAL), graduating in 1958. The same year he presented an architectural project in order to obtain an Architecture Diploma (CODA); the project in question being the evaluation of building plans for a Television Station. In 1965 he graduated in Urbanism at Institut d’Urbanisme de l’Université de Paris (Sorbonne), presenting a thesis concerning the ‘Contribuition a l’Etude du renouvellement des Groupes d’habitations des pêcheurs de l’ile de Luanda’. He worked at the studios of architects José Lima de Franco (1904–1970) and Manolo Potier in Lisbon, between 1954 and 1955; at the Overseas Urbanization Office, between 1955 and 1956, with the architects João António de Aguiar (1906–1974)

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and Lucínio Guia da Cruz (1914–1999) in Lisbon; and at Le Corbusier (1887–1965) and André Wogenscky (1916–2004) studios, in Paris, between 1956 and 1959. He returned to Luanda in 1959 applying for a job as an urbanist architect at the city Municipality. From 1961 to 1966 he was responsible for the Urbanization Cabinet of the Municipality of Luanda. Heading a team composed of several professionals he realized the Urbanization Master Plan for Luanda, along with more than 100 parcel plans. He returned to Portugal in 1967, working at the Municipality of Lisbon being responsible for the Technical Cabinet for Housing Plans (1967–1975). Between 1976 and 1979 he worked in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil as technical consultant, signing several urbanization plans ordered by the Foundation for Rio de Janeiro Region Development (FUNDREM). Back in Portugal he was a professor at ESBAL (1979–1984) and FA-UTL (1985–1998). Reference works: Caputo Market, Luanda (1962–1965); Urbanization Master Plan for Luanda (1961–1962); Prenda Neighbourhood Units, Luanda (1961–1962); Cazenga Neighbourhood and Assistance Centre, Luanda (1962–1965); Fisherman Neighbourhood, Luanda Island (1963–1966), in collaboration with José Pinto da Cunha (1921–1985); Plan for CTT Neighbourhood, Luanda (1968). In collaboration with José Pinto da Cunha (1921–1985) and Fernando Alfredo Pereira (1927 –?): Angola Rádio Station Centre, Luanda (1963–1967); 23 Buildings for Prenda Neighbourhood, Luanda (1963–1965); Sofanco Factory, Luanda (1965); Sá da Bandeira Regional Hospital (1968–1970). 14 From this phase the following plans are known: Actualização do Plano de Urbanização de Vila Pery (1958), Paulo de Melo Sampaio; Plano Director de Luanda, Câmara Municipal de Luanda e Planos Parcelares (1959–1962), Fernão Lopes Simões de Carvalho; Plano de Urbanização de Nampula (1962), Bernardino Ramalhete; Plano de Urbanização de Nacala (1963), Paulo de Melo Sampaio; Plano Geral de Porto Amélia (1963), Paulo de Melo Sampaio; Plano de Urbanização de Vila Pery (1966), Bernardino Ramalhete; Plano Director do Lobito (1969–1975), Francisco Castro Rodrigues; Plano Director de Luanda (1971), Câmara Municipal de Luanda – Direcção dos Serviços de Cadastro, Arquitectura e Urbanismo. 15 Plano Director de Urbanização da Cidade de Lourenço Marques (1967–1972), Mário Azevedo, Profabril; Plano Director de Urbanização de Nova Lisboa (1972), Mário de Azevedo, Profabril; Plano Director do Porto de Nacala (1974), Hidrotécnica Portuguesa.

Chapter 5

The Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda by Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva (1941–1943) Teresa Marat-Mendes and Mafalda Teixeira de Sampayo

Introduction Despite the extensive research conducted worldwide on colonial cities, little is known about the effects and performance of the principles that guided the urban planning of these cities. While the studies have increased our knowledge about the history of colonial cities, they mainly analyse the urban planning produced for those cities. Only a few have tried to trace the origins of the urban planning principles, e.g. the Garden Cities theory, implemented in the cities (Bigon, 2013; Home, 2009; Matos and Ramos, 2008). Others have examined the relationships between the different actors that worked in specific colonial cities (Ramos and Matos, 2012) but without analysing the planning principles they followed. The urban proposal for Luanda, the capital city of Angola, is the subject of interest in a number of research works. Shortly after the conclusion of the Urban Plan for Luanda, the so called Plano de Urbanização para a Cidade de Luanda (PUCL), developed by Étienne de Groër (1982–1974) and David Moreira da Silva (1909–2002) between 1941 and 1943, Vasco Vieira da Costa (1911–1982) focused on the plan in his final dissertation entitled ‘Satellite City Number 3’ (Costa, 1948) (Figures 5.1 and 5.2). The PUCL was used by Costa (1948) as the starting point for his proposed plan for Luanda in which the author drew a colonial city based on the idea of satellite cities. The Ensaio de Iconografia das Cidades Portuguesas do Ultramar by Silveira (n.d.) is an important contribution to the understanding of the African city.1 This work illustrates the original models of the Portuguese cities in the four continents and traces these models back to their common origin in the Portuguese discoveries period. In Mourão’s (2006) analysis of the continuities and discontinuities of the colonial process through a study of Luanda, he presents a chronological overview of the urban development of Luanda based on the different maps he found, including the PUCL. Fonte (2007; 2012) draws attention to the occupation process of the Angolan territory between the 1920s and 1970s by means of a systematic analysis of the different urban centres. The author argues that Luanda’s development is best explained in a political context and was directed from the capital Lisbon. Fonte highlights Groër’s strong influence in the Portuguese urbanism of the 1940’s and shows how Groër and Moreira da Silva applied Howard’s theoretical model in the Luanda plan (2012). Milheiro’s (2012) work on the Cabinet of Colonial Urbanisation and the plans of Luso-African cities pays special attention to the squares in the empire. The author states that the square planned by Groër and Moreira da Silva eventually became a model followed by other colonial cities. Correia (2012) presents a study that aims to evaluate the modernist architecture of Luanda from 1950 to 1975. The author notes the importance of the architects that worked with Le Corbusier in the construction of Luanda and focuses on the roles of Vasco Vieira da Costa and Fernão Lopes Simões de Carvalho (1929–). This study is complemented with an exhaustive identification of existing cartography, maps and plans that reveal the different urban proposals for Luanda. In this collection of documents, two plans from 1942 and 1947 are of particular interest because they relate to the PUCL. The 1942 plan is clearly identified as being authored by Groër and Moreira da Silva.2 Étienne de Groër has also worked in other cities apart from Luanda. The few responses to the calls for comparative studies of the work produced by Groër include analyses of urban planning proposals considered in different cities and with different architect-urbanists (see, for example, Marat-Mendes and Oliveira, 2014), produced in one specific regional area (see, for example, Marat-Mendes and Sampayo, 2010; Marat-Mendes,

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2009; Pereira, 2009), or within one city (see, for example, Camarinhas, 2009; 2011), or in one country (see, for example, Lôbo, 1995). In addition, some studies have analysed the antecedents to Groër’s Planning Proposal, such as the works conducted by André et al. (2012) and Pereira (2009). But most of the above works have focused on the Groër work in Portugal. In light of the above studies, it is useful to analyse the work produced by Groër in a different geographical context and Luanda is well suited for this purpose. The PUCL was an important object of study for Étienne de Groër and was conceived in the first half of the twentieth century; it is contemporary with Groër’s urbanisation programme in Lisbon and with a number of others all over Portugal. The City Council of Luanda ordered the plan with the support of the Portuguese government. Duarte Pacheco, the Minister for Public Works from 1932 and simultaneously Mayor of Lisbon in 1938, was responsible for inviting Groër to work with the City Councils of the capital city of the Portuguese empire and of its main colony, Lisbon and Luanda respectively.3 Although Moreira da Silva also collaborated with the PUCL, the urban plans for Lisbon and Luanda seem to incorporate common urban planning principles and methodological frameworks: namely, the Ebenezer Howard theory and its regional approach as well as the French Urban Planning principles. Moreover, the two urban plans were drawn up in the same period of time, guided by common planning principles, and led by the same urban planner, Étienne de Groër. Whereas Groër’s urban plan for Lisbon has been studied, e.g. by Marat-Mendes and Sampayo (2010) and Marat-Mendes and Oliveira (2014), the same attention has not been given to the urban plan for Luanda (PUCL). How did the PUCL meet the urban principles advocated by Étienne de Groër? Did the PUCL adopt Groër’s planning principles differently? The purpose of this chapter is to provide some answers to these questions. This chapter is organised in two main sections. Following this introduction, it will address the PUCL. More specifically, an analysis is made of Groër’s and Moreira da Silva’s backgrounds and of the contract establishing the work programme for the PUCL; but more importantly, the original graphical and written elements related to the PUCL,4 and that were identified in Lisbon’s Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino and in Oporto’s Fundação Instituto Arquitecto José Marques da Silva, are set out chronologically. The final part of the chapter analyses how the PUCL coordinated by Groër and Moreira da Silva contributed to the future development of Luanda by evaluating the planning process followed during its preparation and its review by the City Council of Luanda. The Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda This section presents the work produced by Groër and Moreira da Silva for the PUCL. It analyses the background of the two architects involved in the plan for Luanda and the origins of the urban proposal for the city requested by the City Council of Luanda in 1941. It then describes the PUCL that was concluded in 1943. The focus is placed on the systematised graphical and written elements related to the plan with the aim of ascertaining the theoretical framework guiding the architects’ work, as well as the methodological framework they adopted in their work for Luanda. Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva A comparison of the backgrounds of Groër and Moreira da Silva, both architect-urbanists, helps shed light on the theoretical framework underlying the PUCL. Groër was born in Warsaw, Poland, and was trained as an architect at the Academy of Arts in St Petersburg. He emigrated to France in 1920 where he became naturalised in 1936. An active contributor to at least three French Reviews, La Vie Urbaine, Urbanisme and Travaux, Groër was also a member of the Société Française des Urbanistes (SFU)5 and a professor at the Institute d’Urbanisme de l’Université de Paris (IUUP).6 Moreira da Silva was born in Oporto, Portugal, where he began studying architecture in 1924 at the Escola das Belas Artes.7 Resident in Paris from 1931, he concluded his degree in architecture in 1934 at the École Nationale Supérieure des Beaus-Arts in Paris, and obtained his diploma in Urbanism at the IUUP in 1939, both with a grant provided by the Portuguese government between 1936 and 1939 (Moreira da Silva and Tavares, 2009). On 15 September 1940, he became a member of the French Architects Association (Pires, 2012).

Figure 5.1 Luanda and the satellite towns, Vasco Vieira da Costa, 1948

Source: Repositório Temático da Universidade do Porto (http://repositorio-tematico.up.pt/ handle/10405/48347 [accessed 14 April 2014]). The publications deposited in the University of Porto Repository (http://repositorio.up.pt/), although they are open access, are covered by the Creative Commons public license (http:// creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.5/pt/)

Figure 5.2 Scheme for Satellite Town Number 3, Vasco Vieira da Costa, 1948

Source: Repositório Temático da Universidade do Porto (http://repositorio-tematico.up.pt/ handle/10405/48347 [accessed 14 April 2014]). The publications deposited in this University of Porto Repository (http://repositorio.up.pt/), although they are open access, are covered by the Creative Commons public license (http:// creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.5/pt/)

Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

60

Groër and Moreira da Silva were both in Paris between 1936 and 1938 at the Institut d’Urbanisme de l’Université de Paris (IUUP), Groër as a lecturer and Moreira da Silva as a student.8 Groër and Moreira da Silva had already participated in several urban plans when the City Council of Luanda contracted them on 24 October 1941 to develop the PUCL (doc. 1, Table 5.2).9 According to the signed contract, the work was to be initiated that same year and concluded in approximately May 1943. This was not the first time Groër and Moreira da Silva had worked together and both architects had considerable experience, either separately or in collaboration, in preparing urbanisation plans in Portugal or for the Portuguese colonies as indicated in Table 5.1. Table 5.1 Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva – urban plans Date (start–end)

Plan

Architect-urbanists

1928–1930

Plano de Urbanização do Rio de Janeiro

Étienne de Groër*

1938–1948

Plano Geral de Urbanização e de Expansão da Cidade de Lisboa

Étienne de Groër*

1940

Plano de Urbanização de Coimbra

Étienne de Groër David Moreira da Silva

1940

Anteplano de Urbanização de Moeldo do Minho

David Moreira da Silva

1941

Anteplano de Urbanização de Águeda

David Moreira da Silva

Plano de Urbanização de Luanda

Étienne de Groër* David Moreira da Silva

1941

Anteprojecto de Remodelação da zona marginal do Funchal

David Moreira da Silva

1942

Anteplano de Urbanização de Paredes

David Moreira da Silva

1942

Anteplano de Urbanização de Monte Real

David Moreira da Silva

1943

Anteplano de Urbanização da Vila de Matosinhos

David Moreira da Silva

1943

Anteplano de Urbanização da Vila de Gabela

David Moreira da Silva

1943

Anteprojecto de Urbanização da Construção Av. do Infante Funchal

David Moreira da Silva

1944

Anteplano de Urbanização das Termas do Gerês

David Moreira da Silva

1944

Anteprojecto de Urbanização do Largo da Camacha – Madeira

David Moreira da Silva

1944

Anteplano de Urbanização da Cidade de Aveiro

David Moreira da Silva

1944

Anteprojecto do Parque da Cidade do Funchal

David Moreira da Silva

1944

Anteplano de Urbanização da Vila de Amares

David Moreira da Silva

1944

Urbanização da Vila de Paredes

David Moreira da Silva

1944

Plano de Urbanização de Braga

Étienne de Groër**

Plano de Urbanização da Costa do Sol

Étienne de Groër*

Anteplano de Urbanização da Vila de Valongo

David Moreira da Silva

1941–1943

1944–1946 1945

The Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda

61

Table 5.1 Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva – urban plans (continued) Date (start–end)

Plan

Architect-urbanists

1945

Anteplano de Urbanização de Águeda

David Moreira da Silva

1945

Anteplano de Urbanização de Aveiro

David Moreira da Silva

1945

Anteplano de Urbanização da Cidade de Chaves

David Moreira da Silva

1945

Anteplano de Urbanização da Cidade de Barcelos

David Moreira da Silva

1945

Anteplano de Urbanização da Cidade de Elvas

David Moreira da Silva

1946

Anteplano de Urbanização da Vila de Valongo

David Moreira da Silva

1946

Anteplano de Urbanização de Aveiro

David Moreira da Silva

1946

Braga

Étienne de Groër*

Plano de Urbanização do Agrupamento Costa da Caparica, Trafaria, Cova do Vapor, Almada

Étienne de Groër*

1947

Anteprojecto de Urbanização do Santuário da Nossa Senhora da Conceição do Sameiro (Braga)

David Moreira da Silva

1947

Anteplano de Urbanização de S. Jacinto

David Moreira da Silva

1947

Anteplano de Urbanização de Aveiro

David Moreira da Silva

1947

Évora

Étienne de Groër*

1947

Plano de Urbanização de Beja

Étienne de Groër**

1947

Plano de Urbanização de Abrantes

Étienne de Groër**

1948

Plano de Urbanização da Chamusca

Étienne de Groër *

1948

Anteplano de Urbanização de Aveiro

David Moreira da Silva

1948

Plano de Urbanização da Figueira da Foz

Étienne de Groër

1948

Plano de Urbanização de Pombal

Étienne de Groër *

1948

Plano de Remodelação da Baixa Pombalina

Étienne de Groër *

1949

Anteplano de Urbanização da Cidade de Elvas

David Moreira da Silva

1949

Anteplano de Urbanização da Cidade de Guimarães

David Moreira da Silva

1949

Plano de Urbanização de Sintra

Étienne de Groër**

1950

Anteplano de Urbanização de Vizela

David Moreira da Silva

1951

Anteplano de Urbanização da Avenida projectada entre os Largos do Município e de José Novais (Barcelos)

David Moreira da Silva

1951

Anteplano de Urbanização de Chaves

David Moreira da Silva

1953

Guimarães

David Moreira da Silva

1954

Anteplano de Urbanização de Caldas das Taipas

David Moreira da Silva

1946–1953

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Table 5.1 Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva – urban plans (concluded) Date (start–end)

Plan

Architect-urbanists

1955

Plano de Urbanização de Moscavide –V.F. Xira

Étienne de Groër*

1955

Anteplano de Urbanização de Amares

David Moreira da Silva

1955

Anteplano de Urbanização de S Jacinto

David Moreira da Silva

1955

Anteplano de Urbanização de Valongo

David Moreira da Silva

1956

Anteplano de Urbanização de Cacia-Sarrazola

David Moreira da Silva

1957

Anteplano de Urbanização de Guimarães (aditamento)

David Moreira da Silva

1959

Anteplano de Urbanização de Vizela (esboçeto)

David Moreira da Silva

1959

Anteplano de Urbanização de Aveiro (aditamento)

David Moreira da Silva

1960

Anteprojecto de Urbanziação do centro de Aveiro

David Moreira da Silva

1962

Anteprojecto Paços do Concelho – Valongo

David Moreira da Silva

1963

Esboçeto Geral de Urbanziação de Barcelos

David Moreira da Silva

Source: Pires (2012) * Information for plans provided by Lôbo (1995). ** Information for plans provided by DGOTDU (2005).

As can be seen in Table 5.1, Moreira da Silva worked on far more plans than Étienne de Groër. However, the plans drawn up by Groër indicate a scale approach that also covers the regional level, namely with the Plan for Costa do Sol (Marat-Mendes, 2009; Lôbo, 1999). Moreover, Groër demonstrates a very precise urban line of thought that was supported by (i) Ebenezer Howard’s Garden City theory; (ii) his knowledge of urban legislation; (iii) how and why a ‘plan d’amenegement et d’extension’ should be drawn up; and (iv) the urban principles adopted by the French urbanisation plans (Groër, 1945, 1945–46, 1948). It was precisely because of this last reason that Étienne de Groër was hired by the Luanda authorities to prepare the PUCL (doc. 1, Table 5.2). The PUCL by Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva We are unable to make a comprehensive analysis of the original PUCL as the complete process followed by Groër and Moreira da Silva could not be identified. Indeed, none of the authors of other research into the PUCL, including Mourão (2006), Fonte (2007), Correia (2012) and Pires (2012), accessed the complete process. Nevertheless, official documents and publications between 1944 and 1952 make reference to the plan (see Tables 5.2, 5.3, 5.4 and 5.5). In addition, Costa (1948) gives evidence in the bibliography of his dissertation that he had access to the PUCL. This is verified in two transcriptions of the PUCL (Costa, 1948, pp. 3, 22) that date from 1942, and also on the inclusion of two drawings that are believed to belong to the PUCL (docs 13 and 14, Table 5.4). This chapter details all written and graphical elements (original and reproductions) directly related to the PUCL detected during this research. Some of these elements were found at the Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino in Lisbon. A number of reproductions were identified by Pires (2012) as belonging to the Fundação Instituto Arquitecto José Marques da Silva (FIMS) in Oporto. Other reproductions of original PUCL documents were identified through Correia (2012). The above-mentioned written and graphical documents have permitted the chronological registration of the development of the PUCL, including: (i) the contract between the City Council of Luanda and the two architecturbanists; (ii) the correspondence about the PUCL exchanged between the two architect-urbanists; (iii) the official

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63

Table 5.2 The written documents No.

Date

Type

Document

Source

1

24.10.1941

Contract

Contract for the development of Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda, celebrated between the City Council of Luanda and the architect-urbanists Groër and Moreira da Silva.

FIMS/MSMS/42370068 FIMS/MSMS/42370070 FIMS/MSMS/42370071 FIMS/MSMS/42370072 FIMS/MSMS/42370073 FIMS/MSMS/42370074 FIMS/MSMS/42370075

2

27.10.1941

Telegram

Telegram from Groër to Moreira da Silva indicating that he will get into the boat that departs to Angola.

FIMS/MSMS/42370077

3

27.10.1941

Guide

Letter from Agência Geral das Colónias informing about Moreira da Silva’s status to work in Angola and that he is departing to Luanda.

FIMS/MSMS/42370441

4

9.12.1941

Notes over the back of the letter from Agência Geral das Colónias from 27.10.1941, signed by different offices, attesting Moreira da Silva’s arrival in Luanda for the first time.

FIMS/MSMS/42370442

5

1942

News

Urbanisation of Luanda (Urbanização de Luanda)

Anon, 1942

6

17.08.1942

Guide

Notes by the City Council of Luanda informing the return of Moreira da Silva to Lisbon and the conclusion of the second stage of the work.

FIMS/MSMS/42370443

7

20.09.1942

Telegram

Telegram from Groër to Moreira da Silva informing that the ‘esboçeto’ is approved.

FIMS/MSMS/42370108 FIMS/MSMS/42370108v

8

28.09.1942

Official Letter

Official letter from the City Council of Luanda to Groër and Moreira da Silva.

FIMS/MSMS/42370210.1

9

23.01.1943

Telegram

Telegram from Groër.

FIMS/MSMS/42370256

10

16.03.1943

Postcard

Card from Gabrielle de Groër to Moreira da Silva.

FIMS/MSMS/42370252 FIMS/MSMS/42370253

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Table 5.2 The written documents (continued) No.

Date

Type

Document

Source

11

22.04.1943

Minutes

Copy of part of the Minutes of a meeting at the City Council of Luanda.

FIMS/MSMS/42370298 FIMS/MSMS/42370299 FIMS/MSMS/42370300

12

21.09.1943

Guide

Letter from Agência Geral das Colónias informing about Moreira’s status to work in Angola.

FIMS/MSMS/42370440

13

1943

Report

Land localisation for workers housing. Luanda (Localização de Terrenos para casas de funcionários. Luanda)

PT/IPAD/MU/DGOPC/ DSUH/1974/01506

14

05.01.1944

Newspaper

Notice about the Plano de Urbanização de Luanda.

FIMS/MSMS/42370434

15

12.10.1944

Letter

Letter from Groër to Moreira da Silva.

FIMS/MSMS/42370425 FIMS/MSMS/42370426

16



Text

Plan d’Urbanization de Luanda, text written by Groër to Architect Raul Chorão Ramalho with elements to be included in the illustrated catalogue of the Exhibition of Construction in the Colonies, to be held in November 1944 at the IST, in Lisbon.

FIMS/MSMS/42370424

17

7.11.1944

Letter

Letter from Groër to Engineer Rogério Cavaca, the General Director of the Colonial Ministry, regarding his visit to the Exhibition of Construction in the Colonies.

FIMS/MSMS/03980009

18

1944

News

Exhibition of Construction in the Colonies (Exposição de Construções nas Colónias)

Anon, 1944

19

December 1944

Article

The exhibition of the construction in the Portuguese colonies realised in the Instituto Superior Técnico.

Perestrelo, 1944

20

1945

Article

The Port of Luanda (O Porto de Luanda)

Perestrelo, 1945

21

1945

Article

Le Tracé D’un Plan d’Urbanization

Groër, 1945

22

1948

Dissertation

Satellite City Number 3 (Cidade Satélite nº 3)

Costa, 1948

23

1952

News

City of Luanda (Cidade de Luanda)

Anon, 1952

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Table 5.2 The written documents (concluded) No.

Date

Type

Document

Source

24

1950–1952

Project report

Urbanisation of Luanda (Urbanização de Luanda) (i) Elementos para a memória descritiva, (ii) Ante-Plano Geral de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda. Memória descritiva e justificativa, (iii) cópia da portariaprovisão nº 27/49, que altera e define limites das Paróquias de Luanda (signed on 15 June 1952), (iv) notas anexas ao mapa das principais praças e largos previstos no plano de urbanização de Luanda, (v) Regulamento, (vi) Regulamento do esboceto da Urbanização de Luanda, (vii) Relatório à-cerca das condições geológicas gerais de Luanda. Plano de Urbanização.

PT/IPAD/MU/DGOPC/ DUSH/2036/04963

25

1950–1952

Anteplano de Urbanização de Luanda – Bases da revisão, – Regulamento.

PT/IPAD/MU/DGOPC/ DSUH/2036/01534

Sources: FIMS/MSM (Fundação Instituto Arquitecto José Marques da Silva). PT/IPAD (from former Instituto Português de Apoio ao Desenvolvimento (IPAD) today available at Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino in Lisbon). Anon means anonymous. All others as in references list

Table 5.3 The graphical documents – IPAD No.

Date

Type

Document

Source

1

1926

Printed copy

Sketch of the Plano of the City of S. Paulo of Luanda. This image introduces an extensive legend of the most important buildings and includes the most important public spaces.

BN/cc-326-a

2



Drawing

Port of Luanda. Four drawings for the study of the square of the Porto of Luanda.

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

3

July 1942

Drawing

Luanda facilities. Study of the seaside entry square. Scale 1:1,000. Identified as belonging to Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva and as made in Oeiras.

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

4

July 1942

Drawing

Untitled drawing. Scheme of the avenue Avenida Marginal em Luanda. Scale 1:2,000. Identified as belonging to Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

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Table 5.3 The graphical documents – IPAD (continued) No.

Date

Type

Document

Source

5

September 1942

Drawing

General plan for the port and marginal land usage of the city of Luanda. Scale 1:2,000.

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

6

1942

Drawing

Urbanisation Plan for the City of Luanda. Global Map. Identified as belonging to Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva.

Correia, 2012, p. 72

7



Drawing

Untitled drawing. Study for the marginal land plan. Scale 1:2,000.

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

8

04.01.1943

Drawing

Plan for the east city marginal of the Urbanisation Plan of Luanda. Scale 1:2,000. Signed by Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva.

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

9

June 1943

Drawing

Untitled Drawing. Drawing for the port square with a legend of the proposed constructions.

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

10

03.07.1943

Drawing

Plan for the Urbanisation of Luanda for the area between the city entrance and the N.S. Nazaré chapel. Drawing of the total marginal seaside with an elevation view of the marginal for each zone and with a detailed drawing of the port square designated as variant n. 3). Identified as belonging to Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva. Signed by Groër.

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

11



Photocopy

Luanda – Entry Square – Place D’Entree. Scale 1:1,000.

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

12

1943

Photocopy

1943 Luanda – Empire Square. Elevation. Signed by Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva.

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

13



Photocopy

Marginal Avenue of the Luanda Port – Avenida Marginal do Porto de Luanda. Elevation. Scale 1:200. Signed Cid Perestrelo Eng. Civil (IST).

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

14



Photograph

Ante-Plano of the Official and Commercial zones and their connection with the high city. By Gabinete de Urbanizaão Colonial. Scale 1:1,000. Signed. Signatures not identifiable.

PT/IPAD/ MU/DGOPC/ DSUH/2036/04963

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67

Table 5.3 The graphical documents – IPAD (concluded) No.

Date

Type

Document

Source

15



Photocopy

Partial plan of the city of Luanda with superimposition of the urbanisation plan (process of the lands for houses of the public workers in Luanda). City Council of Luanda – Câmara Municipal de Luanda, 4ª Repartição. Scale: 1:5,000.

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/1974/01506

16

1947

Drawing

Plan for the Urbanisation of the City of Luanda. General Plan. (Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda. Planta Geral) Identified as authored by the Ministry.

Correia, 2012, p.73

17

03.03.1952

Drawing

General Plan of Urbanisation of Luanda. Revised study. (Plano Geral de Urbanização de Luanda. Estudo de Revisão). Signed by Aguiar. With the legend: EP – Public building; C1 and C2 – Central commerce; CL and CLI – Local commerce; M – Mixed; H1, H2 – Existing residential; H1 – Residential – Economic borough; HI – Residential – native; P and F – Port and Railways; I – Industrial; IC – Conditioned industrial; L and LP – Green; R and RP – Rural and Protected Rural; Main roads; Collective transportation; IA – warehouse. Scale 1:5,000.

PT/IPAD/ MU/DGOPC/ DSUH/2036/03306

18



Drawing

Port of Luanda. (Porto de Luanda). Scale 1:5,000

PT/IPAD/MU/ DSUH/2036/15909

Sources: BN (Portuguese National Library). PT/IPAD (Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino). All others as in references list

Table 5.4 The graphical documents – other sources No.

Date

Type

Document

Source

1



Drawing

Plan of Luanda Region. Planta da região de Luanda. Scale 1:100,000.

FIMS/MSMS/1122pd7613

2



Colour drawing

Region de Luanda. Scale 1:100,000.

FIMS/MSMS/1122pd7615

3



Photograph

Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda. Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva. Scale 1: 5,000.

FIMS/MSMS/Foto1113

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Table 5.4 The graphical documents – other sources (continued) No.

Date

Type

Document

Source

4



Photograph

Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda. Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva. This is the same image of document 20 but with no legend, and the inclusion of the stamp of the City Council, the name of the plan and a compass rose.

Perestrelo, 1944, p. 121

5



Photograph

The same photograph indicated in Perestrelo (1944) but scratched over the indication of Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda and also on the stamp of the City Council of Luanda.

Perestrelo, 1945, p. 281

6



Drawing

Luanda. Nazaré square. Place Nazaré. Signed by Étienne de Groër. Scale 1:1,000.

FIMS/ MSMS/4237–0184

7



Drawing

Luanda, Entrance Square (Luanda. Place d’entrée) Scale 1:1,000. Signed by Groër and Moreira da Silva.

FIMS/MSMS/1122pd7614

8

1943

Drawing

Luanda – Square of the Empire (Luanda – Praça do Império). E. De Groër and David Moreira da Silva.

FIMS/MSMS/1122pd7616

9

June 1943

Drawing

Schematic examples of the interdependence of buildings within a block in a residential area. Scale 1: 2,000.

FIMS/MSMS/pd7617

10

July 1942

Drawing

Drawing of a square for the Plano de Urbanização de Luanda. Signed by Groër and Moreira da Silva.

FIMS/MSMS/1122pd7623

11



Drawing

Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda. Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva. Scheme of lots and buildings around Praça D. Afonso Henriques.

FIMS/MSMS1112/ pd7619

12

1942

Drawing

Urbanisation Plan for the City of Luanda. Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda. Signed by Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva. Scheme for Av. General Carmona.

FIMS/MSMS/pd7618

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69

Table 5.4 The graphical documents – other sources (concluded) No.

Date

Type

Document

Source

13



Drawing

Plan of the Luanda Region. (Planta da região de Luanda). Plan that indicates Luanda and the main train lines connecting Luanda and its five satellite towns. Scale 1:100,000.

Costa, 1984, p. 89

14



Drawing

Urbanisation Plan for Luanda. (Plano de Urbanização de Luanda). Plan that indicates de Urbanisation Plan for Luanda by Groër and Moreira da Silva and that has been published also in Técnica by Perestrelo (1944).

Costa, 1984, p. 91

Sources: FIMS/MSM (Fundação Instituto Arquitecto José Marques da Silva). All others as in references list

correspondence between the architect-urbanists and the municipal and governmental authorities with respect to the plan; but also (iv) some graphical documents regarding the PUCL and the evolution of Luanda’s urbanisation. Other sources include: official contemporaneous publications that make reference to the plan (Anon, 1942), and the dissertation by Vasco Vieira da Costa (1948) about the PUCL that includes transcripts from the PUCL. All identified documentation (original and reproductions) related to the PUCL is systematised in this section. It is organised into two categories, written and graphical documents, and set out chronologically in Tables 5.2, 5.3 and 5.4. Table 5.2 presents the written documents; Table 5.3 presents the graphical documents identified at Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, from the former Instituto Português de Apoio ao Desenvolvimento (IPAD) and Table 5.4 includes graphical documents identified from other sources. It can be seen from Tables 5.2, 5.3 and 5.4 that although the entire PUCL document is not available, it is possible to trace some documents that permit the identification of: i. a description of the PUCL by Groër (doc. 16, Table 5.2); ii. the evolution of the PUCL process from the signing of the contract (doc. 1, Table 5.2) to the date Groër tells Moreira da Silva that their responsibility to Luanda City Council was concluded (doc. 15, Table 5.2); iii. the conclusion of the different stages of the PUCL (docs 2, 6, 7, 14, 15, Table 5.2); iv. the publicity by the Portuguese authorities of the PUCL, including through the official journal of the Portuguese Colonies (Anon, 1944) and also the advertisement of the plan at the Exhibition of Construction of Colonies that took place at the Instituto Superior Técnico in Lisbon in November 1944, and later published in the journal Técnica (Perestrelo, 1945); v. the protests made by the architect-urbanists contesting the fact that the authorship of the PUCL was not duly identified at the Lisbon Exhibition (doc. 17, Table 5.2), and the successive alterations to the plan made by private entities and Luanda City Council (doc. 15, Table 5.2); vi. an ample selection of graphical and written documents belonging to Groër and Moreira da Silva allows identification of the different scales that architect-urbanists used as the PUCL was developed. The Making of the Plano de Urbanização para a Cidade de Luanda An analysis of the contents of Tables 5.2, 5.3 and 5.4 not only provides a comprehensive overview of the PUCL’s evolution, but also identifies the documents necessary to answer the following questions: (i) What was the schedule defined in the contract? (ii) What was the actual schedule of the Luanda Plan evolution? (iii) Was the plan concluded and approved?

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Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

The Contract The seven-page contract between Luanda City Council and the architect-urbanists Groër and Moreira da Silva for the drawing up of the PUCL was signed between Luanda City Council and Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva, in Lisbon, at the main office of the Agência Geral das Colónias (General Agency of Colonies) on 24 October 1941 in the presence of several witnesses. The 14 clauses in the contract defined the rights and responsibilities of the two architect-urbanists and Luanda City Council so as to ensure the completion of the PUCL. A detailed analysis of the contract, namely the Contrato para a Elaboração do Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda, celebrado entre a Câmara Municipal de Luanda e os Arquitectos Urbanistas Étienne de Groër e David Moreira da Silva (available in Pires, 2012, vol. 2, pp. 370–71), reveals that three stages were defined for the accomplishment of the final project: (i) the delivery of the Esboçeto; (ii) the delivery of the Ante-Projecto; and lastly (iii) the conclusion of the final studies. The process and the amount of money that the City Council would have to pay the urbanists for their work were also specified in the contract. The Urban Design of PUCL The PUCL by Groër and Moreira da Silva reveals three different scales of approach: (i) the regional scale; (ii) the city scale; but also (iii) the public scale, as can be seen from original drawings identified in Tables 5.3 and 5.4. For the regional scale, Groër and Moreira da Silva’s diagrams were at the 1:100,000 scale. An analysis of the three drawings (docs 1 and 2, Table 5.3; doc. 13, Table 5.4) shows Luanda to be located in the centre of the planned region, in a coastal area, surrounded by five satellite towns arranged in a semi-circle at a distance of 6 km from the centre. Seven main axes connect Luanda to the satellite towns, but also to Funda and Foz do Cuanza. A circular road connects the five satellite towns, while other roads and train lines (new and preexisting ones) are also indicated in the diagrams. Moreover, a rural area surrounds each of the urban areas, including Luanda. An analysis of the city scale in the PUCL reveals that the areas (doc. 24, Table 5.2) in the plan were organised as follows: (i) residential areas, subdivided into the different social classes; (ii) a civic centre for the ‘Portas do Mar’ (Sea Gates), an administrative civic centre and a political and cultural centre; (iii) several commercial areas of different kinds; (iv) an industrial area; (v) public open spaces; (vi) the port area; (vii) the railway areas; and (viii) the protected rural areas. When the 1942 plan (doc. 6, Table 5.3), identified as the work of Groër and Moreira da Silva, is compared with the 1926 plan (doc. 1, Table 5.2), it shows the city extends more towards the east and the south. Three new neighbourhoods can also be identified in the northwest as well as one in the south and another in the southwest, which are marked in red in the 1942 plan (doc. 14, Table 5.3). An urban area can be seen towards the east with a regular oval pattern that would be destined for the expansion of the African native population (Mourão, 2006). A large green area is also identified that would border with the highest topographical levels of the city. Other green spaces can also be seen inside the city, namely in the three newly planned neighbourhoods. It can be concluded from the analysis of the public scale of PUCL (at 1:2,000 and 1:1,000 detailing squares and buildings) that the plan for the Marginal of Luanda was proposed with the PUCL around 1942–1943. Tables 5.3 and 5.4 show several drawings made for the Marginal by Groër and Moreira da Silva. Most of the drawings of the Marginal are at scales 1:5,000, 1:2,000 and 1:1,000. The architects defined three-storey buildings along the Marginal, with the ground floor opening directly onto the street. There are three public spaces along the Marginal (Tables 5.3 and 5.4): the Pedro Alexandrino Square, the square in front of the Nazaré church and the square near the port. The two latter public spaces are new proposals of the PUCL. Although no official designation was found for the name of the square in front of the Nazaré church, four different designations were found for the harbour: (i) Praça do Porto (ii) Place d’entrée (iii) Praça da Entrada Maritima (iv) Praça do Império (docs 2, 3, 5, 8 and 11, Table 5.3). One of the latest drawings found for the Marginal (doc. 8, Table 5.3) reveals a sea front delineated by closed urban blocks. Behind these urban blocks, there are two distinct areas; one faces the coastline and is

The Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda

71

mainly for the use of wholesale commerce and light industry, while the other is further away and is reserved for local residence. It is clear from this project that particular attention was given to the Praça do Porto, which also appears with the designation Praça do Império (Imperial Square). This public space is located at the end of the Marginal with the railway company warehouses in its vicinity. Several customs offices are located on the northeast side of this square and the naval services are on the southeast side. The Praça do Império is inspired by Lisbon’s eighteenth-century square, Praça do Comércio. It presents a unified drawing articulating the language of its buildings and obeying the reasoning of classic composition, and is therefore a model (Milheiro, 2012). Many squares in the Portuguese colonies have these characteristics so are given the designation Praça do Império. The Revision of the Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda The PUCL contract between the two architects and Luanda City Council stipulated that the plan should be developed according to: (i) the principles of French urbanisation plans; and (ii) as a Programmatic Master Plan and not an Executive Plan.10 Table 5.5 Comparative analysis of the deadlines for PUCL Stage

Actual date

Elements identified in Table 5.2

Date as established in the contract

Signature of the contract

24.10.1941

1

24.10.1941

Departure of urbanists to Luanda

27.10.1941

2

n.a.

Arrival of the urbanists in Luanda

15.11.1941

3

n.a.

Beginning of the project

15.11.1941

n.a.

Conclusion of the first stage of the work

9.12.1941

3

n.a.

Return to Lisbon with all the needed studies. Indication that the studied neighbourhood shall be Ingorabotas. And that together with Eng. Perestrelo they will discuss the Av. da Marginal

January 1942

5

n.a.

Delivery of Esboçeto





Six months after the urbanists’ first arrival in Luanda (15.05.1942)

End of second stage of work

17.08.1942

6

n.a.

Approval of Esboçeto

20.09.1942

7

n.a.

Departure of DMS and wife to Luanda to handle the final work

21.09.1943

12

n.a.

City Council informs Étienne de Groër and David Moreira da Silva to take into account the on-going studies for Luanda in the port

28.09.1942

8

n.a.

After signature of contract and first arrival of urbanists in Luanda (15.11.1941)

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Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

Table 5.5 Comparative analysis of the deadlines for PUCL (concluded) Stage

Actual date

Elements identified in Table 5.2

Date as established in the contract

Groër declares that the work in Luanda is concluded

12.10.1944

15

n.a.

Delivery of Ante-Projecto





12 months after the urbanists’ first arrival in Luanda (15.11.1942)

Arrival of DMS and wife in Luanda and delivery of the final work

11.11.1943

12, 23

18 months after the urbanists’ first arrival in Luanda (15.05.1943)

Deadline for City Council to purpose changes to the project

n.a.

n.a.

Six months after delivery of final work (15.11.1943)

Text by Groër explaining the Plano de Urbanização de Luanda to be presented to the Exhibition of Construction of the Portuguese Colonies in Lisbon – IST

November 1944

16

n.a.

Presentation of the Plano de Urbanziação de Luanda at the Exhibition at IST in Lisbon

November 1944

19, 22

n.a.

Letter by Groër contesting the lack of identification of the author’s names in the model of the Plano de Urbanização de Luanda presented in the Exhibition. Proposes a model of legenda

7.11.1944

17

n.a.

PU Luanda is presented in the publication of the IST Técnica in December

December 1944

19

n.a.

The Plano Geral de Urbanização de Luanda approved in 1946 and elaborated by the Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial, based on the previous study by Groër and Moreira da Silva, which was revised in 1942, by local entities

1946

24, (iv)

n.a.

Source: Indicated sources are those identified in Table 5.2

It can be seen from Table 5.5 that the schedule proposed in the PUCL contract was not entirely followed. Moreover, there is no notice of the approval of the final project, which indicates that the plan was not implemented. There are many conjectures and explanations for the non-implementation of Groër and Moreira da Silva’s PUCL. According to several secondary sources, this was because: (i) it would be detrimental to the interests of many landlords (Mourão, 2006. p. 311); (ii) the Luanda City Council did not have the human resources or the legal instruments for its execution (Fonte, 2012, p. 121); (iii) although not approved, some parts of the plan seemed to be implemented on a case-by-case basis when considered important to the city of Luanda at a particular moment. For example, the initial ideas were sometimes reused in subsequent plans, as was the case of the plan by the architect João António Aguiar whose work from 1949 develops the plan proposed by Groër and Moreira da Siva (Correia, 2012, p. 70).

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It takes a long time to develop an urbanisation plan and meanwhile many unforeseen circumstances may arise that shape the final outcome. Thus, the longer the plan takes to be concluded, the greater the likelihood of changes. According to primary sources (doc. 24, Table 5.2), the Plano Geral de Urbanização de Luanda, approved in 1946 by the Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial, was made by local entities and based on the PUCL. The 1946 plan was made due to the need to revise the Groër and Moreira da Silva 1942 plan for Luanda for three main reasons. Firstly, it was necessary to relocate the railway stations in the city centre and the harbour to the periphery of the city as their presence in the city centre hindered urban circulation. Secondly, population growth observed between 1940 and 1950 implied making adjustments to the plan. The influx of population to the city in the 1940s represented a 107 per cent increase in European immigrants and a 144 per cent increase in native immigrants. The documents of Luanda council’s statistical and technical department in 1952 indicate this influx and show the growing number of buildings built during that decade in Luanda (Table 5.6 and Figure 5.3). Thirdly, there was an urgent need to reserve new areas for future urban expansion, define a new urban perimeter and a new strategic urban expansion principle. Another primary source (doc. 11, Table 5.2) also confirms that the first two stages of the PUCL prepared by Groër and Moreira da Silva, i.e. the Esboçeto and the Ante-Projecto, had already been approved on 22 April 1943. However, the final project had still not been concluded on that date. This document shows that the PUCL required alterations to be made to the façades of existing buildings, which were not welcomed by the local merchants. Moreover, some changes had already been made in the city which did not respect the plan. This demonstrates the powerful influence of private interests over the changes introduced in the plan even before its conclusion. No original document proving the approval of the final studies of the PUCL was identified in our analysis. However, there is evidence that the final studies were concluded, handed to Luanda City Council, and examined by the General Governor of Angola on 5 January 1944 (doc. 14, Table 5.2).

Figure 5.3 Number of buildings built in Luanda during 1940–1949

Source: Author’s own elaboration based on: ‘Número de Prédios Construídos em Luanda segundo os fins a que se destinam 1940–1950’ included in Urbanização de Luanda – Elementos para a memória descritiva (indicated in doc. 24 of Table 5.2, PT/IPAD/MU/DGOPC/DSUH/2036/04963)

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Table 5.6 Number of buildings built in Luanda during 1940–1949 1940

1941

1942

1943

1944

1945

1946

1947

1948

1949

51

75

73

62

78

33

69

113

171

221

Source: PT/IPAD/MU/DGOPC/DSUH/2036/04963 (from former Instituto Português de Apoio ao Desenvolvimento (IPAD) today available at Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino in Lisbon)

Moreover, a letter from Groër to Moreira da Silva on 12 October 1944 (doc. 15, Table 5.2) reveals that the City Council had asked the architect-urbanists to introduce several changes to the plan, and that they had agreed to do so on certain conditions. It also reveals that the architect-urbanists waited 10 months for a response to their conditions and this continued silence from Luanda City Council was the reason Groër gave David Moreira da Silva for terminating their collaboration with them. Conclusion This research concluded that the PUCL was conceived using a programmatic approach rather than an executive study for the future development of Luanda. Moreover, Étienne de Groër had defended this same approach in other urban plans. The PUCL can be defined in three scales: (i) the regional scale, at 1:100,000, indicating Luanda, its region, five satellite towns and the urban and rural areas; (ii) the city scale, at 1:5,000, indicating the zoning programme and the city structure; and (iii) the public space scale, at 1:2,000 and 1:1,000, detailing squares and buildings. A number of written and graphical documents (original and reproduction) are presented herein that confirm: (i) the actual evolution of the PUCL; (ii) the reasons the plan was not implemented; (iii) the schedule followed by the PUCL; (iv) that the Esboçeto and Ante-Projecto were approved but not the final studies for the PUCL; and (v) the reasons for the request to revise the PUCL even before its conclusion. The city authorities justified the non-implementation of the PUCL and its immediate revision in 1942 before it was completed on the grounds of population growth and also because it was necessary to relocate the railway and to have new areas for future urban expansion. However, the original written documents analysed confirm that the private interests of landlords were supported by Luanda City Council and effectively prevented the plan delineated by Groër and Moreira da Silva being followed. The analysis of the PUCL urban design shows that Groër and Moreira da Silva respected the pre-existing structure of the City of Luanda. Moreover, several official documents testify to its importance and indeed successive plans delineated immediately after its revision were drawn up in accordance with the PUCL urban design structure. Acknowledgements The authors are grateful to the Universidade do Porto for permission to publish Figures 5.1 and 5.2 in this chapter. References Agache, D.A., 1930. Cidade do Rio de Janeiro. Extensão, Remodelação e embelezamento. Paris: Foyer Brasilien. [online] Available at: http://planourbano.rio.rj.gov.br [Accessed 25 March 2014]. André, P., Marat-Mendes, T. and Rodrigues, P., 2012. Alfred-Donat Agache Urban Proposal for Costa do Sol. From the Territory to the City. 15th International Planning History Society Conference. São Paulo

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15–18 July 2012. Brazil: 15th IPHS Conference. [online] Available at: http://www.fau.usp.br/iphs/ abstractsAndPapersFiles/Sessions/25/ANDRE_MARAT-MENDES_RODRIGUES.PDF [Accessed 25 March 2011]. Anon, 1930. Societé française des urbanistes – Bureau 1930. Supplement a L’Architecture Usuelle, 259, p. 11. Anon, 1942. Urbanização de Luanda, Boletim Geral das Colónias, 18(202), pp. 246–7. Anon, 1944. Exposição de Construções nas Colónias. Boletim Geral das Colónias, 20(233), pp. 7–31. Anon, 1952. Cidade de Luanda. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, 28(330), pp. 135–8. Bigon, L., 2013. Garden Cities in Colonial Africa: A Note on Historiography. Planning Perspectives, 28(3), pp. 477–85. Camarinhas, C., 2009. L’urbanisme de Lisbonne. Eléments de théorie urbaine appliquée These pour obtenir le grade de Docteur de L’Universite Paris IV. Paris: Universite Paris IV – Sorbonne. ———, 2011. The Construction of Modern Scientific Urban Planning: Lisbon under French Urbanisme Influence (1904–1967). Planning Theory and Practice, 12(1), pp. 45–65. Correia, M.A.V.A.M, 2012. O ‘patrimônio’ do movimento moderno. Luanda 1950–1975. Unpublished Master Dissertation. São Paulo: Faculdade de Arquitectura e Urbanismo da Universidade de São Paulo. [online] Available at: http://www.teses.usp.br/teses/disponiveis/16/16133/tde-01022013–155728/es.php [Accessed 27 March 2014]. Costa, V.V., 1948. Cidade Satélite nº3. Ante-Projecto duma cidade satellite para Luanda. CODA. Porto: Universidade do Porto. [online] Available at: http://hdl.handle.net/10405/48347 [Accessed 25 March 2011]. ———, 1984. Luanda. Plano para a Cidade Satélite nº 3. Concurso para a obtenção do diploma de Arquitecto (1948). Porto: ESBAP e Faculudade de Engenharia da Universidade de Angola. Direcção Geral do Ordenamento do Território e Desenvolvimento Urbano (DGOTDU), 2005. Urbanistas Estrangeiros em Portugal 1930–1960. [CD-ROM]. Lisbon: DGOTDU. Diário de Lisboa, 1933. Um Plano de Realizações. Todos os desempregados vão ter trabalho dentro de pouco tempo diz-nos o Ministro das Obras Publicas [A plan of accomplishments. All the unemployed will have work soon says the Minister of Public Works], 24 February 1933, p. 4. [online] Available at: http://www.fmsoares.pt/aeb_online/visualizador.php?bd=IMPRENSA&nome_da_ pasta=05751.015.04196&numero_da_pagina=4 [Accessed 25 March 2014]. Fonte, M., 2007. Urbanismo e Arquitectura em Angola – de Norton de Matos à revolução. PhD Dissertation. Lisboa: FAUTL. [online] Available at: https://www.repository.utl.pt/handle/10400.5/2027 [Accessed 28 March 2014]. ———, 2012. Urbanismo e Arquitectura em Angola – de Norton de Matos à revolução. Lisboa: Caleidosccópio. Groër, É., 1945. Le tracé d’un Plan d’Urbanisation. Técnica, 157, pp. 463–72. ———, 1945–1946. Introdução ao Urbanismo. Boletim da Direcção Geral dos Serviços de Urbanização, 1 (1945–1956), pp. 17–86. ———, 1948. Anteprojecto de Urbanização e Embelezamento e de Extensão da Cidade de Coimbra. Coimbra: Câmara Municipal de Coimbra. Home, R.K., 2009. Town Planning and Garden Cities in the British Colonial Empire 1910–1940. Planning Perspectives, 5(1), pp. 23–37. Lôbo, M., 1995. Planos de urbanização: a época de Duarte Pacheco. Oporto: FAUP Publicações. ———, 1999. O Plano de Urbanização da Costa do Sol face ao paradigma da cidade jardim. In: Pereira, M. (ed.), O Plano de Urbanização da Costa do Sol. Uma visão inovadora para o Território. Oeiras: Editora do Município de Oeiras, pp. 44–63. Marat-Mendes, T. 2009. O PUCS e os vazios planeados. Novas oportunidades para o ordenamento sustentado da Costa do Sol. In: Pereira, M. (ed.), O Plano de Urbanização da Costa do Sol. Uma visão inovadora para o Território. Oeiras: Editora do Município de Oeiras, pp. 91–122. Marat-Mendes, T. and Oliveira, V., 2014. Urban Planners in Portugal in the Middle of the Twentieth Century: Étienne de Groër and Antão Almeida Garret. Planning Perspectives, 38(1), pp. 91–111. Marat-Mendes, T. and Sampayo, M.T., 2010. Étienne de Groër: The Scales of Urban Intervention in the Lisbon Territory. EAHN 2010 1st International Meeting European Architectural History Network. Guimarães 17–20 June 2010. Portugal: European Architectural History Network, pp. 32–9.

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Matos, M.C. and Ramos, T., 2008. Amenizar os trópicos: Desenhando cidades-jardim nas ex-colónias portuguesas. Seminário de História de Arte e do urbanismo [e-journal] 10(2). Available through: http:// www.anpur.org.br/revista/rbeur/index.php/shcu/article/viewFile/1222/1197 [Accessed 26 March 2014]. Matos, M.C., Ramos, T.B. and Costa, L.P., 2009. Planned and Unplanned Towns in Former Portuguese Colonies in Sub-Saharan Africa: An Analysis of Silveira’s Iconografia. African Perspectives 2009. The African Inner City: [Re]sourced. University of Pretoria 25–28 September 2009. Pretoria: Department of Architecture, University of Pretoria. [online] Available at: https://lirias.kuleuven.be/bitstream/123456789/294456/3/ Pretoria2009proceedingsToC.pdf [Accessed 26 March 2014]. Milheiro, A.C.F.V., 2012. O Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial e o traçado das cidades luso-africanas na última fase do período colonial português. Urbe. Revista Brasleira de Gestão Urbana Brazilian Journal of Urban Management [e-journal] 4(2), pp. 215–232. Available through: http://www.revistas.ceurban. com/numero8/artigos.htm [Accessed 11 April 2014]. Moniz, G.C., 2011. O Ensino Moderno da Arquitectura. A Reforma de 57 e as Belas-Artes em Portugal (1931–69). Unpublished PhD Dissertation. Coimbra: Departamento de Arquitectura da Faculdade de Ciências e Tecnologias da Universidade de Coimbra. [online] Available at: https://estudogeral.sib.uc.pt/ jspui/handle/10316/18438 [Accessed 8 April 2014]. Moreira da Silva, D. and Tavares, A. 2009. Les Villes qui meurent sans se dépeupler. Porto: Fundação Instituto Arquitecto Marques da Silva. [online] Available at: fims.up.pt/download.php?fileid=6 [Accessed 11 April 2014]. Mourão, F.A.A., 2006. Continuidades e descontinuidades de um processo colonial através de uma leitura de Luanda: Uma interpretação do desenho urbano. São Paulo: Terceira Margem. Pereira, M., 2009. O Plano de Urbanização da Costa do Sol. O Pioneirismo de um plano sub-regional. In: Pereira, M. (ed.), O Plano de Urbanização da Costa do Sol. Uma visão inovadora para o Território. Oeiras: Editora do Município de Oeiras, pp. 26–41. Perestrelo, A.M.C., 1944. A exposição da construção nas Colónias Portuguesas realizada no Instituto Superior Técnico. Técnica, 151, pp. 120–26. ———, 1945. O Pôrto de Luanda. Técnica, 154, pp. 279–94. Pires, M.C.M., 2012. O Ateliê de Arqitectura/urbanismo de David Moreira da Silva e Maria José Marques da Silva Martins. Visibilidade da Memória. Unpublished PhD Thesis. Porto: Faculdade de Letras da Universidade do Porto. [online] Available at: http://repositorio-aberto.up.pt/handle/10216/67327 [Accessed 25 March 2011]. Ramos, T. and Matos, M.C., 2012. Percursos intercontinentais. Arquitetos partindo de Portugal no século XX. URBANA – Revista Eletrônica do Centro Interdisciplinar de Estudos sobre a Cidade [e-journal] 4(4). Available through: http://www.ifch.unicamp.br/ojs/index.php/urbana/article/view/898 [Accessed 26 March 2014]. Silveira, L., n.d. Ensaio de Iconografia das Cidades Portuguesas do Ultramar, 4 volumes. Junta de Investigação do Ultramar, Lisboa. [online] Available at: http://memoria-africa.ua.pt/Library/ShowImage. aspx?q=/EICPU/EICPU-1&p=1 [Accessed 11 April 2014]. Notes 1 It was not possible to date this essay, but it is assumed that it was written in the period 1956–1960 (Matos et al., 2009). His work is divided into four volumes. The first deals with the cities of Morocco and nearby Atlantic islands, the second tackles the sub-Saharan cities, the third studies the cities of Asia and the Far East, and the fourth volume deals with the cities in Brazil. This work gathers more than 1,000 images of about 200 cities, including many plans made by the Lisbon Overseas Urbanisation Office. 2 The authors of this chapter tried to obtain digital copies of these plans for the purposes of further investigation. 3 It is not clear why and who exactly motivated Groër to come to work and live in Portugal but there are three possible reasons. First, an invitation by Alfred Agache (1875–1959), with whom Groër had collaborated in his office in Paris and in the urban plan for Rio de Janeiro. Agache might have wanted to continue working with his former collaborator in the works being conducted in Lisbon, namely in Costa do Sol (Marat-Mendes, 2009). For more information on the collaboration

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between these two architects in Brazil see Agache (1930) and the Brazilian newspaper articles published in O Paíz between 1928 and 1933. Secondly, a direct invitation by Duarte Pacheco, the Portuguese Minister for Public Works, who was well aware of the work of the international architect-urbanists, particularly from the IUUP; he had already invited Alfred Agache to work in Portugal in 1933, as recorded in the daily newspaper Diário de Lisboa on 24 February 1933: ‘I have asked the great French urbanist Alfred Agache to come to Lisbon in order to elaborate an urban plan from Terreiro do Paço to Cascais’ (Diário de Lisboa, 1933); and finally, a possible invitation by João Guilherme Faria da Costa (1906–1971), the first Portuguese architect-urbanist to have concluded his studies at the IUUP, in 1936 (Pires, 2012, volume 2, p. 90). Georges Florentine Sébille, who also later supervised Moreira da Silva, supervised his final dissertation. After his return to Portugal, he immediately joined the Lisbon City Council in January 1938. Thus, Faria da Costa might have suggested Groër’s name to Lisbon City Council. Whatever the actual reason, in fact Groër stayed in Portugal and received several contracts from a number of City Councils to prepare different Urban Plans for Portugal (Lôbo, 1995; Marat-Mendes and Oliveira, 2014). 4 These are the documents identified by this research. Any other existing documents would undoubtedly complement the analysis of the PUCL. 5 The Societé Française des Urbanistes (SFU) was founded in 1911 by architects D.A. Agache, M. Auburtin, A. Bérard, E. Hébrard, L. Jaussely, A. Parenty, H. Prost, the engineer and landscape architect J.C.N. Forestier, and the landscape architect E. Redont. Under the direction of Jules Siegfried at the Musée Social, this group participated in preparing the text which would establish the first French law for the Aménagement, l’embellissement et l’extension des villes known as Lois Cornudet from 14 March 1919 and later modified on 19 July 1924. On 10 March 1914, the French society of architecturbanists was registered with Eugène Hénard as President and Agache as the Secretary-General. Whereas Léon Jaussely became President in 1919, Agache continued as the Secretary-General for the SFU and together they actively contested for the promulgation of the Cornudet Law. At the same time, the society organised a number of conferences and contests such as the Conférence Interalliée d’Urbanisme in Paris and plans to complete the reconstruction of the devastated city. In 1930, Groër served as member of the Administration Board for the SFU along with MM Bérard, Jaussely, Aug. Rey, René Danger, Bonnier, Forestier, Bourdeix, Parenty and De Souza. The President was M. Dervaux and M. Prost and Agache the Vice-Presidents, as identified in the Supplement a L’Architecture Usuelle (Anon, 1930, p. 11). 6 Although the courses taught by Groër at the IUUP could not be identified, there is evidence that he supervised the final thesis of Boulfroy, Jeanne, Andrée-Auguste, in 1939, at the IUUP. 7 Moreira da Silva was a student of José Marques da Silva in 1927–1928 (Moniz, 2011, vol. 2, p. 23). 8 There is no evidence that Groër was in fact Moreira da Silva’s professor at the IUUP (see Pires, 2012). 9 For a more detailed analysis of the diversity of urban plans developed by Groër and Moreira da Silva see Lôbo (1995), Pires (2012) and DGOTDU (2005). 10 For further analysis of the PUCL contract, see the digitalisation of this contract available in Pires (2012, pp. 370–71).

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Chapter 6

Modern Colonial: The Urban-Architectural Laboratory of Luanda Inês Lima Rodrigues

Introduction The main goal of this chapter is to examine the urban proposals for Luanda and the architecture produced in the field of collective housing during the modern period. The modern period, although relatively short, was marked by intense planning and architectural activity and occurred at the same time as the Portuguese dictatorship regime known as Estado Novo.1 The social condition that led to massive migration towards the city of Luanda, the relationships with the local population as well as the natural characteristics of Luanda were responsible for the specific conditions that made possible the development of a city in the capital of Angola that is unique worldwide. The period covered by this chapter starts in the 1940s and ends in 1974, the year of April’s Revolution in mainland Portugal that made possible the independence of Angola in 1975. The choice of this time period is directly related to the importance that urban dynamics has had in the Angolan territory, when compared with the previous half-century, a period marked by relative neglect towards the colonies by the government in the metropolis. Angola’s urban history is directly linked to Portuguese urban history. This link is greatly based on the fact that both had the same basis of education, used the same international references and indeed were, in many cases, the product of the same groups of persons. Yet, is it possible to identify a Portugueseinfluenced tropical urbanism? In Luanda, a Portuguese-speaking tropical city was planned, with the intent to merge the local culture with an international image, this being known as the Modern Movement, a movement which reached its pinnacle both at the urban and architectural levels. More specifically, how were modern values introduced in Luanda? How was this modern expression able to assert its values of freedom in a colonial and oppressive dictatorship regime? Mostly from the 1950s onwards, a project to rebuild and reshape the city fabric emerged in Angolan society, where European urban models had already been developed. But was Luanda planned simply contemplating the European population’s best interests or was it also compatible with the natives’ interests? In this chapter we will try to analyse and acknowledge the existence of a self-established identity in the Portuguese-Angolan urban and architectural landscape practised in the three decades that preceded Angola’s independence. We support the idea of acknowledging history and culture as key factors for architectural practical conception and production, and, consequently, for each city’s own cultural identity. The city keeps the mark of a culture and a time that also manages to embrace the major events throughout its existence. Learning from history, it is not about copying, but observing and understanding the shift-changing events that altered the way Luanda evolved. We must also consider the unifying influences that bond each culture, as they help to understand territory and architecture as an inseparable event, impacting social, economic and cultural values, and which are located in such distinct geographical regions as Portugal and Angola. This work arises from a restlessness common to many architects and historians: to study and divulge what once was, is and could be the modern architecture in the tropics. The deepening of this knowledge allows us, in turn, to shed some light on the path to be taken in moving forward in a way that, from the study of history, we may further contribute not only to what we know about the past, but also to help build the future. By uncovering the origins of the events that preceded us we can best extrapolate the future.

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The Portuguese-Angolan Modern Manifesto In light of the impossibility of understanding any given era as an isolated phenomenon, we present the history of Luanda’s modern process that jointly encompasses quite a multitude of factors. This context reference thus becomes one of the most important considerations to be understood in order to legitimate any work. We firstly highlight Angola’s inherent connection to the ‘metropolis’, as this was the place where most of the key players in the urban growth of the capital came from. Between 1930 and 1950 Portugal intensified its political strategies to further define its ‘colonial space’, mainly in regard to the so-called third empire, the African one. Many strategies involved how to advertise the colonies – either through expositions, events or congresses – as being part of a great Portuguese ‘empire’. An example of this is seen in the political propaganda in using a world map to depict Portugal and its African colonies in comparison to Europe or the United States, complemented by the sentence: ‘Portugal is not a small country’.2 Despite the fact that the national context of the Salazar regime imposed a kind of neo-traditional architecture, especially between the years 1930–1940, the modern dimension of international influence eventually imposed itself in the following decades and across all areas, from architecture to urban development. If we were to assign a date to mark the start of the Modern Movement in Portugal, we might consider two possibilities: the first would obviously be the First National Congress of Architecture held in Lisbon in 1948. It occurred during an important shift and moment of affirmation in modern Portuguese architecture, focusing on the ‘serious’ problem of housing. Moreover, this problem extended for the first time into thinking of the city, including territory planning and land management, as being one where ‘the housing problem is primarily a problem of urbanism’ (Gomes, 2008: 290). For the first time, Le Corbusier’s Ville Radieuse and, particularly, the Athens Charter (1943) are quoted and the importance of the architect in the colonies is addressed (Simões, 2008: 147). We hence highlight the time lag of the great architectural event that occurred 15 years after the approval of the Athens Charter in the fourth CIAM conference (1933). The other crucial moment that indicates the start of the Modern Movement in Portugal encompasses the two exhibitions about Brazilian Modern Architecture held in Lisbon; the first was held at the Instituto Superior Técnico, in 1949, and the second in the Sociedade Belas Artes, as part of the Third Congress of the Union of International Architects, in 1953. Both events triggered a series of articles in the pages of Architecture magazine,3 and had a huge impact on the Portuguese architectural environment: Brazilian Modern architecture ended up being echoed in Angola, by Francisco Castro Rodrigues, who was assigned to take the exhibition to Angola. To paraphrase Mies van der Rohe, the exhibits are thus instruments of industry and culture, and so they should be used. At the same time there arose a generation of Portuguese architects who believed in the most humane and ideological dimension of the profession, and who had the courage to confront the dictatorial regime of Salazar, despite being aware that ‘talking about modern architecture is talking of a political problem’ (Botelho, 1987: 7). These architects embraced all things modern in the years of their training (a definitely more intense training at the Porto School, with Carlos Ramos, than at the School of Lisbon, with Cristino da Silva) and matured their ideas and principles in the later stages of the post-Second World War period. They built in a lucid manner based on their teachers’ contributions, but filtered information gained in their training in order to implement and achieve new objectives. This was a generation of architects who sought to conquer civil and political liberties, who believed it was possible, through the machinations of their profession, to change the fate of the deprived sections, to address the lack of access to adequate housing and to create a future for the cities through the knowledge and dissemination of social values. A beautiful utopia! The African generation, formed from the 1948 Congress (Fernandes, 2002), was largely responsible not only for the arrival of modernity in Luanda, but also for the construction of much of the city itself. The trip to Africa was seen as the path to the land of opportunity, having more freedom of speech and of personal realization, where the Angolan territory gained undoubtedly another dimension with a huge and attractive capacity. The Portuguese architects emigrated with the illusion of implementing everything that was censored in Portugal, and for some it was even the only possibility to escape the PIDE’s4 repression. However, it was also noticed that many architects settled temporarily as state officials, sent as experts in matters of development. Many ended up staying. From the 1950s onwards there was also a huge migration of Portuguese who were attracted to Angola either alone or through the recruitment of couples from all over continental and insular

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Portugal, leading to the establishment of new settlements or the expansion of existing ones. As Manuela Fonte shows ‘it was the immigration of the poor white man who would compete with the low income native professionals; Portugal was probably the last colonial power to take advantage of organized mass emigration to its colonies …’ (Fonte, 2007: 87). Whatever the reason, the truth is that the Portuguese-Angolan modern legacy has a huge dimension, not only on a territorial scale, but also by the natural quality of its architecture. However, these works are virtually unknown, marginal to the national and even international interests of the architectural critics. We notice that when Kultermann discovered modern African architecture,5 Luanda already housed exceptional PortugueseAngolan examples, well worthy of being open to public viewing. But history did not play along and so today unfortunately they are a forgotten or simply an ignored architecture. We recognize that the historiography of the Modern Movement focused on the works of the great masters and the places they built, gives only a partial picture of a phenomenon that has a breadth and depth far greater than that, which was disclosed by the canonical histories of architecture.6 An inevitable consequence of this neglect is the theoretical, physical and social devaluation of a major cultural heritage, with all that this implies in terms of loss of heritage and historical memory. We understand that recovering this hidden modernity, besides being an act of justice and historical knowledge, is important in these times of change and uncertainty since modernity, despite its errors, was a movement that attempted something so necessary and yet so forgotten these days: understanding the city and architecture as instruments of well-being, development and social transformation. Fifty years after the surge of the modern movement in Luanda, this sort of research work continues outside the interests of Luanda’s society, even if it is a clear reference to its urban heritage. The genesis of modern strategies itself confirms that architecture can and should be the main organizer of the city. So we like to think of the modern project as an unfinished canvas, like a continuous broken architecture, one that we cannot do without in the rebuilding of the city. Somewhat as a response to the Colonial War initiated in 1961, a belated attempt to implement the idea of a multiracial nation developed. This way, a response was given to the international pressure pushed by the Charter published in December 1960 by the UN, in which was recognized the right to self-determination of all countries with a declaration that would allow the organization of African liberation movements. Rather than what initially could be imagined, the Colonial War led to a new phase of public investment for the modernization of infrastructures, promoting the planned urban expansion. On the other hand, the modern architectural achievement attained diversity, homogeneity and urban wealth, partly due to private investment that allowed greater openness to modernity. The Urban Plans for the City of Luanda Associated with the political and social changes introduced by the colonial policy of the Estado Novo was the need to plan urban growth in the Portuguese African colonies. This led to the first generation of urban plans that would later support the construction of what we now know as the colonial city in these countries. The Colonial Act of 1930, effective until 1951, and the creation of the Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial (GUC) (Colonial Urbanization Office)7 were two important moments in this process. The GUC was an entity created by the then Minister of the Colonies, Marcelo Caetano, for the preparation of urban plans for the main urban centres in all Portuguese colonies in Africa.8 It aimed to organize and plan urban growth and to solve the housing problems in the Portuguese tropical regions. Nevertheless, most plans were developed without prior knowledge of the site, ignoring topography or climate characteristics. Being the GUC, a state organism, it was subordinate to and manipulated by state officials and due in part to that the plans made in this period adopted extremely conservative designs. Despite that, the ‘generation of the 1948 Congress’ was able to show the virtues of modern architecture and urbanism. The desire to learn more about urbanism was the reason why so many Portuguese architects attended the Institut d’Urbanisme de l’Université de Paris9 and, afterwards, were able to practise in Luanda. The Gaston Bardet and Robert Auzelle classes, the importance of carrying out surveys involving the people and the site, along with the teachings of Le Corbusier10 resulted in the alteration of Luanda’s urban design, giving another dimension to the plan:

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Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries The plan is generating. Without it, there is disorder and lawlessness. It carries in itself the essence of feeling. The big problems of tomorrow, dictated by collective needs, put again the plan in question. Modern life demands and expects a new plan, for the house and for the city. (Le Corbusier, 2002: 30)

However, regulatory instruments are means, not a recipe. The choice of strategies becomes an integral part of the architectural process. If, on one hand, the international models were applied in Luanda by Portuguese architects, on the other, some foreign architects working in Portugal at that time also worked in Angola. This was the case of Étienne de Groër, from whom the City of Luanda commissioned the first Urbanization Plan for Luanda, in 1942, prepared jointly with the Portuguese architect and planner David Moreira da Silva. The influence of Ebenezer Howard on Étienne de Groër’s work is visible in his urban approaches to the polycentric city, comprising a set of garden cities connected by an efficient transport network that would form the urban tissue. In his theoretical framework, Étienne de Groër developed this urban expansion model based on satellite towns. Such a plan was one of the first major Portuguese urban planning experiences in the tropics during the Estado Novo,11 with an approach similar to the one Étienne de Groër was developing for Lisbon and which he would later conclude in 1948. The road network was based according to the basic principles of circulation on three distinct levels: fast, slow and pedestrian movement. It also applied the meaning of zoning, with well-defined urban sectors: the trade zone was separated from residential areas and industries with agricultural areas on the peripheries. Another proposal was brought forward by Vasco Vieira da Costa, just after having completed his training at the famous studio of Le Corbusier, in 1949. He presented for the final course project at the Faculty of Architecture of Porto the thesis ‘Design of a Satellite Town to Luanda’ (Costa, 1984). Despite the academic nature of the exercise, it constitutes an elaborate modern reflection with the Corbusierian methodology and guiding principles of the Étienne de Groër and Moreira da Silva plan. The first phase of urban growth in Luanda, the excessive concentration in the city centre and the lack of space would eventually lead to an untenable situation that became the main reason for the development of the first City Master Plan, in 1963. The rapid and haphazard growth of the city demanded, firstly, the organization of the road network, which implied an effort to locate industries in strategic places with a good relationship with residential areas. Simões de Carvalho and his multidisciplinary team12 at the Luanda Urbanization Office changed the planning guidelines inherited from Étienne de Groër and Moreira da Silva. The proposal would end with the radial city and satellite towns and anticipated a linear city. Carvalho advocated the proper articulation of the main roads of the city, based on Le Corbusier’s 7V rule (1959) and on Auzelle’s classes at the Institute of Urbanism in Paris, which were the theoretical support behind the development of his proposal. The Master Plan defined two main axes linking the city centre to the interior, running NE-SW and NW-SE, whose intersection coincided with the ‘civic centre’, the city’s main centre. Four circular routes established a good relationship between the main road system and the city’s key element: the neighbourhood unit. The completion of the Master Plan clearly anticipated the Partial Plans. Carvalho’s futuristic vision was based on the division of Luanda into neighbourhoods, each consisting of three or four neighbourhood units, comprising between 5,000 and 10,000 inhabitants. Each unit was a complete functional set with residential, working, shopping and leisure areas. These four main functions were within walking distance of each other. The neighbourhood units supported the urban and social system, based on three basic principles: hierarchy, nucleus and miscegenation.13 They were located close to the main avenues and near major urban facilities in the city. With these approaches, traffic was transferred from the city centre through an open, continuous and congestion-free road system. This logical planning, elaborated in accordance with the guidelines of the Athens Charter,14 was applied not only in the central areas (Portas do Mar and Kinaxixe), but was also to plan new areas of urban expansion. West of the city were located the Neighbourhood Units of São Paulo and Marçal. For the latter, Simões de Carvalho, in collaboration with Lobo de Carvalho, designed a housing project with a rational structure that enabled the creation of different spaces and that, in due time, would become potentially a new solution. They were organized according to an urban logic, in which the dwellings did not meet only the space between the streets, but were also converted into formal elements of the city. From this set only a residential block was built, which is, today, a lost building amongst the city mesh. Still, it keeps the singular nature of the application of Modern Movement fundamentals to an urban and architectural scale. The block was built entirely in exposed concrete, exploring the constructive and plastic potential of this material, adapted to the creativity of the project. The building is composed of four bodies, where the nucleus

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of access to the building is set back, in relation to the façade plan, serving as a kind of hinge that links the different elements in relation to the place. Unfortunately, the projected path was not followed and barely anything has been done. However, the city’s need for expansion to the south, towards the airport, lead to the creation of Neighbourhood Units 1 and 3.15 Of all the proposed units the most successful example is Neighbourhood Unit 1: Prenda. Carvalho supported the balance of different people in each unit, as in the city. For the Prenda, he tried the ratio two thirds native population and one third European population, but only ended up with the opposite proportion.16 The search for elements in order to generate complicity between the building and the dwelling was the means used by the architect to provide a rootless place with city features, thus avoiding the separation of its inhabitants. The surface of the Prenda neighbourhood was between 25 and 30 acres and included 5,000 to 10,000 inhabitants. The hierarchy of the 7V system17 organized the movement of the entire unit. In the centre, facilities could be found, with direct access to the shopping street (V4), where one could easily go for long walks. With the intention of increasing the open space and adjusting typologies to the population’s modus vivendi, Carvalho and Cunha Pereira ordered, along the shopping street, the collective housing blocks,18 vertically higher (A), and at the two ends of the pedestrian street perimeter located the other lower sets of collective housing of five or six floors (B and D) (see Figures 6.1 and 6.2). Each set had its square with its meeting spaces and all buildings were supported by pillars, among which the free space flowed, in extension, through the unit. The authors opted for a collective residential vertical programme, balanced by the freedom of the ground floor to form squares, gardens or parking lots, connected by a huge green platform. At the lower

Figure 6.1 Prenda neighbourhood, photo by Simões Carvalho. Foreground – buildings of type B; background – buildings of type A Source: Author, 2010

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sets small squares stimulated the collective sense among the different types of families. The villas, unlike the residential blocks, formed more or less consolidated textures, intended for the upper class and the local population. Of these, the sets for the indigenous people were never built. There was indeed an urban proposal for continued development that attempted to create a sufficiently attractive environment favouring meeting with the community and promoting neighbourly relations between the different social classes. Despite the diversity of each cluster, recurring to a homogeneous materiality in all building, Carvalho provided the set with uniqueness and identity. One cannot fail to mention the insistence of Simões de Carvalho on the Modulor system: ‘a harmonious system of measures on a human scale’ (Le Corbusier, 1980: 30). With this in mind, the different sized residential buildings of Prenda were dimensioned, defining the typology of a semi-duplex, which translates into an inner street providing access to two half floors of the building. Going upstairs one could access the bedrooms and the other half-height communicated with the most sociable area of the house. This articulation allowed cross-ventilation through the core of the stairs, without the need for air conditioning. There was an inversion of the system on floors 1–3 and 4–6 and so on, which allowed a more diverse housing set, as well as collective spaces, both important in the configuration of the place. Houses ranged from one to four bedrooms, most of them half-duplex typologies with two fronts, while one-floor apartments occupied the full volume of the half-floor and extended to the façade. The roofs were collective and, whenever possible, incorporated green spaces. All buildings shared a search for the best possible implementation according to typology: the free plan on stilts, cross-ventilation, a constructive solution in the application of betón brut, evident from the structure to the plasticity of the brise-soleils. The typology went beyond the simple functional solution and demanded interactions with the surroundings and the city’s expansion. Overall, they reached a great constructive level, able to relate the form in a coherent and logical way, making it available to the service of a certain way of living. Nonetheless, did it prevent the birth of intentions and shapes for a specific model of land occupation and therefore the construction of the city? Built between 1963 and 1965 the Prenda Neighbourhood Unit currently occupies a place that could be considered complete in relation to urban infrastructures: hospital, university and other services. It was thought to be a fragment of the city: urbanely self-sufficient and sustainable, considering the walking paths. However, it had a dispersed formation, the result of green spaces being suppressed, for example, during the construction process as an urban place. We found that none of the designed facilities incorporated into the plan were built and, unfortunately, Prenda is now a degraded neighbourhood in terms of its formal, architectural and social composition. The empty spaces led to the proliferation of musseques (slums) becoming progressively occupied. The virtual reconstruction of the project allows us to imagine the original intentions of the spaces and the importance of the ground plan, once open and continuous. The rebuilding of the urban model also reveals its contribution to the idea of a more complete project of Angolan modernity. The (re)construction of this neighbourhood could be a great opportunity to restore the architectural identity of the city, on one hand returning the collective spaces and quality of housing to the population that lives there and, on the other, making it an unprecedented reference to add to the world’s modern historiography. Another plan important in its concept, and frustrated in its application, was the Master Plan ‘Futungo de Belas’, for the south of Luanda, also coordinated by Simões de Carvalho. Its purpose was to give the people of Luanda, especially the upper middle class, a recreational area for the weekend. It included sports clubs and a forest park that contemplated a number of outdoor activities (playgrounds, camping and picnic areas). It also placed at the disposal of society various recreational facilities such as: restaurants, nightclubs, cinemas and even a chapel and a forum. The civic centre had a major role in the logic of the organization and was located in a large plaza, surrounded by commercial and administrative areas. In the modern circumstance, the civic centre recognized the role reserved for the traditional town square as the collective space par excellence. Carvalho intended to ‘raise people’s income thanks to Urbanism’, which ‘is only valid when it promotes development’ (in Goycoolea and Núñez, 2011: 243). This was his policy. However, as so often happens in history, the experience was incomplete. Currently, we can only speak of the existence of dispersed fragments that due to subsequent interventions are sometimes difficult to recognize. Nonetheless, one must acknowledge one of the paradoxes of this history: the colonial city tried to reproduce the models of the metropolis, but developed in a much more modern way: in structure, ideology, form and typology. In this context, we

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Figure 6.2  Prenda neighbourhood, three-dimensional model. Foreground – buildings of type B; background – buildings of type A

Source: Author 2011

emphasize the importance of the Athens Charter as an undisputed theoretical document, but also its enormous practical impact in the Portuguese-Angolan urban process. The modern ideals were the engine of various actions and endless transformations of the city and its habitat, translated into several unique buildings and urban structures based on the trilogy ‘sun, space and greenery’ (Le Corbusier, [1943]). Tropical Modern Architecture: ‘Collective Housing’ Collective housing is considered, in the history of modern architecture, one of the main factors in the creation of city life. In this context, Luanda is no exception. During the twentieth century, the city redefined itself through urban planning, namely through an intense and rapid process of urban and metropolitan expansion and also by an intense architectural renewal process, both processes accompanied by a large population increase. To control the random growth, architecture was grounded on the construction of villas neighbourhoods, sets of collective housing, neighbourhood units, cooperative and private blocks for the poorer and the middle classes. Collective housing played an important role in the definition of urban places in the city. However, its role as a structural element was, on many occasions, subjected to political wills and economic interests, losing, in this way, its potential role in the construction process of an urban place. Among the plans Simões de Carvalho was not able to conclude is the plan for the Bairro dos Pescadores (the Fishermen’s neighbourhood) on the island of Luanda.19 It was a draft plan resulting from the Luanda Urbanization Master Plan, which foresaw the island as the future major tourist and recreational area of

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Luanda (Carvalho, [1963]). The two proposed clusters were organized by a well-defined road structure with total separation between fast and slow circulation through the separation of pedestrians and road traffic. The interest of this project lays precisely in how the concept of the family unit was organized, which would eventually give rise to a new urban city category. Two settlements were projected with a total of 500 dwellings for a maximum of 2,200 inhabitants. In the organization of housing, the search for minimum dimensions, cross-ventilation, sun-protection and functional separation played relevant roles. The simple composition expanded and multiplied, giving rise to four typologies, all under the same concept: the social and intimate area organized into one body and the services located next to the patio, independently. Although the urban and architectural quality of the project is unquestionable, we only have knowledge of the model home construction. Today this is a totally inconspicuous neighbourhood. Luanda currently maintains the old urban structure that divides it into two major parts: downtown, which stretches along the bay, forming a splendid natural harbour protected by the Island of Luanda, where traditionally commercial and industrial activities are focused; and uptown, including San Miguel and Miramar, an area that takes advantage of the wind direction, which makes it the preferred location for residential zones. The Marginal Avenue, downtown’s main axis, binds the port area to the Island along the bay. It has witnessed the change of its urban image, mainly from the 1950s onwards, when a new urban façade emerged, with a distinctly modern look. In the former Rua Direita, curved and parallel to the coastline, Pereira da Costa built the remarkable Building Cirilo, in 1959. Inspired by the Unité de Marseille it presents not only functional and formal similarities, but, above all, an urban model proposal. Costa proposed a large block of houses and offices, freeing the ground floor for commercial use, protected by a huge flap over the whole length. General access to homes via a common gallery, the existence of double-storeys visible on the façade, cross-ventilation, the use of betón brut, and a regular structure associated with a strong system of protective grilles and balconies are enough elements to show the great value of modern residential architecture in Luanda. Thus, even in the 1950s, the urban façade of the Avenue Marginal consolidated and made its way to the surrounding areas of the city centre, with newly expanded neighbourhoods that defined plans for collective housing, which included not only private housing but also social housing. From the Largo Mutamba, the city’s civic centre, to Largo Kinaxixe there are several notable examples of housing, including the building of Luís Taquelim, A Cuca, a huge block of well-defined, horizontal lines on the façade with a ground floor based on pillars and covered by a huge flap that invited social gatherings. In 2010, when I visited Luanda, the Cuca building was still standing and was recognized as a symbol of the city. Today, unfortunately, it is nothing more than a huge hole. Next to it is the Kinaxixe market: a masterpiece by Vasco da Costa Vieira. The market was a huge box, elevated on pillars and consolidating one of the main squares in the city centre. It had two large courtyards inside the ventilated façades, protected from the sun through vertical blades that caused the building to be fully sustainable. However, despite the social pressure, economic values spoke louder and the market was demolished in 2008. The discreet but paradigmatic modern architecture would give rise to a large commercial and tourist resort, another urban model inspired by the metropolitan image of Dubai, which in no way fits the tropical climate of Luanda. Following the New Avenues we witness an anonymous and contemporary architecture of excellent quality: brilliant opposite effects of full and empty, contrasts of light and shade, the protection of visors, protruding balconies, brise-soleils and ventilated roofing succeed in many residential buildings. The potential of concrete was considered nearly endless. Modern architects have introduced it into simple components such as pillars, framings, projected volumes, noting that it could be poured into moulds of any shape or size. New relationships between the exterior and interior are revealed; outside areas covered by the extension of porches and galleries are enhanced. The permanence of some of the key elements of the Modern Movement, such as the pilotis (stilts) or the brise-soleils, developed their scientific, functional and geometric sense. Vertical, mobile, fixed or inclined elements, which sought to better adapt to the geometry of the sun, were proposed. The openings on the façades were drawn up to detail, more or less subtly, the leaked levels and cross-ventilation ensuring the much desired air circulation was achieved. These are factors that Kahn realized on his first visit to Luanda: … I saw that some of the buildings were conscious of the heat generated by the covers … wide separations between the roof and vents … small visible openings from the exterior and through which the breeze could

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come to ventilate. And I thought how wonderful it would be if I could separate the issues of the sun and rain. And it came to my mind the possibility of having a cover for the sun and another exclusively for the rain. (Kahn, 1961: 10)

Intervening particularly in warm and humid climates, such as the one in Luanda, requires that buildings meet the specific needs dictated by these conditions. The average environmental factors play a very important role in determining the shapes. Luanda’s adoption of the modern meant it was able to absorb these factors and apply them so that as a city on the African coast it was able to deal with a tropical climate, ‘humid and without winter’ (Fry and Drew, 1956: 32), avoiding large temperature variations and enjoying the high levels of moisture in the air, popularly known as cacimbo (mist). In a humid, tropical climate, the layout of buildings should never inhibit air circulation, but facilitate cross-ventilation and upper vents so the hot air can escape. In Luanda, it is recommended to build high-level buildings which are exposed to the prevailing winds that blow from the west-southwest all year and south-southwest from April to June (Quintã, 2007: 84). Facing north or south may be more convenient, as this position receives lower levels of solar radiation, however, and according to the movement of the sun, the east-west axis is preferential. It is well known that the Neighbourhood Units were a failure with regard to their construction, since none were fully developed. Further, it is also true that Luanda followed several modern interventions, expressed mainly in isolated, standalone buildings. In the Largo Maianga, in the south, is one of the most emblematic buildings of Modern Movement collective housing in Luanda: the building of the ‘Servidores do Estado’ (1955) (Figure 6.3). Vasco Vieira da Costa, another prominent name in the African generation, projected parallel to Avenue Amilcar Cabral what is assumed to be an autonomous residential block, but one that goes beyond the simple block and raises a number of issues in terms of the structure of access and its relationship to the street. Da Costa supported the idea of building in a manner that adapts to and supports the natural slope of the land, whose intersection point acts as a hinge. The architect suspended the main body of the building just above the ground to allow the necessary ventilation. In order to control excessive sunlight onto the western façade, the one facing the avenue, Costa made huge frames with exposed concrete, ripped off by mobile shutters that act as brise-soleil, transforming the space from the balcony in a flexible environment, which can be open or closed, and at the same time constitutes the protective skin of the building. The north-eastern façade exposes the whole ‘skeleton’ of the building, where the beam-column structure is imposed as a strong formal element, as well as longitudinal voids caused by the access galleries, interrupted only by the volume of the stairs. This was a social housing project, low-cost types ranging from one to three rooms, and working cleverly with minimum dimensions but for maximum comfort, designed on an urban and architectural scale, but also on functional and social levels. The galleries, the overall elegance of the building and the incorporation of façades not only work to solve climate issues but also ensure the functionality of the building in the modern context. Summing up the words of Maria João Teles Grilo, ‘the work of Vasco Vieira da Costa is a statement of beauty achieved with the rigor that only one reality can give’ (in Goycoolea and Núñez, 2011: 206). Similar examples could be provided, but there is not enough space to include them all. However, the case just referred to is a living testimony of the mainstreaming of the Modern Movement in Africa and the wealth of the modern heritage of Luanda. Conclusion Luanda was transformed into a huge urban laboratory, in an experimentation of Western modernity, reflected in global visions of urban and territorial transformation, either in a series of isolated buildings or scattered around the city: in both cases, always surprising. However, it did not achieve any real urban experience despite its size and scale, as only fragments of modern ideals were in fact implemented, notwithstanding the fact that some of them tend to be presented as finished projects when so much remains to be done. These experimentations were not only intended to resolve the housing problem, but were also applied in the field of urban design and urban planning. It was intended to build more human cities, neighbourhoods and sustainable housing with ecological equipment in an area where everything was to be done. The modern revolution, looking for nothing more than

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Figure 6.3 Southwest façade of the ‘Servidores do Estado’ housing built by Vasco Vieira da Costa Source: Author, 2010

to create its own order, exhibits an ideal balance between the simplicity of individual citizens and the growth of the city in harmony with nature. Living in the city does not have to be equivalent to live poorly, quite the contrary. History will tell if this attempt was in vain or whether the expected results have been achieved. For the moment, the answer is no. Luanda is currently a chaotic city of almost 7 million people, according to some estimates, including more than three-quarters of the population living in slums, without the minimum in terms

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of habitability or social infrastructure. Simultaneously, Luanda is today considered one of the most expensive cities in the world and the bay of Luanda is really starting to achieve the image of an African Dubai. The principles of the Modern Movement, the Brazilian influence as a model for architecture and urbanism in Africa, and the fascination with Le Corbusier, are some of the factors behind the group of Portuguese architects that in the post-Second World War period until the independence of Angola in 1975 was committed to transform the city of Luanda according to the principles of the CIAM discourse on urbanism. The young Portuguese architects transformed the Angolan capital into a modern enclave never before witnessed in the Iberian Peninsula, or even in the rest of Europe. This generation knew how to apply modern values to the specific characteristics of a tropical climate, and where to use standardized models beyond the simple control of the urban form, in a context often dispersed or even chaotic. These works were not designed simply based on a modular system, but with principles of sustainability and wellbeing, as powerful urban and architectural proposals. In Luanda, the abstract language of the Modern Movement is assumed as a very personal expression of the tropics, helping to fulfil one of the purposes of modern culture: to become a new tradition. In search of a universal city, the climate is one of the key elements of the functional architecture. In such a vast and rich historical process as that of the urban development of Luanda in the post-Second World War period much remains unsaid and unstudied. Modern architecture in Luanda continues to respond effectively to everyday needs, for which it was designed and built, and most of the buildings remain as an ethical and aesthetic model of a high concept of civilization. They are therefore references for our current architectural culture and certainly will remain so for the future. In this sense, there is a real need for the rehabilitation and (re)use of these modern architecture buildings and urban spaces, namely in the context of the current urban and architectural reconstruction in which the country has been involved since the end of the civil war in 2002. The initiatives towards the safeguard of this urban heritage, which is seriously threatened at the time of writing, are far from what is needed. It is therefore urgent to develop urban policy initiatives focused on the preservation and valorization of the Modern Movement built heritage in Luanda and in other cities of Angola. References Botelho, Manuel (1987). Os Anos 40: a Ética da Estética e a Estética da Ética. RA: FAUP, Ano I, no. 0, October 1987. Carvalho, Fernão Lopes Simões (1963). Luanda do Futuro. Lisboa: Tapete Mágico. ——— (1963). Plano Director de Urbanização da Ilha de Luanda. Luanda: Comissão Administrativa do Fundo dos Bairros Populares de Angola. ——— (2004). Lisboa: Conference FAUTL, May 2004. Costa, Vasco Vieira (1984). Luanda: Cidade Satélite n.3. Porto: FAUP. Fernandes, José Manuel (2002). Geração Africana – Arquitectura e Cidades em Angola e Moçambique, 1925–1975. Lisboa: Livros Horizonte. Fonte, Maria Manuela (2007). Urbanismo e Arquitectura em Angola – de Nortan de Matos à Revolução. PhD thesis in the Department of Urban Planning, Lisboa: FAUTL. Fry, Maxwell and Drew, Jane (1956). Tropical Architecture in the Humid Zone. London: BT Batsford. Gomes, Sérgio de Andrade (2008 [1948]). Relatório das Teses apresentadas sobre o tema II (O Problema Português da Habitação). 1º Congresso Nacional de Arquitectura. Maio / Junho de 1948. Relatório da Comissão Executiva. Teses, Conclusões e Votos do Congresso. Lisboa: Ordem dos Arquitectos: 287–93. Goycoolea, Prado and Núñez, Paz Martí (eds) (2011). La Modernidad Ignorada, arquitectura moderna de Luanda. Madrid: Ediciones University of Alcalá, Spain, UAH; FAUTL Technical University of Lisbon, and University Agostinho Neto, Angola, UAN. Kahn, Louis (1961). Conversa gravada no escritório do Sr. Khan, na Filadélfia, Fevereiro de 1961 sobre o Consulado Americano em Luanda. Perspecta7: The Yale Architectural Journal, February 1961. Kultermann, Udo (1963). New Architecture in Africa. New York: Universe Books. ——— (1969). Nuevos Caminos de la Arquitectura Africana. Barcelona: Ediciones Blume. Le Corbusier (1943). La Charte d’Athènes, travaux du 4ème CIAM. Paris: Plon.

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——— (1959). L’Urbanisme des trois établissements humains. Paris: Les Editions de Minuit. ——— (1980). El Modulor. Barcelona: Ed. Poseidón. ——— (2002). Por uma Arquitectura. 6th edition. São Paulo: Perspectiva. Martins, Isabel (2000). Luanda: a Cidade e a Arquitectura. PhD thesis. Porto: FAUP. Quintã, Margarida (2007). Arquitectura de um Lugar: Luanda e a Obra de Vasco Vieira da Costa. Porto: FAUP. Simões, João (2008). A profissão de Arquitecto nas Colónias. 1º Congresso Nacional de Arquitectura. Maio / Junho de 1948. Relatório da Comissão Executiva. Teses, Conclusões e Votos do Congresso. Lisboa: Ordem dos Arquitectos: 147–50. Notes 1 The New State is the name commonly given to the totalitarian regime led by Oliveira Salazar and which ruled Portugal for 41 years, from the 1933 Constitution approval, until its overthrow, on 25 April 1974. 2 Original title and reference: ‘Portugal não é um país pequeno’ – Postal ilustrado. Edição do Secretariado de Propaganda Nacional, Lisboa. 3 Included in the various articles published in Architecture magazine about the Portuguese-Brazilian relationship: Palla, Victor. ‘Lugar da tradição’. Arquitectura, n. 28, April 1948; Sanchez, Formosinho. ‘Arquitectura Moderna Brasileira, Arquitectura Moderna Portuguesa’. Arquitectura, n. 29, February-March 1949; Levi, Rino. ‘A Arquitectura é uma arte e uma ciência’. Arquitectura, n. 36, November 1952; Niemeyer, Óscar. ‘Bloco de Habitações na Praia da Gavea’. Arquitectura, n. 41, March 1952; Costa, Lúcio. ‘O Arquitecto e a Sociedade Contemporânea’. Arquitectura, n. 47, June 1953; Rodrigues, Francisco Castro. ‘O Pintor Burle Marx e os seus jardins’. Arquitectura, n. 52, February–March 1954; Souza, Wladimir. ‘Exposição de Arquitectura Contemporânea Brasileira’. Arquitectura, n. 53, November–December 1954. 4 PIDE: International Police for the Defence of the State: this is the name used by the political police between 1945 and 1969 and it was the main tool of repression used by the regime to ward off any kind of opposition. 5 Udo Kultermann published in the 1960s the first books dedicated to modern architecture in Africa: Kultermann, Udo. New Architecture in Africa. New York: Universe Books, 1963; Kultermann, Udo. Nuevos Caminos de la Arquitectura Africana. Barcelona: Ediciones Blume, 1969. 6 In research work developed at the University of Alcalá, Madrid, created by Heidy Gonzalez under the title ‘The Modern African Architecture in the Stories of Architecture’, 14 works of reference of modern world historiography were analysed, in which 73 references were found to be about modern African architecture: 7 African countries were referenced – Algeria (41 references), Morocco (10) South Africa (5), Egypt (3), Angola, Mali and Nigeria (1). The most quoted African architects were South African Rex Martienssen (4) and Egyptian Hassan Fathy (3). All other projects correspond to Europeans or Americans with a project in Africa, but none has more than three references, except Le Corbusier, who has 45 entries. Forty-two projects of modern architecture are shown, of which 33 are from Le Corbusier and, interestingly, the most cited project (67 per cent of mentions) was the Obus Plan for the Mediterranean city of Algiers. These events reveal with clarity the perception of African modernity by European historians (cf. Goycoolea and Núñez, 2011: 34). 7 Minister Marcelo Caetano created the Office of Colonial Urbanization (GUC) in 1944. According to the constitutional changes in 1951, it would be renamed the Office of Urbanization Overseas (GUU) which would eventually be phased out in 1957 to form the Directorate of Urbanization and Housing (DSUH) under the competence of the General Directorate of Public Works and Communications. 8 Initially the African provinces covered by GUC studies were: Cape Verde, Guinea-Bissau, São Tomé and Principe, Angola and Mozambique. Subsequently, the action of GUC was extended to other Portuguese colonial territories: India, Timor and Macau. 9 There are several Portuguese architects who studied at the Institut d’Urbanisme de l’Université de Paris. Among them: João Faria da Costa (1906–1971), Luís Cristino da Silva (1896–1976), João Aguiar, Silva Moreira, Fernão Simões de Carvalho (1929–), Vasco Vieira da Costa e Francisco Silva Dias. 10 Several Portuguese architects collaborated in the studio of Le Corbusier. Among them: Vasco da Costa Vieira between 1946 and 1948, during which Le Corbusier developed the Housing Unit of Marseille (1946–1952); Simões de Carvalho from 1956 to 1959, with André Wogenscky and Le Corbusier, who invited him to work directly in the Housing Unit of Berlin, after collaboration on the Brazil Pavilion on the campus of Paris, or on the convent La Tourette. 11 The plan was never approved, not only because the City Council did not have the means necessary for its execution,

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but also due to the lack of technical staff and political backing. See Martins, Isabel. A cidade e arquitectura. PhD thesis, FAUP-Porto/Luanda, 2000, p. 265. 12 Simões de Carvalho assembled a team which included professionals from various fields. Architects: Antonio Campino, Domingos da Silva, Taquelim da Cruz, Alfredo Pereira, Rosas da Silva and Vasco Morais Soares; three engineers; 10 designers; surveyor; model maker and painter. 13 Testimony collected by the author in an interview with architect Simões de Carvalho. Queijas, 27 July 2011. 14 The Athens Charter text makes reference to the preparation of plans and urban studies in Luanda. 15 The architect Luís Taquelim da Cruz was co-author of the detailed plan for Unit Neighbourhood no. 1 and the architect Domingos da Silva for Unit Neighbourhood no. 3. 16 Although there was a willingness on the part of the Portuguese authorities to pass to the world the idea that Portugal tried to integrate rather than segregate, it was not acceptable at the time that the European population, that is the colonizing country, stay in the minority. 17 The Neighbourhood Unit was limited by a V3. This kind of street has no sidewalks and is used exclusively by motor traffic (e.g. cars); buildings do not have doors opening directly to these streets. One of the consequences of V3 was the introduction of the concept of ‘sector’. The next level was the V4, the shopping street of the sector; in this street was located the commercial facilities and activities needed to address all the needs of daily life, as well as other facilities such as cinemas, libraries, conferences halls, cafés and so on. The V5 links the V4 to the housing branches. The V6 is the street that actually provides direct access to the front doors, ending in small squares. The V7 connects the V6 and the V4 and provides access to the areas reserved for the ‘culture of the body and spirit’, that is to say the schools, sports parks and playing fields. Later the V8 for bicycles was introduced. 18 Despite the Urbanization Plan, Prenda neighbourhood had been a municipal initiative; the collective housing buildings were built by the private PRECOL, according to testimony of the author. 19 The Island of Luanda, which is a narrow tongue of land, about 7 miles wide, separates the city from the Atlantic Ocean and creates Luanda’s bay. Such phenomena are common in cities along the West African coast to the great rivers, formed by the sedimentation of various types of sands.

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Chapter 7

The Prenda District in Luanda: Building on Top of the Colonial City Filipa Fiúza and Ana Vaz Milheiro

Introduction During the 1960s, Luanda experienced extraordinary demographic growth, counting 224,540 inhabitants by the end of the decade. This population increase was due to the immigration policies of the Estado Novo established two decades earlier. Such occupation of territory policies aimed to settle mainly ‘white’, Europeans from the middle classes as a response to the post-Second World War strengthening of independence claims. At that time, the city lacked housing for these new settlers from the home territory, and a strategy of planned growth for the city was therefore necessary. In this context, new urban plans were developed by the Urbanization Office of the City Council, headed by architect Fernão Lopes Simões de Carvalho. Those plans tried both to provide an answer to the accommodation of the newly arrived inhabitants and to solve the problem of the local population, especially the Africans that occupied the periphery in improvised or informal neighbourhoods – the musseques. The Neighbourhood Unit No. 1 of the Prenda District (1963–1965), designed by Simões de Carvalho and his team, appears in this context as a model of growth for new areas of city expansion. The Prenda sought to solve the two issues mentioned above: the ‘white’ middle-class city and the ‘black’ underprivileged city. Simões de Carvalho1 – born in Luanda – wanted to build a completely interracial neighbourhood. Knowing in advance the difficulties of a such task, he designed several types of residential building that would accommodate different kinds of citizens, such as slab blocks and towers for a ‘civilized’ colonial population (that integrates Europeans and Africans with a formal education), and a second level of housing – individual houses – conceived preferentially for the poor that already inhabited that zone. The combination of these two socioeconomic levels would permit, in the vision of the architect, a more racially-integrated city. Ilídio do Amaral, a Luanda-born and well established geographer, draws attention to the fact that ‘a broad range of housing types can offer to the individual the opportunity to move from one area to another, according to life demands and to its degree of urbanization’ (Amaral, 1968: 120–21), helping the social mobility of the population. This exceptional experience in the Portuguese colonial framework would not find continuity in the post-independence period. Luanda in the 1960s In Luanda: Urban Geography Study, published in 1968, Ilídio do Amaral wrote that the Angolan capital was then approaching 225,000 inhabitants, registering a quite significant demographic growth at that time. This development is naturally reflected in the urban studies of the 1960s, when architect and urban planner Fernão Lopes Simões de Carvalho was at the head of the city’s Urbanization Office. This period saw a strengthening of zoning mechanisms in an approach based on continuity with previous plans, namely by João Aguiar in the early 1950s, and with practices of economic sustainability. The reference to a Functional City, however, dates further back, as proved by the plans of Vasco Vieira da Costa, who, like Simões de Carvalho, had also interned at Le Corbusier’s firm in Paris. In his academic thesis, submitted in 1948 and entitled ‘Luanda, Plan for the Satellite City No. 3’, he suggested building housing units that were raised on pilotis, a design option that was justified by climate studies. There were, thus, several visions for Luanda that clearly defended the modern ideals and its subsequent outputs.

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Figure 7.1 Luanda, 1960s

Source: Luís Possolo, Sistema de Informação para o Património Arquitectónico, Instituto da Habitação e Reabilitação Urbana, Portugal. Reproduction authorized by the IHRU in the context of the research project ‘The Colonial Urbanization Offices: Architectural Culture and Practice’. FCT: PTDC/AUR-AQI/104964/2008

From 1961 onwards, with the beginning of the Colonial War in Angola, the Estado Novo dictatorial regime intensified its land occupation policy with a view to creating the conditions for settling the European population, mainly from the middle class. Growing independence claims accelerated this whole process, increasing the housing demand problem. This issue was to be solved with the development of existing towns, many of which received the status of city during this period. The increase in the population of Luanda was due, on the one hand, to the rural exodus that emerged with the Colonial War, and, on the other, to the increase in the number of people migrating from mainland Portugal. Angola’s wealth of natural resources, the revocation of the Statute of the Indigenous and the correlated attribution of Portuguese citizenship to the inhabitants of all overseas provinces by the Minister Adriano Moreira, as well as the growing ease of transport between the various territories, were all factors that contributed to this demographic increase. During this period the musseque or shantytown areas in Luanda were considerably expanded and consolidated due to the new residents of European origin, as revealed by Ilídio do Amaral in the above mentioned work of 1968. The Prenda District: Urbanism as a Development Instrument Simões de Carvalho returned to Luanda in 1959 and by 1961 the city’s Urbanization Office was fully operational. It consisted of a multidisciplinary team, comprising architects, engineers, a topographer, a plastic artist, 10 draughtsmen and a model-maker. Between 1944 and 1959, Simões de Carvalho travelled regularly to Luanda and observed first hand the degradation of the growing musseques and the consequent segregation and separation of the Indigenous and European populations. In an interview, he opined that ‘the history of urbanism shows us that when there is any kind of economic, social or racial segregation, there are always imbalances, unrest, crime. And I, as someone

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Figure 7.2 Prenda District, Neighbourhood Unit No. 1

Source: Isabel Guerra, 2014, in the context of the research project ‘Homes for the Biggest Number: Lisbon, Luanda, Macao’. FCT: PTDC/ATP-AQI/3707/2012

born in Luanda, every time I went there, I felt badly about that separation’ (Carvalho in Prado and Martí, 2011: 230). It was through the plans that he drew up in the city’s Urbanization Office that Simões de Carvalho applied his vision of urbanism as a development instrument to improve the populations’ living conditions (Prado and Martí, 2011: 242). The circumstances of the city forced him to take a very pragmatic approach, in which he applied knowledge acquired at the Sorbonne under Robert Auzelle, rejecting the more diagrammatic aspects of the Athens Charter. He began work on drawing up about 100 detailed plans for Luanda, even before the conclusion of the city’s master plan (Milheiro, 2012: 221). Neighbourhood Unit No. 1 of the Prenda District (with Luís Taquelim da Cruz, urbanism; and Fernando Augusto Pereira and José Pinto da Cunha, architecture; 1963–1965) emerged in this context as a standard or model for the city’s new areas of expansion (see Figure 7.2). Simões de Carvalho had the intention of applying a model based on the division of the urban area into neighbourhoods in Luanda, with a correct distribution of facilities according to the needs of the city, integrating informal settlements, relying on detailed surveys conducted amongst the population and promoting racial and socio-economic integration. Carvalho presented these objectives at the Luanda of the Future conference in 1963: In 1980, the 500,000 inhabitants of Luanda will live in neighbourhood units, with three to ten thousand inhabitants each, with their own facilities – primary schools, kindergartens, basic health unit, cinema, church, commerce and trades for daily needs, open and green spaces, playgrounds, etc. In other words, in proximity to where the people live, within calculated distances, there will be everything considered indispensable for the perfect and harmonious development of life … Each one of these units, neighbourhoods, cells or sectors will be places in which the “Space, the Sun and the Greenery” will dominate, bringing tranquillity and contributing to the psychological balance of the individual. (Carvalho in Milheiro, 2012: 221)

Not agreeing with the simple destruction of the musseques and endeavouring to fully understand the reality he was intervening in, Simões de Carvalho distanced himself from the Corbusian tabula rasa approach and

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embraced the international tendencies emerging at the time. These were embodied, for example, by the work of members of Team 10, such as Alison and Peter Smithson’s unsuccessful design for Golden Lane in London (1952). The main ‘new’ architectural element of the Golden Lane block – the ‘streets in the air’ concept – was intended as an improved version of the internal street in Le Corbusier’s Unité d’Habitation in Marseille, something that would also be attempted by Simões de Carvalho in the Prenda buildings. In this sense, Carvalho’s plan showed itself to be innovative in the context of the solutions tested in the overseas provinces, as well as in the more general scope of the urban conceptions designed by the Portuguese. Like Marseille’s Unité, the Prenda Neighbourhood and the other units were designed as a unique solution to a particular context, that is, an ideal habitat for the planning and expansion of the city of Luanda in the 1960s, from a humane rather than a mechanical perspective, and from an anthropological rather than a functionalist perspective. Following this strategy, the Prenda was an attempt to solve two main problems: the ‘white’ middle-class city and the ‘black’ underprivileged city. Based on the knowledge he had of the territory and its economic and social situation, Simões de Carvalho and his team designed an urban development that had as its main goal the integration of the populations. Initially, a rule of two thirds indigenous inhabitants and one third European population was debated, as that, in proportional terms, was the demographic make-up of the city at the time. However, that ratio was inverted because it was deemed too ‘fracturing’ for the colonial reality. The private investors to whom the construction of the neighbourhood was delegated, also did not consider it a viable option, as it endangered the sale of the apartments. The plan suggested an original approach, building apartment blocks and towers for a ‘civilized’ colonial population and a second level of housing, single-family dwellings, preferentially reserved for the poor population that already inhabited the area (see Figure 7.3). From the combination of these two socio-economic levels was to arise, in the vision of the architect, a racially more integrated city.

Figure 7.3 Prenda District, Neighbourhood Unit No. 1, scale model

Source: Projecto de urbanização de Luanda (1963), Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, Portugal. Reproduction authorized by the AHU/IICT in the context of the research project ‘The Colonial Urbanization Offices: Architectural Culture and Practice’. FCT: PTDC/AUR-AQI/104964/2008

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Figure 7.4 Simões de Carvalho’s House, 1966

Source: Ana Vaz Milheiro, 2014, in the context of the research project ‘Homes for the Biggest Number: Lisbon, Luanda, Macao’. FCT: PTDC/ATP-AQI/3707/2012

The plan, occupying an area of about 30 hectares, included approximately 1,150 apartments in 22 collective housing buildings, including towers and several types of slab blocks, to which were added specific lots for single-family houses for a population group with greater economic power – where Simões de Carvalho built his own house (Figure 7.4) – and others for the construction of houses for the ‘native’ populations, in a selfbuilding regime, in order to accommodate part of the inhabitants of the musseque that had given the place its name. The assimilation of the spontaneous city by the planned city is also inscribed in international tendencies that some Portuguese specialists had earlier been advocating (Oliveira, 1962). One new aspect, in relation to previous colonial plans, was the preference for a combination of vertical and horizontal collective housing, instead of the almost always used single-family houses on private lots. With the theoretical support of Robert Auzelle in the scientific reconnaissance of the territory and the outlining of the housing programme, Simões de Carvalho turned to Le Corbusier for the organization of the road system and the articulation between the various sectors, applying the concept of the seven road types (7 Vs) to the city and to the neighbourhood units (Carvalho in Prado and Martí, 2011: 240). These were based on three basic principles, as described by Inês Lima: hierarchy, nuclearization and racial integration, reinterpreting the Athens Charter and approaching the notion of cluster or, in Carvalho’s words, ‘unit’, ‘neighbourhood’, ‘cell’ or ‘sector’ (Lima in Prado and Martí, 2011: 146). In Prenda, the plan was delimited by the V3, an express highway reserved exclusively for motorized vehicles (Lima in Prado and Martí, 2011: 150). The neighbourhood was supposed to function as an autonomous entity, with all daily facilities accessible by foot. The concentration of the dwellings into several typologies of collective housing and the pilotis-based construction made it possible to free up terrain so that it could be occupied with parking lots, squares, green spaces and public facilities, all located in the centre and with direct access to the shopping street (Lima in Prado and Martí, 2011: 148). We believe that the collaboration with José Pinto da Cunha, also the project supervisor, probably had a defining influence on the aesthetic of the buildings, but further research needs to be carried out into the work

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of this architect. Pinto da Cunha corresponded regularly with Simões de Carvalho, who came to Portugal in 1966, so as to be kept up to date on the Prenda Neighbourhood process and other projects on which they worked together. The residential programme is distributed over towers of 12 floors (type A) (Figure 7.5), with one-bedroom apartments equipped with kitchenette, and at least three different varieties of seven-storey slab blocks (types B1, D1 and D2), with apartment typologies ranging from two to four bedrooms (Figure 7.6).

Figure 7.5 Prenda District, Neighbourhood Unit No. 1 – tower, type A Source: Ana Vaz Milheiro, 2009

The towers were destined for childless couples or single residents, and the slab blocks were designed to accommodate larger families. The disposition of the different typologies in the urban plan also suggested different kinds of socialization: the towers were served by commercial and leisure structures, while the lower blocks formed ‘convivial squares’ between each other. In general, the housing buildings in Prenda followed the same internal organization, varying only in the number of rooms or in the position of the ‘internal street’ and the stairs and elevators. In section, the apartments were of two types: the ones that were designed on one floor only, and the ones that are distributed over half-floors. This solution, which had already featured in the famous ‘F cell’ of the Narkomfin housing unit in Moscow and which Le Corbusier would later explore in his unités, was considered by Carvalho to be perfectly adapted to the tropics, because of the cross ventilation that it made possible, thus avoiding the use of air conditioning (Carvalho in Prado and Martí, 2011: 242). It is important to note that the diverse typologies in Prenda reveal the particular attention given to the various types of family organization and the socio-economic context of Luanda. In this sense, the parallel with other international post-war experiences that also acknowledge the importance of the social structure in urban planning is clear.

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Figure 7.6 Prenda District, Neighbourhood Unit No. 1 – slab block Source: Ana Vaz Milheiro, 2009

Conclusion The education and professional career of Simões de Carvalho brought him to see urbanism as a science and to defend the idea that aesthetic options in architecture derive primarily from the functional aspects. In this way, and despite the obvious parallels between Carvalho’s work and other examples in the international architectural panorama of the 1960s, the Portuguese architect and urban planner can claim an essentially technical approach. What we see once more is the evolution of the modern project, where the younger generation – with a more cosmopolitan culture than the earlier colonial modern architects – understood the importance of the social sciences and the humanities in improving modern architecture and urbanism, also renewing it aesthetically and moving away from the International Style in favour of more regional currents. Five of the 28 housing buildings in the Prenda Neighbourhood were not built and three were left unfinished, and none of the public facilities were ever constructed. Today the free spaces are occupied by the musseque, but the Prenda still persists – over-populated, altered and run-down due to decades of neglect and a lack of basic sanitation. We believe that, without the dramatic consequences of the Angolan independence, perhaps Prenda would have achieved its goal of becoming a viable urban model for the city of Luanda, integrating its different realities instead of separating them. Today the city has 4.8 million inhabitants that do not benefit from a qualified urban programme such as that which Simões de Carvalho set out to promote in the 1960s. References Amaral, I., 1968. Luanda (Estudo de Geografia Urbana). Lisboa: Memórias da Junta de Investigações do Ultramar.

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Milheiro, A.V. ed., 2009. Simões de Carvalho, o arquitecto de Béton Brut. JA – Jornal Arquitectos, Ser Pobre, 236, Jul/Aug/Sept, pp. 22–7. ———, 2012. Nos Trópicos sem Le Corbusier: Arquitectura Luso-Africana no Estado Novo. Lisboa: Relógio d’Água. Oliveira, M., 1962. Urbanismo no Ultramar. Lisboa: Agência-Geral do Ultramar. Prado, R.G. and Martí, P.N., 2011. La Modernidad Ignorada – Arquitectura Moderna de Luanda. Acalà de Henares: Universidad de Alcalà. Notes 1 For further information on the architect Fernão Lopes Simões de Carvalho see Milheiro (2009).

Chapter 8

The Growth of Lourenço Marques at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century: Urbanization, Environment and Sanitation Ana Cristina Roque

Introduction By the end of the nineteenth century Lourenço Marques had expanded, benefiting both from the works of improvement to the harbour and from the railway connection Lourenço Marques–Pretoria inaugurated in 1892, as well as from its demographic growth associated with the increasing local and regional job opportunities. This growth accelerated the development and the implementation of urbanization and sanitation plans to respond to the new needs of a growing population and of its services inherent to the development of the city and the port, which had a deep impact on people’s daily lives. Combining data from archival documents produced by the Serviço de Obras Públicas (Department of Public Works) and the Serviços de Saúde (Health Services) this chapter aims to draw attention to a number of factors that interfered with the way the city of Lourenço Marques grew in the turning of the nineteenth century. The analysis of the urban development of Lourenço Marques in parallel with the different environmental and sanitary constraints and the solutions proposed to overcome them in the early twentieth century offers novel perspectives on the city’s evolution at different levels. The opportunity to do so came about by chance while studying the implementation of the Healthcare Services in Mozambique in the late nineteenth century. The study was based on the reports of the Health Services of the various Health District Delegations in Mozambique during the colonial period, and a substantial part of these documents pointed to a close relationship with the Public Works Department, the Municipality and the implementation of sanitation measures. Looking for possible articulations between these services led to a more specific focus on documents related to the said department highlighting the importance of a multidisciplinary approach in which other factors had to be considered, above all of environmental nature, with direct implications for public health and for the urban growth and development of the city itself. This chapter addresses some of the results of this research in the Portuguese archives culled from the documentation of these two services and intends to be a starting point for a different approach to the early history of Lourenço Marques. Lourenço Marques by the Middle of the Nineteenth Century In the nineteenth-century iconography, the plan of Lourenço Marques (Figure 8.1) dating from 1876 might probably be considered the first known plan of the town. As we can see, it shows a small coastal settlement with a couple of streets and very few infrastructures, growing around a port, defended by the Fortress of Nossa Senhora da Conceição, on the northern shore of the Espírito Santo River. Like many other Portuguese settlements in Africa, Lourenço Marques was located in a swamp area. Swamps were unhealthy places but, if we look at the distribution of the Portuguese settlements in East Africa till the middle of the nineteenth century, it seems that this circumstance might have been considered only a minor problem in view of the promising potentialities of its surrounding areas. In the case of Lourenço Marques, the settlement grew between the river and the swamp, between a sheltered port and a marshy natural barrier, reinforced by a series of walls to defend the village and its inhabitants from any attack from inland. In spite of the disease ridden environment inherent to its particular

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Figure 8.1 Plan of Lourenço Marques in 1876

Source: General Plan of the City and Harbour of Lourenço Marques, 1926. IICT-AHU, T/AHU/MU/DGOPC/DSUH – Col. Drawings; Mozambique, R. 68, 3

location, this situation did not impede the early expansion of the initial settlement and the recognition of the special conditions of the port. In fact, the recognition of the port’s importance was expressed in 1876, when Lourenço Marques was elevated to town status, with a municipal regime, i.e. before obtaining city status in 1887 (Decree of 10 November 1887) and later on, in 1898, when it became the capital of the colony. While justifying the city status, the text of the decree published in January 1888, also anticipates the reasons that will justify its status as capital of the colony in 1898. Taking into account the remarkable increase that the life of Lourenço Marques, capital of the district of the same name in the Province of Mozambique, has witnessed as a result of material improvements made ​​there, and given the exceptional importance that both the village and the port will acquire with the future exploration of the railway, which will provide a rapid and simple connection of that district with the Republic of Transvaal …, and the rapid transformation that is taking place in the economic and social conditions of that town, I decree that the mentioned village is to be elevated to town …. (cited in Ferreira, 2007, p. 227)

The growth of Lourenço Marques thus appears inextricably linked to the economic development of South Africa, and thus stresses the abandoning of the preceding focus of development based in the Zambezi Valley, further illustrated by the subsequent transfer of the capital of the colony to the south. However, in the 1840s, Lourenço Marques was no more than a Presidium far from being ready to become one of the most important ports of South East Africa. By the mid of the nineteenth century Lourenço Marques had become a strategic place not only in the context of the South East African Coast and Indian Ocean trade but also in terms of the European colonial political agenda for this area. However, the Presidium had no infrastructures to respond adequately to the growing commercial pressure from the inland regions of the Republic of Transvaal and faced serious difficulties in order to halt the penetration of English interests in the area. Not even a real customs office existed there at the time and most of the international commercial exchange had to be carried on in Inhambane or even further north. The recent agreements with the Boers of the Transvaal (Convention of 1855 and Treaty of Peace, Friendship and Frontiers, 1869), looking for safe and quick access to the coast, suggested the possibility of development and growth of the city and the port, marginal to the British designs in the region, and created good business opportunities for private and official trade. In fact, diplomatic and commercial contacts with

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the Transvaal date back to August 1855 when the Portuguese authorities of Lourenço Marques and the Boer government of the Transvaal first signed a trade agreement. Considering the increasing of the commercial flux between Pretoria and Lourenço Marques, this first commercial convention was seen as a guarantee for the Transvaal’s exports and a stimulus to the growth and development of the port of Lourenço Marques. (Roque, 2012, p. 14). Yet, to grasp these opportunities, the city had to change in order to allow the expansion of the port and the city, as well as the building of the necessary infrastructures to support and frame future economic development. Nevertheless, other than the official structures such as the establishment of the customs office, any plan for the expansion of Lourenço Marques had to consider a new access to the hinterland, the building of a modern and efficient harbour and the development of the urban area. By the middle of the nineteenth century access to the hinterland was still assured by the Lydenburg Road, or Estrada das Carretas as it was then known (Morais, 2001, p. 70). Along this single access route the wagons circulated, ensuring trade connections and cementing the institutional relations of Lourenço Marques with the independent Boer Republic of Transvaal (ZAR) which at the time was fighting against submission to British sovereignty and looking for quick and straight access to the sea to guarantee their exports. From 1870 onwards, the intensive exploration of gold mines around Johannesburg and the recent discovery of diamonds in Kimberly (1869) forged new alliances as well as new economic strategies and soon the Lydenburg Road was insufficient to respond to the expectations of both the Transvaal government and the Portuguese authorities of Lourenço Marques, therefore becoming a constraint to the port’s development. In 1892, the opening of the first railway line between Pretoria and Lourenço Marques was a logical response to the new economic reality of the region. Enabling an easier and faster circulation of goods and people, the railway became a central pillar for the city’s development. In the late nineteenth century, the railway link to South Africa had allowed Lourenço Marques to become part of the Southern Africa commercial and railway network and consumer circuit (Newitt, 1997, p. 340). The Development of Lourenço Marques: Impacts and Difficulties In spite of improvements made to the Lydenburg Road and its continuing commercial importance, the railway and the port soon became responsible for the emergence of a new commercial and industrial centre, supported by a set of factories, warehouses and offices built along the port and the railway terminal. However, despite the investments made and their promising results, the growth of Lourenço Marques was also compromised by an environmental limitation – the swamp. Surrounding the once small settlement, the swamp was a natural barrier to its growth. The port could grow, the railway could pass through the swamp, but there was no space for the town to expand and no way to control the seasonal plagues of mosquitos responsible for the malarial fevers. Thus, surrounded by the swamp and the sea, the expansion of Lourenço Marques also depended on ‘conquering’ the marshes. Within this scenario, by the end of the nineteenth century, the swamp, the railway and the harbour became three principal pillars in the development of Lourenço Marques. They would have an immediate impact on the demographic and urban growth of the city and, consequently, also on policies which aimed at improving the environment, urban planning, sanitation and public health. The first – the swamp – signified an urgent need for practical measures for its drainage, without which the growth of the city would be impossible. The other two – the railway and the harbour – resulting from the increase of the works of the former and the development of the latter, had direct implications for population growth and for the increase in demand for housing, food supplies, health and education services. During the last decades of the nineteenth century, Lourenço Marques quickly became the most important harbour and city in South East Africa. According to Augusto de Castilho, the exceptional conditions of the bay and of the harbour with railway access to the Transvaal made the port of Lourenço Marques the best in the region, surpassing even that of Durban, in Natal Province (Castilho, 1895, p. 209). The port was the point of arrival for Portuguese, other Europeans and Africans, seeking job opportunities in the town or to work in the Transvaal gold mines. It was also a key point of embarkation and departure of the Portuguese military forces involved in the pacification campaigns in the colony. All of them contributed to an increase in the number of inhabitants and increased the need to expand the urban area.

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The awareness of this situation prompted the first public works expedition, arriving in Lourenço Marques in March 1877. Headed by Joaquim José Machado, a Portuguese military engineer, this first expedition was entrusted the thorny task of transforming the small village into what would become the capital of the colony. The merit of the work carried out by this Public Works team and its director is undeniable, both in the city and in the District of Lourenço Marques. Joaquim José Machado was the head of the team responsible for the first urbanization plan for Lourenço Marques (Morais, 2001, p. 87), the draining of the swamp, the sanitation infrastructures and the construction of new public buildings, barracks and hospital facilities (Roque, 2013, p. 10). As for Lourenço Marques District, Machado conducted the first systematic reconnaissance of the territory between Lourenço Marques and the Transvaal, which earned him the approval of his proposal for the railway line track connecting Lourenço Marques’ port to Pretoria. As a result, he was entrusted with leading the Portuguese Commission for the Delimitation of the Borders with the Swaziland (April, 1885) and the Transvaal (March, 1890), before being appointed Governor-General of Mozambique, in 1890. However, in the words of his contemporary Armando Longle, who was then the Condutor de Obras Públicas (Head of the Public Works Services) of Lourenço Marques, the most relevant of Machado’s achievements … was the draining of the large expanse of marshlands around the town, formed by the successive deposits of sludge brought by rivers and low waters … and at the foot of the slope, where appeared a large number of sources and in the middle of vegetal debris of any sort, developed the malarial miasmas, true focus of intermittent fevers. (Longle, 1887, p. 6)

Accordingly, the construction of a dyke, the opening of a collection pit and a large number of other ditches proposed by Machado allowed the drainage of a good part of the swamp’s waters while the laying of the railway tracks implied the further drainage of the areas traversed by the lines, thus contributing to ‘advance the health issue’ in the city (Longle, 1887, p. 6). Unfortunately, the almost immediate silting of the dyke’s area soon demonstrated the ineffectiveness of the works carried out and the inadequacy of the measures taken, thus implying the need to seek other solutions. With regard to the urbanization plans and assuming that the problems related with the swamp would be solved with the drainage works – which in fact they were not given that Machado failed to foresee them – his team focused on three key sectors: 1. the expansion of the city towards the higher and more airy areas of Maxaquene and Ponta Vermelha, supported by a modern grid of broad, parallel streets; 2. the construction and implementation of a sewage system; 3. the establishment of specific areas for the settlement of the native population far from the centre of the city and the white residential areas. However, until the end of the 1900s the city grew in a fashion which contrasted with the projected works and no tangible results of this policy were recorded before the first decade of the twentieth century. Until then and despite the city’s growing plan toward Maxaquene and Ponta Vermelha, where many plots of land were sold or rented in accordance with the approved plan, the pattern of the city’s expansion centred on the former business areas along the Lydenburg Road, the railway line and the port. Thus, this first urban explosion was rather anarchic. Without the intervention of the local authorities, the city grew in areas which had not been foreseen in the sanitation plans and public hygiene policies while remaining unpopulated in others. This in turn implied the need for effective measures in downtown areas, where the town’s population, business and economic life was concentrated, even though these areas were regarded as the least healthy ones. Most of the constraints and difficulties seem to have been related to the technical and financial foundations of colonial policies and how these policies were interconnected, and to the capability of the municipality services to implement sanitation measures and hygienic practices and supervise their application, as well as to the difficulty of finding workers and raw material (Machado, 1877, pp. 122–7; Machado, 1880, pp. 47–9). However, as it is impossible to summarize all these factors, we will limit our focus here on general sanitation measures and the principal constraints on their implementation, as well as on the need to resolve the swamp problem.

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While the drainage of the swamp was of prime importance in the Public Works agenda, the first efforts to drain it proved to be insufficient and had no immediate impact on reducing the concentration of malarial vectors and fevers. As a result, the director of the Public Works department, Armando Longle, presented another solution in 1887. Longle’s proposal was based essentially on the landfill and the drying of the entire swamp. According to him, the best solution was to build an artificial, slightly sloping embankment to prevent stagnation of the water, along with the planting of eucalyptus trees. He concluded that ‘as soon as we have raised and carefully drained the lower part of Lourenço Marques, this place will be a healthy one, and no longer the cause of diseases’ (Longle, 1887, p. 16). In turn, in view of their rapid growth and multiple applications, eucalyptus trees would have an immediate impact on land use while purifying the air. The leaves and essential oils for medicinal purposes (treatment of fevers and lung diseases) could be exploited, as could timber for construction and shipbuilding. Although aware of the controversy that still persists today around the plantation of eucalyptus for (re) forestation purposes, it is not our aim to discuss the qualities or the problems of their use here. Nevertheless, we do wish to emphasize that Longle’s proposal was consistent with the latest theories in Europe and in Portugal (Alves, Pereira and Silva, 2007, pp. 13–24). At the time, eucalyptus trees were being introduced in Portugal, both for ornamental and medicinal purposes and for industrial use (Pimentel, 1884) and Longle was well aware of these experiments and potential outcomes. This shows that colonial policies were not marginal to scientific research and that the colony, considered as a Portuguese territory, was also regarded as a laboratory for experimentation and new techniques in view of possible improvements (Castelo, 2012). By the end of the nineteenth century, the debate in Lourenço Marques did not focus on the possible negative consequences of the eucalyptus plantation, but rather on the high costs of an intervention involving landfill works, drainage, planting and the laying of new streets in an area of about 300,000 square metres (Longle, 1887; Soeiro, 1893). As a result, downtown Lourenço Marques would be temporarily transformed into a huge construction site. It would, however, guarantee a direct link between the lower and higher areas of the town as well as the urbanization of the city as a whole in accordance with the project designed in 1887, and officially approved in 1892, which mostly included residential homes and gardens and a drainage and sewage system with direct discharge into the bay. According to the same official, given the costly nature of these public works (about 236,400$ Reis), the expenses should be shared by the Government of the Province with the Municipality of Lourenço Marques and private residents, since the latter were the major beneficiaries of these improvements. With the direct involvement of residents, the colonial authorities intended to overcome any financial problems and supplement the colony’s limited budget. Although it should not be considered official policy, this procedure was informally encouraged by the colonial authorities and had previously been applied in Inhambane before it was implemented in Lourenço Marques, in 1884–1885, by the Sociedade de Horticultura e Floricultura (Society of Horticulture and Floriculture). Set up by the town’s residents, and including well known and influential public personalities such as Francisco de Oliveira Chamiço, President of the BNU (National Overseas Bank) and Joaquim José Machado or Armando Longle himself, the Society supported the forestation of the swamp and the introduction of plants suitable to the climate and the area’s soils. In spite of the initial lack of technical and scientific support, the measures taken by this Society in collaboration with the Public Works Department were successful. This is borne out by the Vasco da Gama Gardens (present day Tunduru Gardens), the first botanical garden in Africa, created by the Society on public domains assigned by the Municipality and benefiting from seeds and nursery plants supplied by the Government (Sousa, 1951). Opened in 1900 as a public garden, the Vasco da Gama Gardens initially resulted from the planting of botanical garden species and eucalyptus trees in downtown Lourenço Marques, in a small marshy area between the former Avenida Aguiar, Avenida D. Manuel and Avenida Castilho (Sousa, 1951, p. 88). At this early stage, it might have served as a testing and experimentation ground for plant species for use in swampy areas and thereby contributed to improve the city’s environment and the health of its inhabitants. The impact was immediate. The initiative was greatly welcomed in the city and internationally praised both for its aesthetic contribution and the improvement in public health, as reflected in Thomas Sim’s comment: ‘Twenty years ago, what is now beautiful “Jardim Municipal” at Lourenço Marques, consisted of

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drift sand in the upper portion, and in a lower half malarial swamp that had cost the town many thousands of lives, and earned its bad reputation’ (Sim, 1919, quoted in Sousa, 1951, p. 59). Still, the costs of the works of urbanization exceeded what the Government of the colony could afford, taking into account the considerable sums required from public coffers. In fact, work on the plan was frequently interrupted by the need to channel public funds to other activities and prioritize unforeseen and ad hoc interventions (O Ocidente, 1881). Actually, the difficulties of managing the budget of the colony, which was wholly inadequate to cover all the necessary expenses, would always hamper the implementation of the city’s urban planning. Similarly, municipal funds were insufficient to simultaneously cover the costs of the introduction of downtown street lighting and the implementation of a public transport network equipped with trams, as well as the sanitation and public hygiene measures and the supervision of their execution. In fact, it was almost impossible to produce a rational and modern project for the city’s expansion compatible with the lack of public funding. As a result, by the end of the nineteenth century and regardless of the quality or modernity of these urbanization plans, the city expanded while reproducing a series of contrasts, i.e. between modernity and the dearth of resources, between the projection of a modern and perfect city obeying to the rationale of racial segregation, and a real town where most workers, black and white, lived in deplorable conditions, without a minimum of sanitary and hygienic conditions while rents and the costs of living were high for such limited incomes. In 1886 there was still no market or public slaughterhouse. Cattle was kept and slaughtered in people’s backyards, the streets were not yet paved and were covered with sand. Human waste and common garbage would linger for weeks on the streets and yards in a state of decomposition, before being collected by the Municipality and thrown into the sea or into the swamp. The water distributed and consumed in the city had no quality at all and could not be defined as proper drinking water (Lourenço Marques, Relatório dos Serviços de Saúde, 1886). From 1877 to 1892, the Department of Public Works received £4,000 per month from the government to be applied to the improvement of the urban and sanitary conditions of the city (Woodhead, 1895, p. 39) while Almeida Soeiro was in charge of preparing the first study of the city’s sanitation (Soeiro, 1893). However, as stressed by the Portuguese Consul in Natal in 1891, and in spite of the improvements made, most of the problems persisted. From the 46 streets in the plan outlined by António José de Araújo in December 1887 (Morais, 2001, pp. 86–7), only three were paved, the ‘swamp problem’ had not been solved and Lourenço Marques was still in need of certain improvements: 1st Landfill that big grave in the heart of the city – the swamp – which seems expressly reserved for the growing of the malarial microbe and the extermination of all the inhabitants of the city; 2nd. Drain both the upper part and the downtown city; 3rd. Channel the water for deposits and from these, through pipes, into the streets. (Castro, 1895, p. 13)

Many families continued to open graves in the yards side by side with domestic garbage and stagnant waters, the sewage system was incipient, the water supply remained irregular, and the poor quality of the water distributed in the city was responsible for many health problems According to the Health Service the city had grown ‘entirely neglecting the public health of its inhabitants’ (Lourenço Marques, Relatório dos Serviços de Saúde, 1897) and in total disregard of basic rules and principles of hygiene and well-being. According to this report, Lourenço Marques could be turning into a huge metropolis but certainly not into a good place to live. The city … is divided into two distinct parts, downtown, where trade lives, and uptown, where the wealthy traders and well-paid employees live in the district of Ponta Vermelha. Workers and employees live far on the district of Mahé, and along the road to Marracuene or to Matola, from where, they have to walk every day … a distance of more than 3 km over sand to reach their offices. In recent years … hundreds of houses have been built … thousands of workers have come with their work to assist in the “construction fever”. Nevertheless accommodations are unhealthy and expensive. [Also] food is very expensive … [and] the government, probably taken with another order of more transcendent ideas, has disregarded [?] issues related to public health …. It suffices to say that there is no sewage system … the water distributed is not drinkable … [and]

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most homes do not comply with the laws of hygiene. Everything has been done in a rush, without consulting the health authorities so that by now it would be extremely costly for the government to undo what has been done. This year the public health situation became even more dramatic because of the bovine plague that killed all the cattle of the district … Cattle were buried everywhere in the city … Downtown, a large number of farms is full of garbage, dirty water and others that exude nauseous odours, constituting an appropriate means for the development of micro-organisms and germs of all species … [while] weeds grow visibly along the busiest city streets and rapidly rot due to the high temperatures and the torrential rains … [even] uptown, houses … are generally impregnated with the worst rubbish you can imagine, to the point of its residents raising pigs and feed all kinds of vermin with great risk of injury and to the health of the inhabitants … The swamp is almost at sea level and the limited sewage drains in the city are based on it. This small difference in level does not allow for the drainage of the accumulated debris nor for the runoff of rainwater which therefore accumulates in vast sheets of water rendering the swamp impassable for weeks on end. All this, together with mud, the leakage of faecal matter … temperatures of 40 to 45 degrees [and the] awful smell that it almost constantly exudes. (Lourenço Marques, Relatório dos Serviços de Saúde, 1897. Author’s translation)

However, the most shocking aspect of this report is not the description of the city and the bad living conditions, but the detailed manner in which key problems are identified and the lack of improvements to overcome them. In fact, far from being solved, most of these problems persisted until the first half of the twentieth century, as Pimentel dos Santos testified in a conference in April 1948. Pointing out some of the problems of Lourenço Marques District, he explicitly referred to the same difficulties, i.e. the inexistence of a sewage system or the persistence of marshy areas, the high cost of living and the poor living conditions and poverty of the majority of the inhabitants (Santos, 1949). Thus, 80 years after the ‘first serious project for the improvement’ of Lourenço Marques (Longle, 1887, p. 6) almost everything was still left to be done. This demonstrated both the lack of coordination between the urbanization plans and the public sanitation network, and the difficulties the Municipality faced in terms of the implementation of measures for the improvement of public health in the city and the living conditions of its inhabitants. As also underlined by Lereno Barradas in 1949 Although there are many stakeholders and beneficiaries to solve this problem, it is not solved, because … the biggest impediment is the lack of coordination between them, and it is this coordination which should be established. The subject matter from the point of national prestige, because who comes from South Africa and finds a swamp just outside the capital the colony, cannot fail to be impressed with that disgusting panorama. (Barradas, 1949)

Thus, the question remains to what extent – if at all – these concerns were, in fact, reflected in the modern urban plans for the town. Final Considerations Far from being a problem to be solved by the Public Works Office or the Municipality, the building of a modern and healthy Lourenço Marques was the shared responsibility of several state departments and required a concerted policy in terms of work plans and the allocation of funds. Moreover, as became apparent in the early twentieth century, any attempt to improve the sanitary conditions of the city would also have to include improvement and sanitation works in the surrounding areas, particularly in the swamp of Infulene and the Incomati basin, without which it would be impossible to solve the problem of marsh fevers and potable water (Barradas, 1949). All measures that did not consider the importance of the combination of these multiple factors were doomed to fail, regardless of the Municipality’s ability to benefit from its own funds and technicians engaged in the implementation of the most modern and urban sanitation techniques (Azevedo, 1908; Leal, 1908) In the early twentieth century, the implementation of the city’s sanitary and public health plans in combination with the medical care programme for the colony’s indigenous population provides a good

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example in order to examine this issue. By 1912, as a result of the implementation of these plans, and the works of the Commission of Sanitary Improvements of the city of Lourenço Marques created in 1908 (Azevedo, 1908, p. 268), both African residents and the community of Asiatic origin would be forced to move to the periphery. Blamed for their lack of hygienic practices, for living in promiscuity and for their ‘bad’ habits, they were seen as being responsible for the environmental and sanitary problems affecting the city and therefore an obstacle to a healthy and harmonious urban development (Boletim Sanitário da Província de Moçambique, 1912). Although subsequently, the town did expand and turned ‘white’ in the process, the same problems persisted, thereby stressing the need for a different approach to the city’s problems within the scope of overall colonial policy. Actually, urban planning could have been more radical, the sanitation measures more innovative, and the health and public hygiene policy more modern, but the viability of each depended on a concerted action programme which linked them all within broader colonial policies in order to guarantee their adequate implementation and efficacy. In this context, the analysis of the urban growth of Lourenço Marques at the end of the nineteenth century should benefit from a more global approach considering the different aspects that directly or indirectly interfered with its expansion, above all those related to environmental and public health issues. Acknowledgements This chapter is one of the outputs of the project ‘Knowledge and Recognition in Areas of Portuguese Influence: Records, Scientific Expeditions, Traditional Knowledge and Biodiversity in Sub Saharan Africa and Insulindia’ (FCT HC/0075/2009). I would like to thank Philip Havik for the review of the earlier draft of this work. References Alves, A.M, Pereira, J.S. and Silva, J.M.N. 2007. ‘A Introdução e a Expansão do Eucalipto em Portugal’. In: A.M. Alves, J.S. Pereira and J.M.N. Silva (eds), O Eucaliptal em Portugal: Impactes Ambientais e Investigação Científica, Lisboa: ISAPress, pp. 13–24. Azevedo, J.O. Serrão de. 1908. ‘Prophylaxia antipalustre em Lourenço Marques. Parte I’. Archivos de Hygiene e Pathologia Exoticas, vol. III, fascículo 1º, Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional, 1910, pp. 19–42. Barradas, L.A. 1949. ‘Intervenção na Associação dos Colonos, em Lourenço Marques em Abril de 1949’. In: Boletim da Sociedade de Estudos da Colónia de Moçambique, Ano XX, nº 64, January–March, 1950, pp. 93–6. Boletim Sanitário da Província de Moçambique elaborado pelo Chefe do Serviço de Saúde de Lourenço Marques Jayme Julião, relativo ao ano de 1912 / Anexo – Doc. A. Assistência médica ao indígena (13 fls.). Mss. AHU, 1527 – MU DGC 8ª Repartição. Moçambique, 1911–1912, Serviço de Saúde. Castelo, C. 2012. ‘Ciência, Estado e Desenvolvimento no Colonialismo Português Tardio’. In: Jerónimo, M.B. (ed.), O Império Colonial em Questão (séculos XIX–XX). Poderes, Saberes e Instituições, Lisboa: Ed.70, pp. 349–87. Castilho, A. de. 1895. ‘A propósito de Lourenço Marques’. In: Castro, E.B. de (ed.), África Oriental. Portugal em Lourenço Marques, Edição popular, pp. 139–211. Castro, E.B. de (ed.). 1895. África Oriental. Portugal em Lourenço Marques, Edição popular. Ferreira, A.A. 2007. Moçambique: 1489–1975, Lisboa: Ed. Prefácio. Leal, J.R. do A. 1908. ‘Algumas considerações sobre as campanhas anti-maláricas em Lourenço Marques’. Archivos de Hygiene e Pathologia Exoticas, vol. III, fascículo 1º, Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional, 1910, pp. 59–78. Longle, J. Armando. 1887. Do Saneamento e Alargamento da Vila de Lourenço Marques, Lisboa. Lourenço Marques – Relatório do Serviço de Saúde de Lourenço Marques elaborado pelo Chefe de Serviço de Saúde, relativo ao ano de 1886. Mss. AHU, 1506 DGU 5ª Repartição. Moçambique, 1848–1890, Serviço de Saúde.

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Lourenço Marques – Relatório do Serviço de Saúde do Districto de Lourenço Marques referido ao anno de 1897, elaborado por Aurélio Galhardo Barreiros, facultativo de 1ª classe, Delegado de Saúde de Lourenço Marques. Mss. AHU, 1514 DGU 5ª Repartição. Moçambique, 1897, Serviço de Saúde. Lourenço Marques – Relatório do Serviço de Saúde do Districto de Lourenço Marques referido ao anno de 1899, elaborado por Aurélio Galhardo Barreiros, facultativo de 1ª classe, Delegado de Saúde de Lourenço Marques. Mss. AHU, 1514 DGU 5ª Repartição. Moçambique, 1897, Serviço de Saúde. Machado, J.J. 1877. ‘Relatório sobre as Obras Públicas Executadas na Província de Moçambique, 1877’. In: Relatórios dos Diretores de Obras Públicas, 1ª série, 1879, Lisboa, pp. 91–136. ———. 1880. ‘Relatório sobre as Obras Públicas Executadas na Província de Moçambique, nos anos civis de 1878 e 1879’. In: Relatórios dos Diretores de Obras Públicas e Outros Documentos, 2ª série, 1º volume, Lisboa, 1881, pp. 1–63. Morais, J. Sousa. 2001. Maputo. Património da Estrutura e Forma Urbana. Topologia do Lugar, Lisboa: Livros Horizonte. Newitt, M. 1997. História de Moçambique, Lisboa: Europa América. ‘O Hospital de Lourenço Marques’, O Ocidente, 1881 (4–85), pp. 100–101. Pimentel, C.S. 1884. Eucalypto Globulus. Cultura e aproveitamento desta árvore. Lisboa: Typografia Universal. Roque, A.C. 2012. ‘Cartografar fronteiras nos finais do século XIX questões em torno da demarcação e delimitação da fronteira entre Moçambique e o Transval’, Actas do IV Simpósio Luso-Brasileiro de Cartografia Histórica, Porto 9–12 November 2011. http://eventos.letras.up.pt/ivslbch/comunicacoes.aspx [Accessed 12 July 2014]. ———. 2013. ‘As histórias que ficaram por contar: Saúde, crescimento urbano e ambiente em Moçambique, no final do século XIX’. In: A.C. Roque and E. Rodrigues (eds), Atas do Congresso Internacional Saber Tropical em Moçambique: História, Memória e Ciência, Lisboa, IICT-JBT, 24–26 October 2012. Lisboa: IICT, Ed. Digital. CDRom. Santos, M. Pimentel. 1949. ‘Alguns problemas do Município de Lourenço Marques’. In: Boletim da Sociedade de Estudos da Colónia de Moçambique, Ano XX, nº 64, January–March, 1950, pp. 53–90. Sim, Thomas. 1919. Flowering Plants and Shrubs for the Use in South Africa. Cape Town. Soeiro, A.C. de Almeida. 1893. ‘Estudo do Saneamento da Cidade de Lourenço Marques’. In: Revista de Obras Públicas e Minas, Lisboa 25 (1894), pp. 558–606. Sousa, A. de F. Gomes e. 1951. ‘O Jardim Municipal Vasco da Gama de Lourenço Marques. Notícia comemorativa do seu cinquentenário’. In: Boletim da Sociedade de Estudos da Colónia de Moçambique, Ano XXI, nº 68, January–March, 1951, pp. 58–89. Woodhead, C. 1895. Natal a Moçambique. Porto: Typ. da Empreza Litteraria e Typographica.

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Chapter 9

A ‘High Degree of Civilization’: Colonial Urbanism and the ‘Civilizing Mission’ in a Southern Mozambique District1 Pedro Pombo

Introduction In a meeting held in 1957, the inspector of Indigenous Affairs, António Policarpo dos Santos, visiting the Muchopes Constituency (Manjacaze district in Gaza province, southern Mozambique), addressed the local population by declaring his satisfaction for having visited the chief of Coolela chieftaincy and witnessing his ‘high degree of civilization’ (Santos, 1957, p. 84). He called on all the present chiefs to imitate this chief’s way of living and encouraged them to ‘build more secure and comfortable houses, furnishing them with chairs and tables, encouraging the indigenous to use them, along with spoons and forks, and instilling hygienic habits in the population’. He went on, paternally advising on the ‘needs for creating social settlements and living in close vicinity, developing civilized habits of hygiene as well of clothing, to plant orchards near the villages … in a nutshell, to lose, little by little, the old habits’ (Santos, 1957, pp. 84, 86). This discourse is relevant because it represents a historical moment in Portuguese colonialism in Mozambique and refers to a particular chieftaincy, Coolela, which would be the main stage for the colonial civilizing mission in Manjacaze district from the 1950s onwards. Furthermore, these words embody decades of colonial dominance and ideology that would gain shape through urban and spatial planning in the region. Based in archival and ethnographic research, this chapter presents some aspects of colonial urbanism in Manjacaze district and argues that dislocating the focus of research from the main urban centres to the rural districts, and bringing attention to smaller-scaled urban interventions, helps us to contextualize the ways spatial ordering and urbanism were used to expand the civilizing mission throughout the territory. Furthermore, an anthropological analysis of the cartographic and textual documents produced during the colonial occupation of Southern Mozambique enables us to understand spatial changes as translating social intentions, through the spatial ordering of the society, providing wider perspectives on the intersection of social and spatial dynamics. As we will see, social, economic, political and moral colonial discourses were, in the long run, materialized in the urban development of Manjacaze town, as the head of the municipality, and in the creation of small urban and commercial settlements across its rural areas, making the territory a spatial marker of social structures. But this colonial grammar was also contested and appropriated by the colonized population, sometimes in silent modes, sometimes by openly trying to take advantage of the imposed colonial rules. This will be illustrated with the particular case of a dispute over the limits of two neighbouring villages of the district, Macasselane and Machochovane, in the 1960s. This case underscores the relevance of ethnographic research to better understand the encounter between colonizer and colonized and how these spatial and social constraints were lived by the autochthonous population. Cartography, Text and the Production of a Colonial Space By analysing the colonial cartographic and textual records of south Mozambique, we see how cartography and written discourse worked closely together in the process of inscribing a ‘colonial place’ (Noyes, 1992). The creation of administrative borders, the opening of roads and the regulation of access to natural resources was part of a spatial ordering of the territory, while social places were imposed to the autochthonous population

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by the development of a new legislative corpus. An analysis of both the drawings and their complementary reports is essential to understand the intentions behind these mapping activities. The cartographic missions in southern Mozambique developed from the third quarter of the nineteenth century onwards, after the Berlin Conference of 1884–1885 and at a time when European countries with African colonies were in the process of demarcating their possessions in the continent. At this time most of southern Mozambique was under the rule of Ngungunhane, last ruler of the Gaza kingdom and vassal of the Portuguese crown until 1895, when he was imprisoned by Portuguese troops and his last capital, near Manjacaze town, was destroyed. The consolidation of colonial dominance is visible through the observation of the changes in the maps produced for this territory. A Map of Mozambique dating from 1889 was published by the Cartography Commission, created six years earlier.2 The concern to map local society along with natural features is clearly shown in the recording of the generic names of the most important cultural groups: the central area of the Gaza Province is demarcated as ‘Vatua lands’, the Manjacaze area is indicated as being ‘Lands of Binguana’ and, further north, of the ‘Macuacua’.3 Here, a physical cartography is complemented by a socially concerned one, as the geographic and hydrographic features are complemented by social information, such as the existing villages and circulating networks, called ‘caminhos cafreais’ (kaffir roads) (Maia, 1906, p. 108). In 1891, after taking part in the Commission for the Delimitation of the Borders between the District of Lourenço Marques and Transvaal, Paiva de Andrade crossed the hinterland of southern Mozambique from its western borders with Transvaal to Inhambane town, on the Indian Ocean. Observing a territory still under the Gaza ruler’s domain, he wrote in his report: To profit from the magnificent regions to which we are disposed, the first thing to do is to become their effective masters. Secondly, to oblige the indigenous to work, which will be easily attained with the presence of whites, and as soon as they are provided with the same advantages that, at cost of long travels, they acquire in the Transvaal and Natal. Occupying the Limpopo [river] up to Chicuala-cuala [near the frontier with Transvaal] by a series of military posts solidly occupied and connected by the river, uniting in the same way, the Bilene [lands south of Limpopo] with Inhambane and Limpopo, we would have, thus, a great facility to know the lands where we could establish ourselves, and develop it for agriculture or cattle; and those lands given to individuals, Portuguese or not, used to the life in the interior of Africa, would constitute a nucleus on which we could lay the foundations of an effective occupation. (1894, pp. 381–2)

We find here the major concerns that would direct colonial action: to effectively occupy the territory, establish good network connections between strategic places, explore natural resources and regulate migration and indigenous labour. In the report of his Expedition to the Limpopo River, with an attached map, Major Alfredo Augusto Caldas Xavier expresses similar concerns, suggesting the opening of roads in order to occupy the territory and ‘take great benefits from it’ (1894, p. 135). On 7 December 1895 the Gaza Military District was created, after the defeat of Ngungunhane by Portuguese troops. The first actions involved the building of military posts scattered across the district (Mesquita, 1896), in order to pacify the territory. With the inclusion of this vast territory under direct Portuguese control, cartographic activities increased. Gomes da Costa, governor of this district, drew the first maps of the region to be made under Portuguese control, and published the book Gaza 1897–1898, where he gives long descriptions of the territory, its history and its inhabitants, and where he makes suggestions for the development of the district. Descriptions of the landscape and natural features are complemented by those of the local population, which he separates as different ‘races’ according to their language and cultural customs (1899, pp. 26–7). This is relevant data, since it expresses some of the concerns of colonial legislation towards local populations: the systems of inheritance and kinship succession, duties and rights of local chiefs, land property systems, marriage rituals and the control of migration routes to the Transvaal. This becomes explicit when he refers to marriage related practices, affirming that this was ‘one of issues that needs to be regulated by our legislation’ (Costa, 1899, p. 39). Costa’s map of the Gaza Military District, dating from c. 1897 (Costa, c. 1897), translates these concerns into cartography: it delineates the ‘indigenous’ villages and settlements, marking out the places having Asian

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and European inhabitants. A social cartography was in the making, with the inclusion of social data along rigorous geographical coordinates and the indication of existent roads and topographical features. In his aforementioned book, Gomes da Costa describes the troubles of making a rigorous map, since ‘homesteads change place every time the chief dies. This fact makes difficult, as it can be imagined, the organization of a map of the district’ (Costa, 1899, p. 32). The changing of settlement patterns to ordered and ‘civilized’ villages would be one of the main spatial concerns of later colonialism. These maps become valuable to the analysis of the later urban development of Manjacaze district because they show how, in less than a decade, from the Map of Mozambique published in 1889 to Gomes da Costa’s map of 1897, colonial ideology was being put into practice in its most fundamental spatial and social dimensions. This mapping activity must be seen in relation with social cartographies that were to be produced throughout colonialism. Along with the making of physical internal borders, social control was also being drawn through the implementation of taxes and a labour code4 based on the production of a census. In 1896, the Hut Tax (Imposto de Palhota), previously collected by Ngungunhane as part of the terms of vassalage had grown extraordinarily and as soon as 1899, a census was conducted concerning the number of habitations and the existent population (the Arrolamento da população e palhotas) (Costa, 1899, p. 32). Identifying and categorizing the local social landscape was a relevant dimension of ruling, and the autochthonous populations were legal and socially framed by successive and frequently revised legislation concerning the codification of the ‘indigenous customs’5 and the definition of who was ‘indigenous’ and their social status.6 Muchopes: From a Military Command to a Civil Constituency Gaza Military District was divided into several smaller military administrative units. Changing the scale of analysis to the Muchopes Military Command, our field of research, we find again Captain Gomes da Costa as the author of the first map concerning this particular command. Also published in 1897, its relevance resides in its demarcating characteristics: it is the first map to draw the boundaries of each local chieftaincy. This, however, does not mean that the colonial administration refrained from changing boundaries, unifying or dividing chieftaincies in order to rule better.7 Nonetheless, the freezing of frontiers and names was being put into practice: along with its desire for lines and to fix limits and borders, the colonial system also fixed the nomenclature of local chieftaincies that traditionally would change according to the successive chiefs’ names. In 1907, under the Administrative Reform of Mozambique, the Gaza Military District became a civil district and its military commands became civil constituencies. Each constituency was divided into several Administrative Posts, whose chiefs surveyed the life of the rural population. With the complete pacification of the territory, colonialism could now develop its ‘civilizing mission’. Local chiefs were integrated into the administrative hierarchy, holding responsibility for collecting taxes and gathering men for labour, as well having the power to administrate justice in what were considered less important cases. The most serious issues would be delivered to the Administrative Post Chief who would forward them to the administrator. The first two ‘civilizing’ actions taken following the administrative change of 1907 were the planning of an historical monument and of a Catholic mission, both in 1910. The monument was built in Coolela, at the site of the battle of 7 November 1895, decisive for the victory over Ngungunhane’s army (Branco, 1910, p. 184). The mission of S. Benedict of Muchopes was erected on top of a hill in the lands of the Mangunze chief, 20 km south of Manjacaze. In these first years after the so-called pacification missions, the past was celebrated by asserting the legitimacy of the Portuguese presence, and the future prepared by stressing ‘Portuguese’ religious and moral values. Manjacaze Town and the Hinterland Manjacaze town originated in the military post that broadly occupied the area of the capital of Ngungunhane near the Siloe lagoon.8 This symbolic appropriation of a place of power guided the development of the new commercial and administrative town: the administration buildings and administrator residency were

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erected near the tree where, by tradition, Ngungunhane usually met with his counsellors, at the top of a slope, overlooking the lagoon and the surrounding lands. From this centre, the town would grow in two main directions: to the east, the administrative area, and to the west, the commercial neighbourhood. This would be a common layout of new urban centres, with the residences of administrative employees, Europeans and the administrative area forming the core of colonial towns, and a ‘downtown’ area, with its public infrastructure, trading activity and transport terminals (Santos, 1962, p. 12). In an important map of the commercial area of Manjacaze dating from 1919, we see the layout of a geometrically planned urban area, surrounding the main road linking Manjacaze to Chibuto and the Limpopo lowlands, to the west (Povoação de Manjacase, 1919): the commercial neighbourhood was already taking the form it has nowadays. The speed with which the Asian trading community developed in the region is notorious: as early as 1900 30 land grant requests for commercial buildings in the region were submitted. With three exceptions (one Italian and two British citizens), all were submitted by Indian traders (from British India, Damão and Diu), or Mozambicans of Asian descent (Requerimentos, 1900), and there were already 118 small stores owned by Asian traders across the constituency, selling alcohol and textiles (Nogueira, 1900). This Asian presence in the commercial activity – found all along the coast of East Africa – appears frequently in the colonial documentation. It justified both the protection of trade made by Portuguese merchants and the creation of commercial villages, which in hand would enable better control of commerce and trading taxes. The development of agriculture and the productivity of the land were also seen as a major dimension of local development. Consequently several experiments in cultivation and animal husbandry were conducted through the years in the Muchopes constituency. As early as 1908 cotton cultivation was being experimented with (Lança, 1909, p. 36), and even earlier, monthly reports made by the military commander in 1900 made numerous references to agricultural experiments being carried out (Nogueira, 1900). These would later be used to determine the implementation of forced cultivation schemes, which in this area were mainly for rice, cotton and cashew nut. In the written reports of successive administrators in all the constituencies of the Gaza district, we note how urbanism and public infrastructure were directly linked to the regulation of trade and ‘indigenous’ labour in this spatially controlled society. One of the ways of exercising this control was to make local chiefs responsible for the construction and maintenance of roads and other public works. In 1910, a new road linking Manjacaze with Chicomo (on the east border with Inhambane district) was opened ‘with two or three small extensions to the houses of the same number of chiefs’ (Branco, 1910, p. 185). Along this road would be installed a telegraph line, while enamelled iron plates were made to be used as road signs, indicating directions to and distances between major locations. Curiously, another set of road signs were also being prepared, written in Portuguese and English and ‘asking travellers to inform the administration about the places where roads need cleaning or repairing’ (Branco, 1910, p. 185). This would enable the administrator to better control the work being done by local chiefs. Decades later, in the 1950s, Manjacaze had a train station (dating from the 1910s, and extremely important for the cashew tree plantation scheme from this decade onwards), a football field, a municipal market, a chapel, primary and mission schools, a hospital, a cemetery (having distinct areas for the Muslim and Christian populations, and a special area for the ‘natives’), an electric power station, a running water system, a slaughterhouse, a gas station, a club, administrative buildings, houses for employees and workers, a post and telegraph office, gardens and roads, and even an aerodrome on the outskirts of the town (Campos, 1957). All the commercial houses were masonry buildings (Santos, 1962, p. 41), defining a ‘civilized’ and ‘European’ urban centre that reflected colonial dominance. The report of the Gaza District from 1955 to 1960 includes a set of pictures of Manjacaze showing the residential area of the town centre, developed around a large avenue with a central garden, with the newly built chapel centrally located. Earlier colonial victories were publicly memorialized on the walls of the secretariat building, in the inscription: ‘from this place, on the 11-11-1895, the Portuguese troops, victorious in the field of Coolela, assisted in the burning of Ngungunhane’s kraal’ (Ruas, 1960, pp. 35–6). Many of the administrative and residential buildings were constructed, or renewed, during this decade, giving Manjacaze a modern and up-to-date look. The 1958–1962 Muchopes report states: ‘Manjacaze is proud of having the best public lighting of the district’ (Santos, 1962, p. 70). Of course, the district’s internal borders were still active. In 1962 only 49 houses had electricity and water while the rest of the population had only three fountains from which to fetch water. This was still true in 1973 (Gomes, 1973, p. 14), showing how

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social differentiation through spatial order and access to the public infrastructure was constitutive of colonial dominance. Meanwhile, Manjacaze had been elevated to the Municipal Council of Muchopes at the end of 1957, reflecting the growth of its resident European community. To this spatial ordering within Manjacaze urban limits corresponded the act of fixing chieftaincy boundaries in the rural areas. Sometimes colonial administration directly intervened in this matter, dividing big chieftaincies into smaller administrative units, and deciding disputes over land. This spatial intervention had, as always, a social dimension: the newly appointed chiefs had to be ‘someone of Portuguese nationality, presentable, who knows how to read and write and has prestige among the population, and a good moral and civil behaviour’ (Campos, 1959a; 1959b). All the social implications of the urbanistic ordering witnessed in Muchopes municipality is visible in a map from 1969, part of a new survey of Mozambique (DPSGC, 1969). We observe much greater detail and a visible investment in the legibility of power: the homesteads of local chiefs are clearly pointed out, side by side with public facilities such as water wells, health centres, schools and chapels. By this time some of the local chiefs had moved to masonry houses near the main roads, and flew the Portuguese flag at the front of their property (Santos, 1957), a powerful visual marker of colonialism. Time had added new layers to the cartographies, juxtaposing a new social order to the first general descriptions of the territory. The Materiality of a ‘Civilized’ Life Building improved houses and using furniture was regarded by the colonial administration as among the most relevant proofs of an ‘uplifted indigenous’. In 1910, criticizing the foreign missions acting in the constituency, the administrator Vieira Branco reported that still none had ‘built a different hut from those of the indigenous, neither cultivated a handful of land’ (Branco, 1910, pp. 189–90). For him, these two facts obviously sustained his suspicions about their missionary work. This material demonstration of a ‘civilized’ life, in conjunction with the morality of labour, the cleansing of bodily signs of cultural traditions9 and conversion to Catholicism, was deeply embodied in colonial ideology. The fact that some local chiefs had moved to masonry houses and had adopted ‘civilized’ manners and domestic habits was seen as a relevant sign of the impact of the colonial ‘civilizing mission’ on the colonized populations. This is clearly expressed in two interesting articles from 1936 and 1952. The first is a report from the newspaper Notícias, published in Lourenço Marques (Maputo), on the death of the chief Uancoolela Cossa and praising his chiefly qualities, among which was the fact he lived in a masonry house, as did his son Correia Cossa (‘O régulo Uancolela Cossa’, 1936). The second is a 1952 article published in the Boletim Geral do Ultramar, a periodical publication about Portuguese overseas possessions, concerning the inauguration of the new house of Manjacaze chief, Correia Uancolela Langa. This was a remarkable social event, organized at the time of the visit of the General-Governor of Mozambique, the Commandant Gabriel Teixeira. The house was described as ‘a masonry building, tastefully furnished, and with a fridge, electric lightning and other modern requisites’. The General-Governor confirmed to Correia Langa that ‘the construction of that building was a great incentive for the régulos10 of other regions to imitate him, and he promised his own goodwill in helping and supporting them, mainly in achievements that would tend to the common good of the natives’ (‘Inauguração …’, 1952). The colonial administration was satisfied: local chiefs were adopting a ‘civilized’ way of living, and becoming an example that the general population could follow. Meanwhile, during the first decades of the twentieth century various types of public infrastructure were built across the constituency for the use of its rural inhabitants. A series of maps inserted into a 1960 report on Gaza District intended to demonstrate the district’s development of sanitary and public infrastructures, and included two drawings concerning the Muchopes constituency: one indicating the location of cement water wells, religious missions and commercial settlements, and another depicting the ongoing and planned settlement schemes near lowlands and lagoons. This kind of settlement was regarded as ‘a political, economic and social realization of the State’ (Júnior, 1965, p. 23) and besides residential and agricultural areas (opposing an individual right of land use to the traditional local systems of distribution), could include the building of masonry houses, sanitary posts, water wells, collective toilets, tanks for washing clothes and drinking water supplies (Júnior, 1969, p. 62). Oscar de Vasconcelos Ruas, the author of the report, affirms that two

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signs providing evidence of the ‘civilization of the indigenous’ were ‘the manner [in which] they present themselves’ and ‘the improvement of [their] habitation’, and that ‘in the last two years, by self-initiative and without help, 258 indigenous built permanent masonry houses’ (Ruas, 1960, pp. 35–6). Concluding this text, the author sketches a general and beautiful panorama of the results of the civilizing mission: ‘look how the indigenous dress and present themselves, and, above all, in their healthy and happy complexion … the schools full with children … crowded maternities … notice their farms, well maintained with the best techniques, and look at their shining herds …’ (Ruas, 1960, p. 151). Commercial Villages Commercial activity in the rural areas was framed by the legal creation of commercial settlements, facilitating the easy collection of the respective commercial taxes. These settlements were seen simultaneously as places of civilization among ‘natives’ and a way to avoid having ‘all of the trade in this region under Indian hands [and to] create the conditions for European settlers to establish successful future enterprises’, as the administrator Júlio Mègre Pires put it in a letter of 1950, when arguing for the creation of two new commercial centres, in Chalala and Betula villages (Pires, 1950). The map attached to his text shows the location of the existent 17 commercial villages and a list of all trading stores in the constituency in that year (Colónia de Moçambique …, 1950). Of 52 warehouses, 19 belonged to Europeans, 25 to Indians and five to Mozambicans of Asian descent (Pires, 1950). Even if the percentage of European trade was far greater than in 1910, this Asian trading community was still a concern to the colonial administration. But Portuguese traders were also criticized for their conduct, and the lack of effective control of trade taxes remained an unsolved problem, since many shops opened outside official commercial villages (Branco, 1910, p. 188). The administrator of Chibuto (a neighbouring constituency) wrote in 1910 that in these cantinas11 ‘in the bush, the cantineiro,12 European or Asian, feels free to extort the indigenous until his last cent, using, for this purpose, the most extraordinary and repugnant slyness’ (Esteves, 1910, p. 220). The most usual plan for these commercial villages was their delimitation within a circle of 1 km radius, having at its centre a regular grid with several square land plots, usually numbering 10 or 12, to be occupied by residential and commercial buildings, creating a compact urban centre, as we can see in a valuable series of drawings of five commercial villages, dating from 1940 and 1942.13 The buildings would be constructed in masonry and have a zinc sheet roof. Built as small new neighbourhoods in strategic places (along the railway or near main roads, close to local chiefs’ homesteads), with a grid layout and masonry buildings, these settlements structured the landscape of the constituency and the trading activity of the autochthonous population. A modern architectural language, seen in some of the buildings (see Figure 9.1), was welcomed by the authorities. Óscar de Vasconcelos Ruas, in the above-mentioned report on Gaza District, wrote about the shop owners: it has been possible to change the mentality of these people which, in most cases, already search for architects. The results can be seen. The level of architectural quality of the constructions in the district has risen without any doubt, even for the humble cantina in the bush. (Ruas, 1960, p. 89)

The Laranjeiras Village The Coolela chieftaincy, 20 km north-east of Manjacaze, was the place chosen for the development of new settlements under direct state intervention, from the end of the 1950s onwards. Its chief at this time was João Mondlane, mentioned at the beginning of this chapter as possessing a ‘high degree of civilization’ (Santos, 1957, p. 84). This chieftaincy was particularly significant to the colonial regime for two opposing political reasons: it was the site of the decisive battle for the conquest of the Gaza kingdom in 1895 and it was a centre of anti-colonial struggle, being the homeland of Eduardo Mondlane, a major figure in the Mozambican struggle for independence, who had studied in the Swiss Mission on the outskirts of Manjacaze, and was suspected by the Portuguese political police of fomenting independence movements. Ironically, this region therefore simultaneously embodied the beginnings of Portuguese colonialism in southern Mozambique and

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Figure 9.1 Cantina at Manguguana, near the train station on the Manjacaze-Chicomo railway, exhibiting 1960s architectural design Source: Photograph by the author

the growing struggle against it. Portuguese power tried to solve this uncomfortable juxtaposition by initiating a series of community development actions, turning this chieftaincy into the focus of the state’s civilizing intentions in Muchopes constituency. In the 1950s and 1960s the ‘uplifting of the indigenous’ became an important issue in which colonialism was supported by the highlighting of its developmental mission. In 1961, in a confidential letter to the GeneralGovernor, the Provincial Secretary of Indigenous Affairs, Eugénio Almeida, argued that this ‘uplifting’ should be ‘in truly Christian ways, and characteristically Portuguese’ (Almeida, 1961b). Written just before the legal abolishment of the Estatuto do Indigenato,14 the letter to the General-Governor provided instructions for the ‘uplifting’ of the population. These reflected the political necessity to ‘teach Mozambicans to not trust in liars and criminals’ and to ‘preserve national unity’ (Almeida, 1961b), major concerns at a time when Portugal was having difficulty defending the maintenance of its African colonies, a context soon aggravated by the loss of its Indian territories of Goa, Damão and Diu in December of the same year, just a few months after this letter was written. In his confidential report, Eugénio Almeida affirmed that this should be achieved through ‘increasingly intimate contact between individuals of different degrees of civilization’ and recommended ‘the intensification of inter-racial familiarity … [for which it would] be convenient if all charity events are conducted with the largest possible number of Europeans, and that maximum attention should be given to such acts’ (Almeida, 1961a). The Laranjeiras village was developed during this crucial political period, and its material dimensions embodied a strong political message and much needed proof of the benefits of Portuguese colonialism. In 1959, the Technical Brigade of Hydro-agricultural Development began an agricultural improvement scheme on the Manguanhane lowlands in the Coolela chieftaincy, draining 120 hectares of land for rice, banana and vegetable plantations. Plots were distributed to the local indigenous inhabitants, by the Brigade for the Fixation of the Rural Population,15 and on nearby lands citrus orchards were planted. These were the origins of the Aldeia das Laranjeiras (orange trees village), as described in an article in Revista Agrícola (Agricultural Magazine) in 1964 (Fonseca and Esteves, 1964). Written in enthusiastic language, the article highlighted the

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fact that this was one of the first initiatives of its kind in Mozambique and that three more villages in the same chieftaincy were being developed by request of its chief, João Mondlane, and the general population: Coolela, head of the chieftaincy, Goiocoio and Riguane (Fonseca and Esteves, 1964, p. 10). The Laranjeiras village had a circular layout, with houses aligned around the urban civic centre that was reserved for collective services (storage houses, school and water supply). The entire village was surrounded by orchards and agricultural lands divided into 30 plots, one for each family.16 One-bedroom houses were built, using cement blocks and zinc sheet roofs, following a plan that allowed the possibility of adding more rooms in the following years (see Figure 9.2). The men were responsible for the construction work at each house, as well as the construction of water wells and public buildings, while women led all the agricultural works. The authors of the article that appeared in Revista Agrícola could not disguise their enthusiasm, affirming that this village ‘would be the driving force of an important centre of Community Development’ (Fonseca and Esteves, 1964, p. 10).

Figure 9.2 A house in Laranjeiras village. Despite representation as a ‘civilizing’ feature, note the small scale of these houses Source: Photograph by the author

The three other villages did not adopt this circular layout, but spread along a grid of parallel avenues and perpendicular roads. All the villages had plots reserved for future schools, sports fields and social centres. Having enthusiastically described these new villages, the authors concludes that ‘with a hygienic home, good potable water, better diet and schools for the children, and with a significant rise in annual income, it seems possible to affirm that an elevation of the standard of living in this village is real and effective’ (Fonseca and Esteves, 1964, p. 48). Conclusion If we return to António Policarpo dos Santos’ 1957 speech, as recounted in the Introduction of this chapter, we recognize what was meant by ‘to lose, little by little, the old habits’: different kinds of housing, ‘civilized’

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manners, individual access to land (granted by the state), development of agricultural labour, religious conversion hand in hand with primary education, and, most relevant, a life a little more ‘Portuguese’. Taking Manjacaze district as an example, we can observe how urban plans, architectural design and public infrastructure served the colonial project far beyond the city space, bringing to the rural areas the desired civilization of the colonized population and, simultaneously, creating new social and spatial boundaries. We realize how the commercial settlements and newly created villages connected space and society: an orderly society in a well-ordered space. Underpinning these urban schemes was an effort to support the civilizing discourse of colonialism, at a time when its contestation was mounting. There is also, of course, the other side of this process: the way it was lived, contested and reshaped by the local population. Against a colonial desire for an ordered space and controlled movements, local society responded with extremely dynamic patterns of mobility and subversion of the state’s intentions. The issues that colonial dominance tried to solve at the end of the nineteenth century were still present in the last decades of the colonial era: inaccuracy in censuses and tax revenues, illegal migration to South Africa or chieftaincy successions that defied colonial requirements. Sometimes, contestation was also enacted by taking advantage of the spatial constraints built by colonialism. Figure 9.3 shows one of two rocks that mark the boundary between the lands of the chiefs of Macasselane and Machochovane, following a long dispute over territorial limits, a consequence of the significant revenues of the cashew nut market during the 1950s and 1960s. Both chiefs, exploiting the colonial desire to draw boundaries, performed an unprecedented act: they forced the local administrator to mark the frontier between their lands (Ferreira, 1968). Both chiefs opened a road near this line, which people still call humulani, a shangaan expression meaning ‘let’s rest’, marking the end of the dispute. Thus, these rocks are much

Figure 9.3 A rock marking the boundary between the lands of the chiefs Macasselane and Machochovane, laid down in 1968 after a long dispute over a strip of land on the fringes of both chiefs’ lands Source: Photograph by the author

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more significant than they seem at first sight, and represent the lived experience of the colonial spatial and social grammar. The cartographic activity that began at the end of the nineteenth century had, by this time, achieved its desired frontiers. The spatial dominance paralleled social organization, as this uplifting of the native’s life obviously had its counterpart: intense social control. The urban planning implemented by colonial administration in the Muchopes constituency is a visible layer on a wider map, where space and society are drawn using complementary methods. Analysing this urban dimension in relation to the cartographic and textual grammars of colonialism makes urban planning in rural areas as relevant as the panorama in the big cities for understanding that the colonial ‘civilizing’ ideology was built as a language of power and was an effective tool for producing a colonial space and society. References AHM: Arquivos Históricos de Moçambique, Maputo. AHU: Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, Lisbon. CEHCA-IICT: Centro de Estudos de História e Cartografia Antiga, Instituto de Investigação Científica e Tropical, Lisbon. IICT: Instituto de Investigação Científica e Tropical, Lisbon. SGL: Sociedade de Geografia de Lisboa, Lisbon. A.A. 1983, Da Commissão de Cartographia (1883) ao Instituto de Investigação Científica e Tropical (1983): 100 anos de história, Finisterra, vol. XVIII, Lisboa: IICT. Acta de reunião para efeito de escolha do novo régulo VAMANGUE, 21 de Dezembro de 1959. Fundo da Administração do Concelho dos Muchopes, caixa 109. AHM. Almeida, E.F. de 1961a, CONFIDENCIAL. GOVERNO-GERAL DE MOÇAMBIQUE. ELEVAÇÃO DA POPULAÇÃO INDÍGENA (instruções para execução permanente). Lourenço Marques, em 31 de Julho de 1961, O secretário Provincial, Eugénio Ferreira de Almeida. Fundo da Direcção dos Negócios Indígenas, caixa 182. AHM. ——— 1961b, MUITO SECRETO. INFORMAÇÃO ao Senhor Governador-Geral. O secretário provincial, Eugénio Ferreira de Almeida. 1961. Fundo da Direcção dos Negócios Indígenas, caixa 182. AHM. Andrade, A.F. de 1894, ‘Relatorio de Alfredo Freire de Andrade. Explorações portuguezas em Lourenço Marques e Inhambane – Relatorios da Commissão de Limitação de Fronteira de Lourenço Marques’. Boletim Da Sociedade de Geografia de Lisboa, 13a série (5), pp 295–391. Branco, V. 1910, ‘8a Circumscripção: M’Chopes’. In Relatorio das Circumscripções. 1909–1910 (pp. 179–207). Lourenço Marques: Imprensa Nacional. Campos, A.J. de 1957, REFa à circular no 2.056/A/29, de 9 de Julho de 1957. Província de Moçambique. Distrito de Gaza, Administração da Circunscrição dos Muchopes. Fundo do Concelho dos Muchopes, caixa 68. AHM. ——— 1959a, Acta de reunião para efeito da escolha do novo régulo CAMBANE proveniente do desdobramento da regedoria Tavane. Licunguene, 23 de Dezembro de 1959. Fundo da Administração do Concelho dos Muchopes, caixa 109. AHM. ——— 1959b, Acta de reunião para efeito de escolha do novo régulo VAMANGUE proveniente do desdobramento da regedoria Matsinhe. Chibonzane, 21 de Dezembro de 1959. Fundo da Administração do Concelho dos Muchopes, caixa 109. AHM. Colónia de Moçambique. Administração da Circunscrição dos Muchopes. Esboço da área da circunscrição, com indicação aproximada das povoações comerciais existentes [map] 30.03.1950. Fundo da Administração do Concelho dos Muchopes, caixa 314. AHM. Costa, G. da 1897, Carta do Districto Militar de Gaza. Coordenada pelo Capitão d’Infantaria Manoel d’Oliveira Gomes da Costa. 1:400 000. Commissão de Cartografia – Gaza. Pasta 09–010 MLITGJIU. CEHCA-IICT. ——— 1899, Gaza. 1897–1898, Lisboa: M. Gomes.

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Direcção Provincial dos Serviços Geográficos e Cadastrais (DPSGC), 1969, Província de Moçambique. Folha 1149, Manjacaze [map]. 1:50.000. Carta de Portugal 1:50.000. IICT-GeoDES. Esteves, A.J. 1910, ‘9a Circumscripção – Chibuto’. In Relatorio das Circumscripções. 1909–1910 (pp. 209–44), Lourenço Marques: Imprensa Nacional. Ferreira, M.M. 1968, Carta de Manuel Martins Ferreira, Adjunto Administrativo da Circunscrição dos Muchopes, ao Chefe dos Serviços Distritais de Administração Civil, Vila de João Belo. Referência à nota no 2610, de 20 de Agosto de 1968. Fundo da Inspecção dos Serviços Administrativos e dos Negócios Indígenas – 1901–1968. Caixa 7. AHM. Fonseca, V.F. and Esteves, J. damas 1964, ‘Um caso em curso: a regedoria Coolela’, Revista Agrícola, November, pp. 9–12, 48. Gomes, L. de A. 1973, Relatório à inspecção ordinária à Câmara Municipal dos Muchopes. Estado de Moçambique, Inspecção dos Serviços Administrativos. Pelo inspector Licínio de Almeida Gomes Nogueira. L9819. AHU. ‘Inauguração da nova moradia do régulo de Manjacaze’, 1952, Boletim Geral Do Ultramar, vol. XXVII (319), pp. 254–5. Júnior, A.R. 1965, Caminhos do Colonato do Limpopo, Lourenço Marques: Diário. ——— 1969, O Homem Negro das regiões ao Sul do Save (Contribuição para um juízo interpretativo do problema da sua promoção social), Coimbra: Atlântida Editora. Lança, Al. 1909, ‘Cultura do Algodão. Antigo Distrito de Gaza. Informações do Governador Alberto Lança’. In Província de Moçambique. Relatórios e Informações. Annexos ao Boletim Official. 1908–09 (pp. 35–7), Lourenço Marques: Imprensa Nacional. Maia, C.R.M. 1906, Reconhecimento militar da fronteira portugueza entre os Distritos de Lourenço Marques e Gaza, o Transvaal e a Swazilandia, Lisboa: Typographia do Commercio. Martinez, E.S. 2008, ‘O Trabalho forçado na legislação colonial portuguesa – o caso de Moçambique (1899–1926)’. Master’s thesis, Universidade de Lisboa. Mattos, J.A.P. de 1910, ‘2a Circumscripção – Manhiça’. In Relatorio das Circumscripções. 1909–1910 (pp. 61–78), Lourenço Marques: Imprensa Nacional. Mesquita, A. De 1896, Carta de Arneiro de Mesquita ao Fiscal do Corpo de Polícia de Gaza. 17.11.1896. Caixa 8.1, M.2 (4): Correspondência recebida do Comandante do destacamento em Inhatumba. 1896. Fundo do Distrito Militar de Gaza, AHM. Nogueira, A.R. 1900, Informações Mensais. Com.do militar dos M’chopes, Mez de Setembro. Manjacaze, 30 de Setembro de 1900. O Commandante militar Antonio Ribeiro Nogueira (1900). Fundo do Distrito Militar de Gaza. Pasta: Comando Militar dos Muchopes, caixa 2, maço 8.2 M. 1. (2). AHM. Noyes, J.K. 1992, Colonial Space: Spatiality in the Discourse of German South West Africa 1884–1915, Chur: Harnwood Academic Publishers. ‘O régulo Uancolela Cossa’, 1936, Notícias, 21 September. Pires, J.M. 1950, Carta do Administrador da Circunscrição dos Muchopes ao Director Provincial de Administração Civil do Sul do Save. 17 de Junho de 1950. Fundo da Administração do Concelho dos Muchopes, caixa 314. AHM. Povoação de Manjacase [ozalid map]. 1:2500, 1919. Fundo Administração do Concelho dos Muchopes, caixa 314. AHM. Requerimentos de ocupação provisória de terrenos. Dirigidos ao Comandante Militar dos Muchopes, 1900. Caixa 8.2, M. 1, Pasta: Comando Militar dos Muchopes. Fundo do Distrito Militar de Gaza, AHM. Ribeiro, G.N. 1953, Referência à nota no 548 de 6.11.1953. Do administrador dos Muchopes, Gaspar Nunes Ribeiro, ao Chefe da Repartição Provincial de Agrimensura, em Lourenço Marques. 22.11.1943. Fundo da Administração do Concelho dos Muchopes, caixa 314. AHM. Ruas, Ó.F. de V. 1960, Relatório do Distrito de Gaza, 1955–1960, volume I. AHU-MU-ISAU-Relatórios, A2.050.05/034.00205. AHU. S.a. 1889, Carta de Moçambique. 1:3 000 000. Commissão de Cartographia. SGL – 2-G-1. Santos, A.P.S. 1957, Inspecção dos Serviços Administrativos e dos Negócios Indígenas da Província de Moçambique. Relatório da Inspecção Ordinária à extinta Circunscrição dos Muchopes-sede e Posto

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Administrativo de Chidenguele. Do período de Janeiro de 1941 a Dezembro de 1957. Fundo da Inspecção dos Serviços Administrativos e dos Negócios Indígenas – 1901–1968, caixa 28. AHM. Santos, L.L. 1962, Inspecção dos Serviços Administrativos Inspecção Ordinária à Comissão Municipal de Muchopes, Período de 1958–1962. Inspector Administrativo: Licenciado Leovigildo Lisboa Santos. Relatório. Cota: L9760. AHU. Xavier, A.A.C. 1894, ‘Reconhecimento do Limpopo. Os territorios ao Sul do Save e os vatuas’, Boletim Da Sociedade de Geografia de Lisboa, 13a série (3), pp. 127–76. Notes 1 I would like to thank professor Rosa Maria Perez for her invaluable support during the fieldwork on which this chapter is based, and to professor Srinivas Reddy for his attentive revision and precious insights. 2 See S.a. (1889). The Cartography Commission was created in 1883 under the Overseas State Secretary. After the Berlin Conference, in 1885, countries with African colonies felt the need to rigorously map their territories. Portugal was no exception. In 1880, the Geographical Society of Lisbon, founded in 1876, incorporated the already existent Permanent Central Commission of Geography, renamed the Central Commission of Geography. See A.A. (1983). 3 ‘Vatua’ is the Portuguese word to designate the Vanguni population that constituted the Gaza kingdom, coming from the Kwazulu-Natal province of South Africa at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Binguana and Macuacua are names of local chiefs and clans. 4 Among other documents concerning ‘indigenous labour’: Indigenous Labour Regulation (Regulamento do Trabalho dos Indigenas) of 1899, Labour Code of the Indigenous of the Portuguese African Colonies (Código do Trabalho dos Indígenas das Colónias Portuguesas de África) from 1928, Diploma for the Private Law Relations between Indigenous and Non-Indigenous (Diploma Orgânico das Relações de Direito Privado entre Indígenas e não Indígenas) of 1929. See Martinez (2008). 5 The Decree of 18 November 1869 determined that the Governors of Overseas Provinces should provide the codification of Indigenous Customs. In 1885, Joaquim de Almeida da Cunha published ‘Study of the Customs of Banianes, Bathiás, Parses, Gentiles and Indigenous’ (Estudo acerca dos usos e costumes dos banianes, bathiás, parses, gentios e indígenas). In 1910, António Augusto Cabral published ‘Races and Customs of the Indigenous of Inhambane District’ (Raças, Usos e Costumes dos Indigenas do Districto de Inhambane) and, in 1925, published ‘Races and Customs of the Indigenous of Mozambique Province’ (Raças, Usos e Costumes dos Indígenas da Província de Moçambique). 6 Political, Civil and Criminal Status of the Indigenous of Angola and Mozambique (Estatuto Político, Civil e Criminal dos Indígenas de Angola e Moçambique), 1926; Political, Civil and Criminal Status of the Indigenous (Estatuto Político, Civil e Criminal dos Indígenas), 1929; Status of the Indigenous of the Provinces of Guiné, Angola and Moçambique (Estatuto dos Indígenas das províncias da Guiné, Angola e Moçambique), 1954. This Estatuto would be revoked only in 1961. 7 For example, in 1959 both the Matsinhe and Tavane chieftaincies were divided in two, because they were considered too vast to be governed well (Campos, 1959a; 1959b). 8 The term Manjacaze – or Mandlakazi in xichangana, the most widely spoken language in this region – denoted capital of the Gaza kingdom, wherever it was located. But after Portuguese conquest, it remained the name of the town that was built near the previous Gaza headquarters. 9 For example, ear piercings – characteristic of the Vanguni population and much commented on in previous colonial records – body tattoos or dress habits. In 1910, the Manhiça constituency administrator managed to introduce changes in the way the local population dressed, forbidding women from using clay to paint their bodies, and wearing ‘wires’ around their legs and arms, and obliging all women and children to wear ‘kimáus [a kind of overall] and dresses’ (Mattos, 1910, p. 67). 10 Régulo was the Portuguese word for local chief. It is still commonly used by the local population when talking in Portuguese. 11 Cantina means canteen, but the term was used to designate the small shops or warehouses found across the hinterland of Mozambique. 12 A cantineiro is the owner of a cantina. 13 All these drawings were made by the same author: Júlio Gonzales del Valle Y Montojo, between 1940 and 1942. Drawings attached to Ribeiro (1953).

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14 See note 6. 15 Created in 1960, as part of the Second Development Plan (II Plano de Fomento) for Mozambique. This Brigade was responsible for actions related to the implementation of settlement schemes in the rural areas (Decreto-lei 42.924, 15 April 1960). 16 These villages were intended for ‘indigenous’ inhabitants. The individual leasing of land is a topic that is always mentioned in the documents concerning these smaller agricultural schemes as well the large-scale colonies in the Limpopo River basin, meant for both ‘indigenous’ and European settlers.

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PART II Postcolonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries

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Chapter 10

Postcolonial Urban Planning in Lusophone African Countries: Spatial Planning Systems in Angola, Cape Verde and Mozambique Carlos Nunes Silva

Introduction The literature on colonial urban planning in Africa shows how planning models and tools developed in Europe in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries were extensively used in the African colonies by all European colonial empires (Silva, 2015). Despite the radically different challenges urban planning now faces in Africa, in particular those associated with urban transition (UN, 2014), the globalization of economic relations (Briggs and Yeboah, 2001) and climate change (UN, 2011), some of the models and planning laws introduced during the colonial period are still, half a century after independence, being applied in most African countries (Njoh, 2009; 2012; Attahi et al., 2009; Okpala, 2009; Silva, 2015). Colonial urban planning in Africa was influenced from the 1920s up to the 1940s and 1950s by the principles of the Garden City planning model and after the Second World War by the CIAM discourse on urbanism and the rational planning theory, a discourse that remained dominant in the first years after independence. More recently, in the last two decades, the collaborative discourse on urban planning, the principles of New Urbanism and the concept of sustainable urban development emerged, although timidly in most cases, as a theoretical and methodological reference. In the five Lusophone African countries the spatial planning system during the colonial period followed closely the highly centralized and poorly resourced planning system that existed in homeland Portugal. This in part explains the low level of planning activity – mostly focused in the main urban centres – during that period, with the exception, perhaps, of the last two decades of the colonial regime.1 Due to the lack of technical capacity in the Portuguese colonies, urban planning in that period is associated with the creation of the Colonial Urbanization Office in the 1940s.2 Following independence in 1975,3 Portuguese planning models and building norms continued to have influence, though not without ruptures.4 Furthermore, a highly centralized state administration, a single-party regime and a lack of local self-government also had a determining influence in the planning system in the first years of independence. Despite that, the size and complexity of urban problems, especially in the major urban centres, in Luanda and Maputo in particular, made changes in urban planning inevitable. International organizations and policy programmes in the field of built environment and human settlements – namely those associated with the United Nations or with the African Union, professional associations and non-governmental organizations, and universities, among other stakeholders – also contributed to the gradual shift in attitudes. Political changes in the former Soviet Union,5 at the end of the 1980s and in the early years of the 1990s, and the end of the Cold War, on one side, and new requirements from international donor institutions – good governance, democracy and administrative decentralization – on the other, also had a say in the changes experienced in this policy field. As a consequence of these factors, urban policies and spatial planning frameworks changed at the beginning of the 1990s when a multi-party political regime was gradually implemented, followed by the slow introduction of democratic forms of local self-government, with one or more political-administrative tiers, a process still unfinished. It was within this new political and administrative framework – liberal democracy and administrative decentralization – that new planning legislation was adopted, little by little, in some aspects replacing, for the first time, colonial planning laws and building standards,6 a reform that gives local selfgovernment, at least formally, an important role in the new planning system.

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The degree of implementation of current spatial planning systems in the five African Lusophone countries has varied. In two of them, Guinea-Bissau and São Tomé and Príncipe, the process has been somehow deferred, compared to what has happened, for different reasons, in the other three countries. The implementation of local self-government has also varied across the countries (Kosta, 2014; Freitas, 2014). This chapter focuses on Angola, Cape Verde and Mozambique, examines and compares the respective spatial planning systems, defined for the first time in 2004, 2006 and 2007, respectively, and offers an overview of the current planning systems, four decades after these countries became politically independent in 1975. It does not explore the cases of Guinea-Bissau and São Tomé and Príncipe, since these two Lusophone African countries do not have a formal and comprehensive spatial planning system. Nonetheless, in both countries several planning laws and related legal acts have been adopted since independence. For example, in Guinea-Bissau, the 1975 Land Act, revised in 1998,7 is responsible for the nationalization of all urban and rural proprieties, and the 1995 Urban Plan for Bissau is expected to guide the urban development of the capital over the next two decades.8 In 1992, a protocol for cooperation in the field of urbanism, spatial planning and land registry was signed between the government of Guinea-Bissau and Portugal,9 and in 2006 an unsuccessful attempt was made in the former to implement a formal spatial planning system. In this 2006 planning legislation10 the competence to prepare Municipal Master Plans (PDM – Plano Director Municipal), Regional Master Plans (Planos Directores Regionais), the National Spatial Plan (Plano de Ordenamento do Território Nacional), and other categories of spatial plans was assigned to the ministry responsible for territorial administration. Even the urban plan for Bissau was prepared by the central government, although the formal responsibility for its implementation was assigned to the municipality of Bissau.11 A national network of protected areas12 and a national environmental plan adopted in 2004 are other examples of policy decisions taken in this policy field since independence.13 Similarly to what happened in the other Lusophone countries, former colonial urban planning laws continued to be applied after independence in Guinea-Bissau, for example the building code, revised in 2006 for the first time since independence.14 In São Tomé and Príncipe, too, the 1959 building code15 and other related norms continued to be applied after independence. However, legislation on the de-nationalization of land belonging to the state, for urbanization purposes, was published in 1999 and revised in 2000. The process was conducted by a national commission, created in 2002, for the distribution of land for urbanization.16 In 2005, the preparation of a national spatial plan was considered,17 although without practical consequences, and, in 2009, central government decided to act against illegal constructions.18 In both countries, planning and urban licensing decisions have been made predominately on a casual basis as there has been an almost complete lack of valid urban plans and other key planning tools. In this chapter, the spatial planning system is taken as one of the key components of a planning culture – the ‘planning artefacts’ – as proposed in the planning culture model of Knieling and Othengrafen (2009). The chapter does not address or discuss the functioning of the spatial planning system in practice, nor does it deal explicitly with the other two dimensions of the Knieling and Othengrafen model: planning environment and societal environment. Spatial Planning Systems: Structure and Tools A spatial planning system is constituted by the formal planning instruments applied in each layer of the state political-administrative structure. Its goal is to ensure the correct organization of urban and rural land uses (Silva, 2000). It includes not only the different types of spatial plans but also the tools for their implementation, monitoring and evaluation (Silva, 2001), as well as the rules that govern the relationships between the spatial planning system and each of the other public policy sectors. Spatial planning systems in unitary states have been organized, from the point of view of the relationships between the state and sub-national tiers of selfgovernment, according to one of three models: a centralized spatial planning system, in which the state holds most of the competences and controls virtually all the process; a decentralized spatial planning system, in which both regional and local self-governments have substantial autonomy and control over the planning process; a mixed model, in which all these layers of public administration need to be articulated closely with each other, in order to be able to fulfil the respective competences within the spatial planning system. In those

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countries where democratization and decentralization are not fully implemented, the state tends to hold the planning powers and competences that are usually assigned to the regional level of administration and, in the most extreme cases of administrative centralization, also the planning competences that typically belong to local self-governments. In Angola, Cape Verde and Mozambique, the spatial planning system has, as is recurrent in unitary states, three layers – the national, the regional and the local administrative tiers (Table 10.1) – and four categories of plans: land-use plans, with different degrees of detail, a competence of local self-government; spatial development plans, which are typically regional and national level plans; sector spatial plans and special spatial plans, which tend to be national plans, although in some cases can also be adopted at the regional or local tiers (Table 10.2). Contrary to the situation in other parts of the world where regional economic integration is more advanced, as, for example, in the European Union, as yet no formal supra-national layer of spatial planning, involving any of these countries with neighbouring states, exists, despite the presence of international plans or projects involving two or more countries, such as the Development Corridors for regional integration and the Spatial Development Initiatives (SDI), within the framework of NEPAD (New Partnership for Africa’s Development) (e.g. Maputo Development Corridor, the SDI linking Mozambique and South Africa). Table 10.1 The spatial planning system: The three administrative and planning layers National

The national layer defines the overall strategic vision for the national territory and establishes the guidelines to be considered at the regional and municipal levels.

Regional

The regional layer defines the overall strategic vision for the regional territory, in close articulation with the national economic and social development policies, and defines guidelines for the municipal level.

Municipal

The municipal layer defines the strategic vision for the municipal territory, in accordance with national and regional guidelines, as well as the land use options for the territory.

Table 10.2 The spatial planning system: The four categories of plans Spatial Development Plans

Spatial Development Plans (SDP) are strategic spatial plans, whose main aim is to translate spatially the main political options with an impact in the territory. These plans define general directives or guidelines that will be followed and adopted by land-use plans, special plans and sector plans.

Spatial Sector Plans

Spatial Sector Plans (SSP) are plans, developed by governmental departments in each main economic and social sector within the government organizational structure, which have a spatial impact.

Special Spatial Plans

Special Spatial Plans (SPP) are plans that focus specific national, regional or local objectives.

Land Use Plans

Land Use Plans (LUP) are plans that define the structure of the territory, the networks of infrastructures and services, the exact land use and the standards for the use and transformation of the territory.

The formal structure of a spatial planning system tends to reflect the vertical administrative structure of the state and is influenced by the specific historical context of the independence process of each of the countries.19 All Lusophone African countries are unitary states, with one of them, São Tomé and Príncipe, partially regionalized.20 None of them has a local government layer above the municipality, which is therefore

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the sole tier of local self-government, despite the fact that in some of them the possibility of an administrative tier below the municipality is considered (e.g. in Cape Verde). Municipalities tend to be relatively large and focused on one main urban centre. While Angola and Mozambique opted for the gradual implementation of local self-government, which creates unequal development in the spatial planning system, Cape Verde did not. Only in Angola have municipalities not yet been implemented as a form of local self-government. While the Angolan Constitution recognizes the relevance of traditional authorities in local governance, in Mozambique they are not recognized, and in Cape Verde such forms of traditional power do not even exist. For this reason, only in Angola can traditional authorities play a role in the future of the spatial planning system.21 In the same way that colonial urban planning continued to influence planning practice in the first years after independence, continuity could also be found in important aspects of the administrative structure. With the constitutional revisions that took place in the early 1990s in all Lusophone African countries, a true layer of local self-government was finally introduced in the administrative systems, although its implementation differs from country to country. For that reason the institutional framework that supports spatial planning is also variable. While Cape Verde is currently considering plans for the reform of local self-government, Mozambique is in the process its institutionalization, and Angola is still discussing and preparing the process for its implementation. These differences have a direct influence, as we will see in the following sections, on the implementation of the spatial planning system in each of the Lusophone African countries. Angola: The Postcolonial Spatial Planning System The postcolonial period in Angola can be divided into two main phases.22 The First Republic, the period between 1975 and 1992, characterized by a single-party regime, strong political-administrative centralization, and a ‘centrally planned’ economy, was followed by a process of democratization and the development, since 1992, of a multi-party political system,23 and by the gradual development of a market economy, all of which constituted a rupture with the 1975 constitutional regime. These changes represented also the start of the Second Republic.24 Between 1992 and 2002 the civil war suspended some of the institutional reforms needed to complete the democratization and decentralization objectives defined in the political agreement that put an end to the first civil war. Only after the Lusaka Agreement in 2002, that put an end to the second civil war, did the political reform process start again.25 Nonetheless, the implementation of a true local self-government system has not yet been completed, despite being formally established in the 2010 Constitution.26 The war and the destruction of infrastructures in large parts of the national territory made accessibility extremely difficult, which is in part responsible for the delay or inaction in the implementation of local self-government in Angola, notwithstanding the fact, as Feijó (2014: 132) notes, that between 1995 and 1996 a comprehensive package of legislation on local self-government was prepared by the Ministry of Territorial Administration. In Angola, local self-government corresponds to the municipalities and, according to the Constitution, can be implemented gradually, a principle increasingly contested by a growing number of stakeholders. According to the opponents of this principle, it is precisely because of the lack of conditions that the implementation of local self-government entities is more urgent and for that reason should be simultaneous.27 If gradualism were applied, the full implementation of the spatial planning system would be more difficult in the geographic areas without local self-government. Also important for the functioning of the spatial planning system is the way administrative de-concentration is organized in Angola. The state local administration is organized in provinces, which are divided into municipalities and these, in turn, into communes.28 In the case of the capital Luanda, special administrative regimes have been adopted in order to facilitate the role of the administration.29 Another institutional aspect that can have an impact on the spatial planning system is the role assigned by the 2010 Constitution to the traditional authorities (Feijó, 2014: 135), which in some circumstances can also hold an administrative role (Feijó and Paca, 2005).30 This political and administrative reform of the Angolan state, the rapid economic growth in the years that followed the end of the civil war and the rapid urban growth in the country’s major cities meant a whole range of new planning instruments was required.31 Urban planning was not a political priority during the revolutionary period, when outdated colonial planning and building standards were still applied and, perhaps more important, planning and urban management decisions were taken on a case by case basis, directly

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by central government or by de-concentrated state administrative structures. The definition, in 2004, of a formal and comprehensive spatial planning system, which is now being implemented, is in part a response to these challenges.32 Before the introduction of this system, planning laws and building regulations did not constitute a coherent planning system, some of them even dated back to the colonial period, for example the Building Code of 1948, substituted 32 years after independence, in 2007,33 or the colonial Water Act of 1946, replaced in 2002, and the plans for harbour areas introduced in 1998 replacing the colonial legislation of 1970.34 Nonetheless, important planning related laws were approved in the years before the 2004 formal and comprehensive spatial planning system was introduced. Examples include the 1998 Environment Act (Law 5/98, 19 June), through which important principles for the preservation and protection of the environment and for the rational use of the natural resources were introduced in the planning system, and the Water Act (Law 6/02, 21 June 2002),35 responsible for the National Water Plan and the River Basin Plan.36 As local self-government has not yet been implemented, urban management has been controlled entirely by central government or by its de-concentrated provincial and municipal administrations.37 The Planning Act 3/04 adopts a broad conception of ‘spatial planning’ by considering two main areas: ‘ordenamento do território’ and ‘urbanismo’. The first includes planning instruments with a strategic spatial development nature and the second planning instruments traditionally associated with the notion of ‘land-use planning’. The first group of planning instruments (‘ordenamento do território’) is typically a competence of central government and of its de-concentrated administrative tiers, such as the province, and has national or regional coverage. The second group, the land-use planning instruments (‘urbanismo’), is usually a municipal competence and has, as its area of coverage, the municipal territory or the urban centre. The 2004 spatial planning system has three administrative and planning layers – national, provincial and municipal – and includes four main categories of plans: strategic spatial development plans at the national and provincial tiers; land-use plans at the municipal level; sector spatial plans and special spatial plans prepared at the national, provincial or municipal levels (Table 10.3). The content of all these plans and the technical documents that must be prepared to support them are defined in the Planning Act.38 At the national level there is one main planning instrument – the ‘Main National Spatial Options’ (Principais Opções de Ordenamento do Território – POOTN).39 Similarly, on the regional or provincial tier there is one main instrument, the ‘Provincial Spatial Development Plan’ (Plano Provincial de Ordenamento do Território – PPOT) and its variant the ‘Inter-Provincial Spatial Development Plan’ (Plano Inter-Provincial de Ordenamento do Território – PIPOT), which can be prepared for an area of two or more provinces.40 These are plans that define the aims and the overall spatial strategy for the organization of the national or provincial territory. The ‘Main National Spatial Planning Options’ (POOTN) covers the whole territory of Angola, defines the main strategic options for the organization of the national territory, and is the reference for the other plans and planning institutions. The ‘Provincial Spatial Development Plan’ and its inter-provincial variant incorporate the directives defined in the POOTN, and establish, at the provincial level, the strategic framework that guides policy actions with a territorial impact, as is the case of municipal land-use plans. The third and lowest tier in the planning system, the municipal layer, includes different types of land-use plans, with different degrees of detail. Municipal land-use plans define the uses, rights and duties assigned to each parcel of land within the territory of the municipality or within the city.41 There are several categories of municipal plans: the first covers the entire territory of the municipality, as is the case of the ‘Municipal Master Plan’ (PDM – Plano Director Municipal), a typical structure plan for the entire territory of the municipality. This plan provides a comprehensive view of the municipal territory, defines the overall spatial strategy for the municipality, incorporating the options defined in the ‘Provincial Spatial Development Plan’ and in the ‘Main National Spatial Options’, and provides the framework for the other municipal plans. This ‘Municipal Master Plan’ defines the main categories of land use, namely the urban and rural perimeters. With the necessary adaptations, the ‘Municipal Master Plan’ can also be applied in urban municipalities in the major agglomerations of Angola. The other two municipal land-use plans are the ‘Urban Plan’ (Plano de Urbanização), a zoning plan that covers the entire area of the urban centre, and the ‘Detailed Urban Plan’ (Plano de Pormenor), an urban design type of plan that establishes the exact locations of buildings, infrastructures and public spaces. The ‘Detailed Urban Plan’ can be prepared for specific types of areas, for example, for the requalification of consolidated urban areas, typically the historical centres of large urban agglomerations, or for illegal and informal urban

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areas around the consolidated city. The rural plan is focused on areas outside the urban perimeter, including villages and other forms of human settlements dispersed in the area outside urban agglomerations. In major urban agglomerations or metropolitan areas, comprising several municipalities, an inter-municipal master plan covering the entire perimeter of the metropolitan area must be considered. This metropolitan plan (Planos Directores Gerais das Grandes Cidades) aims to co-ordinate the ‘Municipal Master Plans’ and to articulate this metropolitan vision with the provincial and national spatial development plans.42 Small municipalities and small urban centres are not required to adopt these technically complex plans and can replace them with simple planning schemes in order to provide basic guidelines for their management.43 The third category of spatial plans, the ‘Special Spatial Plans’ (PEOT) focus on specific types of areas, namely for agriculture, tourism, industry, or for ecological preservation, military uses, harbours and airports, or areas in need of requalification, among others. The fourth category of spatial plans, the ‘Sector Spatial Plans’ (PSECT), includes, for example, plans for public infrastructures, such as the national road network, transport, water, sewage and energy infrastructures, to mention just a few.44 Both these two categories of plans can be prepared at the national, provincial or municipal levels.45 Depending on the exact nature of the problem addressed by these plans, municipalities and provinces can opt for inter-municipal or inter-provincial sector or special plans. The national ‘Sector Spatial Plans’46 are expected to translate in the respective sector the options and guidelines defined in and adopted by the ‘Main National Spatial Planning Options’ (POOTN), while the national ‘Special Spatial Plans’47 aim to protect specific national values, taking into account the POOTN and the PSECT, prevailing over municipal land-use plans. At the national tier, the ‘Main National Spatial Planning Options’ (POOTN) is supposed to precede all other plans, and while it remains incomplete, central government defines the principles and provisional guidelines that will guide the preparation of ‘Provincial Spatial Development Plans’ and ‘Municipal Spatial Plans’.48 The ‘Provincial Spatial Development Plan’ incorporates options and guidelines defined in the ‘National Options’, as well as in the national sector and special plans. The municipal land-use plans have to follow the options and guidelines defined in those upper-level plans, namely in the provincial plan. Provincial and municipal plans need to be ratified by central government, an act that confirms that all options and solutions adopted by the provincial or by the municipal plan are in conformity with the law and with upperlevel spatial plans. Nonetheless, in the preparation of each new planning instrument, all valid plans must be taken into consideration, no matter their position in the formal hierarchy of plans. Once plans have been approved, and ratified by central government in the case of municipal and provincial plans, they are registered in the appropriate national government office and published. Plans can be suspended, modified or revised. Revision by the respective planning authority is required when changes in the economic and social contexts call for a review of key aspects or conditions set in the plan, which can be suspended, partially or totally, by central government due to national, regional or local issues, or relevant interests that need to be protected. Every four years central government has to publish a report on the state of the national territory, including an evaluation of national plans, an evaluation report that provinces and municipalities are also required to prepare for their respective territories.49 All rules and norms defined by any of these planning instruments included in the spatial planning system are mandatory for all public authorities. In the case of municipal land-use plans they are also directly mandatory for private entities and for common citizens. Citizens have the right to be informed about the preparation and content of the plan and about the changes introduced during the implementation stage. Citizens also have the right to contest in the courts decisions taken by planning authorities and are protected by several legal guarantees.50 Disobedience towards planning norms results in being subjected to a series of procedures and consequences established in the general administrative law.51 The competences assigned to the municipalities in the spatial planning system are held by central government until local self-government in Angola is implemented. As that has not yet happened, central government is still in charge and in control of the main functions of the spatial planning system.52 Central government planning departments therefore replace municipal planning departments in the roles assigned to municipalities in the spatial planning system. The same applies with the de-concentrated provincial administration and the respective planning departments whose role in the spatial planning system is being fulfilled by central government planning departments.53

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Table 10.3 Angola: The structure of the spatial planning system in the postcolonial period (adopted in 2004) Angola: Spatial Plans According to Geographic Scale and Category of Plan Categories of Plans

National

Regional

Spatial Development Instruments (Instrumentos de ordenamento e desenvolvimento territorial)

Main National Spatial Options (POOTN – Principais opções de ordenamento do território)

Provincial Spatial Development Plan (PPOT – Plano provincial de ordenamento do território)

Municipal

Inter-Provincial Spatial Development Plan (PIPOT – Plano inter-provincial de ordenamento do território) Sector Spatial Plans (Instrumentos de política sectorial)

Plans prepared by the different departments of central government (PSECT – Planos com incidência territorial da responsabilidade dos diversos sectores da Administração Central)

Special Plans (Instrumentos de natureza especial)

Special Plans for specific issues (PEOT – Planos especiais de ordenamento do território)

Land Use Plans (Instrumentos de planeamento territorial ou ‘planos urbanísticos’)

Municipal Master Plan (PDM – Plano director municipal) Urban Plan (PU – Plano urbanístico): Zoning Plan and Detailed Plan Rural Plan (POR – Plano de ordenamento rural) Inter-municipal Master Plan (PIM – Plano director intermunicipal)

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Besides the legally binding instruments included in the formal spatial planning system and its regulations,54 the last two decades saw the adoption of important and complementary planning acts and other related laws, including, for instance, the 2005 Cultural Heritage Act, the Land Act in 2004 and its regulation in 2007, the 2007 Building Code,55 legislation on environmental issues56 and the national programme of urbanism and housing.57 Several other planning tools are also included in the spatial planning system, for example: preventive measures, used to avoid changes that can later compromise the implementation of the plan; expropriation instruments; transfer of land from the state to the municipalities, except areas included in the domain of the state, among other tools. The planning instruments included in the spatial planning system have to be articulated with other policy sectors,58 namely with the tools and regulations included in the Economic Development Act (Lei Quadro do Planeamento Económico), in the Land Act (Lei de Terras), in the Mining and Petrol Act (Lei Geral Mineira e dos Petróleos), in the Water Act (Lei das Águas) and in the Environment Act (Lei de Bases do Ambiente). Finally, it is important to note that the 2004 Planning Act establishes a number of principles and mechanisms necessary for the full functioning of the planning system. Among other aims, the Planning Act notes the following: promotion of inter-generational solidarity and the fair division of costs and benefits in the urban system; the rehabilitation of brown field areas, slums and other forms of illegal settlements; the promotion of citizen participation; and the guarantee of an adequate inter-sector and inter-territorial coordination. All these aims, and the overall functioning of the spatial planning system, as planning history shows us, time and time again, and not only in sub-Saharan Africa, require a number of conditions: among others, a well established land tenure regime, clear private land rights, a law abiding society, institutional capacity in both central and local government tiers, and public financial resources suitable for the task. The rapid and simultaneous implementation of local self-government in Angola is probably the single most important condition that could contribute to change this state of affairs. Until this institutional reform is complete, central government retains a very wide discretionary power in all planning decisions, including the right to prepare and approve plans for lower tiers on a discretionary basis.59 Despite governmental efforts carried out in the last decade, not all these conditions for the correct functioning of the spatial planning system are fully implemented in Angola. Ten years after its adoption, some of the key components of the 2004 spatial planning system, for example the evaluation component, are yet to be implemented. Cape Verde: The Postcolonial Spatial Planning System As in the case of Angola, the postcolonial period in Cape Verde can be divided into two main phases.60 The first, the revolutionary phase, or First Republic, between 1975 and the early 1990s, was characterized by a single-party regime, strong political-administrative centralization, a ‘centrally planned’ economy, and no true formal local self-government. Immediately after the 1974 Revolution in Portugal, the colonial administrative framework, instituted by the 1933 Colonial Administrative Reform, was replaced by new laws adopted by the new democratic government in Portugal, as happened also in Angola, Mozambique and in the other two Portuguese African colonies.61 The former municipal and parish boards were replaced by Administrative Commissions (Comissões Administrativas) both in the Portuguese home territory and in the colonies. In the case of Cape Verde, these administrative commissions were simultaneously a form of local self-government and a form of state administrative de-concentration, being the only local administrative structure in each island in charge of local issues. These commissions continued operation until after independence, being replaced at the end of 1975. Before that, the first constitutional law adopted in Cape Verde, days before independence,62 became the basis for a new local government based on the concept of a revolutionary regime conducted by a single political party. This meant a highly centralized administrative structure63 and, for that reason, a potentially highly centralized urban planning system had one been implemented on that occasion. In other words, local government in these initial years was conceived as a form of administrative de-concentration, a form of local direct state administration, an institutional condition which would last until the creation of the 1992 Constitution. In this period, urban planning was not a political priority and urban management

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followed to some extent outdated colonial planning and building norms. However, independently of the legal framework, urban management decisions were taken in a rather arbitrary manner, on a case by case basis, directly by central government or by these de-concentrated local administrative institutions. The following phase, the Second Republic, started with the 1992 democratic Constitution. However, as Brito (2014: 61–3) notes with regard to local government, since at least 1977 numerous attempts to reformulate the local government system have been made, which granted financial but not administrative autonomy to municipalities.64 The 1980 Constitution65 makes reference to the existence of local government (autarquias locais) but municipalities continued to operate without administrative autonomy and without elected boards until the end of the 1980s. Despite the political rhetoric in favour of decentralization, as referred to by Brito (2014), municipalities continued to be a form of administrative de-concentration in Cape Verde and for that reason spatial planning continued to be a function of the state. In 1989, a new series of Local Government Acts66 introduced important changes in the organization, election and other aspects of local administration that the 1992 Constitution would confirm and expand. It was one of these 1989 Acts that cancelled the application in Cape Verde of the last part of the former 1933 colonial administrative law.67 In 1990, the revision of the 1980 Constitution introduced a multi-party system, which enabled the first multi-party free elections to be held, in 1991. Local government was broadly reformed68 by the newly elected government and since then has exhibited similarities with the Portuguese local self-government system. Among other changes introduced or incorporated in the 1992 Constitution, local self-government gained a constitutional statute for the first time since independence. Only the municipality was defined in the 1992 Constitution as a local self-government tier, although the Constitution allows the creation of upper and lower layers of local self-government, which until now were not permitted. The following constitutional reforms and the ordinary legislation published in that period did not change the fundamental characteristics of the local government system, although in 2010 the parish and the region were, for the first time, explicitly considered forms of local self-government.69 Based on article 10 of the Constitution, the introduction of a special administrative regime for the capital city – an administrative structure with enhanced competences compared to the common municipality – was proposed by the central government, in 2008.70 The option in 201071 seems to have been in favour of a reinforcement of the municipal tier instead of the creation of the regional layer of self-government, although the debate on this issue remains open. Cape Verde is currently considering the reform of important aspects of its local selfgovernment system.72 In 2006 Cape Verde became the second Lusophone country to adopt a full formal spatial planning system,73 a system that assigns an important planning role to local self-government. Before then, a number of planning acts and other planning and building regulations had been adopted during the revolutionary phase and in the first years of the democratic period, which, however, did not represent an articulated planning system and were only applied in a limited number of municipalities or cities.74 Also important to note is the fact that planning acts and related legislation from the colonial period continued to be applied in the first decades of independence.75 Furthermore, as municipalities were only created, as a form of local self-government, in the 1990s, following the constitutional reform at the beginning of that decade, even the reduced urban planning activity that prevailed during the revolutionary period was determined and closely controlled by central government or by its local boards. The 2006/2010 spatial planning system has three administrative layers or geographical scales – national, regional and municipal – and has four main categories of plans (Table 10.4). The national scale includes the spatial plans prepared and implemented by central government;76 the regional level comprises the spatial plan for one entire island or group of islands and is also the competence of central government, at least while there is no regional government;77 and the municipal layer comprises land-use plans that are the responsibility of municipalities. The first category of plans includes strategic development plans, assigned to the national and regional layers. These are plans that define the aims and the overall spatial strategy for the organization of the national or regional territory. The ‘National Spatial Planning Directive’ (DNOT) covers all the territory of Cape Verde, defines the main options for the organization of the national territory and constitutes the reference framework for all other plans and planning institutions.78 The ‘Regional Spatial Planning Scheme’ (EROT) establishes, at the regional level – island or group of islands – the framework that guides policy actions that impact on the territory, namely land-use plans, and incorporates the directives from DNOT and from relevant sector plans.79

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The second category, the ‘Sector Spatial Plan’ (PSECT – Plano Sectorial), has been defined as a national plan in the sense that it corresponds to those spatial plans developed by central government departments, plans with a clear spatial dimension, as is the case of the national road network plan, usually developed by the Ministry of Transport or other department with similar competences.80 However, this type of plan can also be developed on the regional and municipal scales (e.g. municipal plans for social or sports facilities and so on). The ‘Special Spatial Plans’ (PEOT – Planos Especiais de Ordenamento do Território) are also national planning instruments intended to address special problems not adequately dealt with by the remaining types of plans. These planning instruments address the spatial impacts of public policies on different sectors: environment, agriculture, nature conservation, tourism and protection of the coastline. They seek to coordinate the different public policies and do not substitute other plans, namely land-use plans. What they do provide, basically, is the definition of what is protected, and the restrictions on the transformation of these areas, conditions the other spatial plans need to incorporate. The area covered by a special plan is only that necessary to guarantee the protection of the objectives defined in this planning tool. Finally, land-use plans or urban plans are planning instruments that define the uses and the rights and duties assigned to each plot of land. There are three types of land-use plan, according to the area covered and degree of detail. The upper level plan within this category, the ‘Municipal Master Plan’ (PDM – Plano Director Municipal) is a structure plan, and it covers the entire territory of the municipality. Two or more municipalities can join together to prepare a common plan, the ‘Inter-Municipal Master Plan’ (PDIM – Plano Director Inter-Municipal). The ‘Urban Development Plan’ (PDU – Plano de Desenvolvimento Urbano), a zoning plan, covers the entire area of an urban centre or city, and defines its main zones, according to the dominant use (e.g. housing, leisure, industry, green areas, among others). The lower level plan, the ‘Detailed Plan’ (PD – Plano Detalhado), defines the positions of buildings, infrastructures and public spaces, as well as the size, volume and other physical characteristics of buildings, urban facilities and infrastructures. The ‘Detailed Plan’ covers subdivisions defined within the area of the ‘Urban Development Plan’. In a complex spatial planning system such as this one, and as we have also seen in the case of Angola, numerous interrelationships exist among the different categories of plans. While the ‘Sector Spatial Plan’ translates in the respective sector the options and guidelines defined and adopted in the ‘National Spatial Planning Directive’, the ‘Regional Spatial Planning Scheme’ incorporates the options and guidelines from both the ‘National Spatial Planning Directive’ and the ‘Sector Spatial Plans’. The ‘Special Spatial Plan’ reflects a compromise with the ‘National Directive’ and with sector plans’, related to the specific objective to be protected, and prevails over municipal land-use plans. Nonetheless, in the preparation of each new plan, all legally binding spatial plans have to be taken into consideration, no matter what their place in the hierarchy of plans. In addition, municipal land-use plans have to be ratified by central government, confirming or not that the options and solutions adopted by the municipal plan are in conformity with the law and with upper level spatial plans. All plans included in the system are mandatory for every public authority, with municipal land-use plans also directly enforceable vis-à-vis private individuals and entities. During the preparation of these plans, it is possible to apply preventive measures to avoid changes that could later affect the implementation of proposals adopted in the new plans. In addition to this, municipalities in Cape Verde hold a right of preference in all transactions of land ownership in areas defined as necessary for infrastructures or public facilities, in legally binding land-use plans. The preparation and approval of municipal land-use plans is mandatory for all municipalities within the timeline defined by central government. If a municipality does not meet this objective, central government can replace the municipality in the preparation of these land-use plans. Spatial plans can be changed or revised, by the respective planning authority, when changes in the economic and social contexts require, or when new legislation requires the revision of options and solutions. Land-use plans, contrary to the other spatial plans, have a well defined legally binding period and cannot be changed in the first years after approval. This is intended to offer sufficient legal security to every urban stakeholder, since the norms defined by land-use plans create rights and duties to every plot of land or building property. Spatial plans can be suspended, partially or totally, by central government due to national, regional or local issues, or relevant interests that need to be protected. After that they need to be altered or revised. Evaluation and monitoring is also considered in the spatial planning system in Cape Verde. Every two years central government is expected to prepare and publish a report on the state of the national territory, with

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an evaluation of the implementation of the ‘National Spatial Planning Directive’, and a discussion about the principles and forms of coordination of the different central government policies with a spatial impact. At the local level, municipalities will also produce, every two years, a similar evaluation report on the state of landuse plans, on their relationships with the municipal spatial strategy and on the need for revision of any of these municipal plans. As in the other Lusophone African countries this component of the spatial planning system has not yet been developed in practice as a routine planning activity. Table 10.4 Cape Verde: The structure of the spatial planning system in the postcolonial period (first adopted in 2006 and revised in 2010) Cape Verde: Spatial Plans According to Geographic Scale and Category of Plan Category of Plan

National

Regional

Spatial Development Plans (Instrumentos de ordenamento e desenvolvimento territorial)

National Spatial Planning Directive (DNOT – Directiva nacional de ordenamento do território)

Regional Spatial Planning Scheme (EROT – Esquema regional de ordenamento do território)

Sector Spatial Plans (Instrumentos de política sectorial)

Plans prepared by the different departments of central government (PSECT – Planos com incidência territorial da responsabilidade dos diversos sectores da Administração Central)

Special Spatial Plans (Instrumentos de natureza especial)

Special Spatial Plans for specific issues (PEOT – Planos especiais de ordenamento do território)

Land Use Plans (Instrumentos de planeamento territorial ou ‘planos urbanísticos’)

Municipal

Municipal Master Plan (PDM – Plano Director Municipal) Urban Development Plan (PDU – Plano de Desenvolvimento Urbano) Detailed Plan (PD – Plano Detalhado) Inter-Municipal Master Plan (PDIM – Plano Director Inter-Municipal)

Besides the formal spatial planning system other instruments of urban policy have been adopted by the government of Cape Verde in this period. Among others, the national programme for urban development,81 whose aim is to articulate the formal spatial planning system with other key components of the national urban development policy, namely the infrastructure, housing and urban security (MAHOT, n.d.); the urban

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rehabilitation programme;82 the new building code;83 the national sanitation plan;84 the national plan for water resources;85 the national environmental plan;86 technical norms for universal accessibility in the urban environment;87 several housing programmes;88 and a national geographic information system.89 Mozambique: The Postcolonial Spatial Planning System In Mozambique, the first decade and a half of independence, since 1975, can also be described as a revolutionary period, the First Republic, followed by the gradual implementation of a democratic regime, a process started after the end of the civil war in 199290 and based on the new political Constitution adopted in 1990. As in the other two Lusophone countries studied in this chapter, this initial revolutionary phase, or First Republic, was characterized by a single-party regime, strong political-administrative centralization, a ‘centrally planned’ economy and the inexistence of a true local self-government system guaranteed by the Constitution. Independence in 1975 represented a rupture with the colonial administrative organization and therefore also a rupture in urban governance.91 Nonetheless, in a number of respects continuity with the colonial administrative tradition prevailed, specifically the centralization of administrative decision-making, which was also the administrative model in the urban planning field. This tradition of centralization was reinforced in order to maintain national unity after independence and as a guarantee of the political leadership by FRELIMO, then the only political party in Mozambique. This centralization of administrative decision-making and the maintenance of the former colonial local administrative structures, in general poorly resourced, were responsible for the overall negative performance of urban governance by local administrative institutions in Mozambique in the early post-independence period. Common was also the fact that urban planning, in the initial years, was not a political priority and planning administration followed, in many respects, outdated colonial planning and building norms. Nonetheless, independently of the legal framework, urban administrative decisions were often taken in the absence of a legally binding urban plan, on a case by case basis, directly by central government or by its de-concentrated regional or local administrative boards. This has been changing gradually since the adoption of the 1990 Constitution. The introduction of a multiparty system, democratic elections, the current implementation of a true system of local self-government, decentralization from the state to the municipalities, de-concentration from the state to the provinces and districts, as well as the definition in 2007 of the current spatial planning system and its gradual implementation since then are some of the dimensions of this change.92 In 1992, central government initiated a reform of the state local administration which culminated in Law 3/94.93 This law allowed the creation of local self-government for the first time since independence. However, given that the 1990 Constitution did not establish local selfgovernment, the law was never fully applied. In 1996, the Constitution was partially revised, introducing a section on local self-government. Based on that, a new law on local government was approved at the end of 1996 and published in early 1997.94 Some of these laws on the creation and organization of local selfgovernment were later revised, a process that started in 2003 and continued well until the end of that decade, and which also included the revision of the Constitution in 2004. Also important to note in this context is the fact that the assignment or transfer of competences from state administration to municipalities is gradual and depends solely on central government.95 The first local government elections took place in 33 municipalities, in June 1998.96 In these cases, the elected bodies (municipal assemblies, mayors and executive councils) became the new structures responsible for local affairs, including urban planning. The other administrative units retained their previous structures with administrators appointed by central government. Maputo, the capital city, was assigned special administrative status and hence is also expected to have additional planning capacity.97 In 2012 the national strategy for the decentralization policy was approved .98 Before that, similarly to what happened in Angola and in Cape Verde, planning and building norms guided urban administration in Mozambique, or in some of its main urban centres, for example Maputo, but they did not, however, constitute a fully structured formal planning system.99 The inexistence of a true local selfgovernment meant that even the limited urban planning that existed during the revolutionary period was determined and closely controlled by central government or by its de-concentrated local offices. Municipalities

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and a lower tier (povoações) were only created as a form of local self-government in the 1990s, and since then have been only partially implemented.100 The 2007 spatial planning system has three main geographical layers – national, regional (province and district) and municipal – and four main categories of plans, as with the two other Lusophone countries that are the focus of this chapter (Table 10.5).101 The national tier includes the spatial plans prepared and implemented by central government, that is, the spatial development plan, the sector spatial plan and the special spatial plan. The regional level has two tiers, the province and the district, both with a spatial plan, although of a different nature – spatial development in the first case and land-use plan, in the second. The municipal layer includes several types of land-use plans. Strategic development plans, assigned to the national and provincial layers, define the aims and the overall spatial strategy for the organization of the national or regional territory. The ‘National Spatial Development Plan’ (PNDT – Plano Nacional de Desenvolvimento Territorial) covers the entire territory of Mozambique, defines the main options for the organization of the national territory, and constitutes the guiding reference for all other plans and planning institutions. The ‘Provincial Spatial Development Plan’ (PPDT – Plano Provincial de Desenvolvimento Territorial) establishes, at the provincial (regional) level, the steering references for all public and private actions with an impact in the territory, namely for municipal land-use plans, and takes into account the directives defined in the ‘National Spatial Development Plan’, ‘Special Spatial Plans’ and ‘Sector Spatial Plans’. The ‘Sector Spatial Plan’ (PSECT) and the ‘Special Spatial Plan’ (PEOT) are assigned to central government departments.102 The land-use plan is a category of spatial plan that in Mozambique, as in other countries, is assigned to the municipalities and has four types: the ‘Municipal Master Plan’ (PEU – Plano de Estrutura Urbana), a structure plan that covers the entire territory of the municipality; the ‘Urban Plan’ (PGU – Plano Geral de Urbanização), a zoning plan covering the whole area of the urban centre; the ‘Partial Urban Plan’ (PPU – Plano Parcial de Urbanização), similar to the ‘Urban Plan’ but only for part of the urban area; and the ‘Detailed Plan’ (PP – Plano de Pormenor), an urban design plan in which the place of buildings, infrastructures and public spaces are defined, as well as the size, volume and other physical characteristics of buildings, urban facilities and infrastructures. Exceptionally, when compared to the other Lusophone countries, the spatial planning system in Mozambique considers a different type of land-use plan, assigned to a tier between the province and the municipality, the district, a sub-regional administrative layer that does not exist in Angola or in Cape Verde. The district has one type of land-use plan, the ‘District Land Use Plan’ (PDUT – Plano Distritais de Uso da Terra), whose nature and role are different to that of the municipal land-use plans. The spatial planning system in Mozambique defines the hierarchy of plans, as do the planning systems of Angola and Cape Verde. The ‘National Spatial Development Plan’ (PNDT – Plano Nacional de Desenvolvimento Territorial) defines the principles and the main options for the organization of the national territory, which are then followed and adopted by the other, lower level planning instruments. The ‘Sector Spatial Plan’ decodes in the respective sector the options and guidelines defined and adopted in the ‘National Spatial Development Plan’ (PNDT). The ‘Provincial Spatial Development Plan’ (PPDT – Plano Provincial de Desenvolvimento Territorial) integrates the options and guidelines from the PNDT, the ‘Sector Spatial Plans’ (PSECT) and the ‘Special Spatial Plans’ (PEOT – Plano Especial de Ordenamento do Território), and prevails over land-use plans at the district and municipal levels. Provincial, district and municipal plans have to be ratified by central government, an act that confirms whether the plan conforms with the law and with upper level spatial plans or not. Adherence to the options and guidelines of all spatial plans included in the system is mandatory for all public authorities, private individuals and organizations. The preparation and approval of district and municipal land-use plans is required for all districts and municipalities within the timeframe defined by central government. All spatial plans must be altered or revised, by the respective planning authority, when changes in the economic and social contexts require, or because of changes to the law. Spatial plans can also be suspended, partially or totally, by central government due to national, regional or local issues, or relevant interests that need to be protected, after which they must be altered or revised depending on the importance of the changes introduced.

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Before the end of each legislature term, every level in the planning system – central government, province, district and municipality – is required to publish a report on the state of its territory, with an evaluation of the implementation of its plans. The same entities are expected to produce regular monitoring reports on the functioning of the planning system. Table 10.5 Mozambique: The structure of the spatial planning system in the postcolonial period (first adopted in 2007) Mozambique: Spatial Plans According to Geographic Scale and Category of Plan Category of Plan

National

Regional

Spatial Development Instruments (Instrumentos de ordenamento e desenvolvimento territorial)

National Spatial Development Plan (PNDT – Plano Nacional de Desenvolvimento Territorial)

Provincial Spatial Development Plan (PPDT – Plano provincial de desenvolvimento territorial)

Sectorial Spatial Plans (Instrumentos de política sectorial)

Sector Plans – Plans prepared by the different departments of central government (PSECT – Plano com incidência territorial da responsabilidade dos diversos sectores da Administração Central)

Special Plans (Instrumentos de natureza especial)

Special Plans for specific issues (PEOT – Plano especial de ordenamento do território)

Land Use Plans (Instrumentos de planeamento territorial ou ‘planos urbanísticos’)

Municipal

Inter-Provincial Spatial Development Plan (PIPDT – Plano inter-provincial de desenvolvimento territorial)

District Land Use Plan (PDUT – Plano distrital de uso da terra)

Municipal Master Plan (PEU – Plano de estrutura urbana)

Inter-District Land Use Plan (PIDUT – Plano inter-distrital de uso da terra)

Urban Plan (PGU – Plano geral de urbanização) Partial Urban Plan (PPU – Plano parcial de urbanização) Detailed Plan (PP – Plano de pormenor) Inter-Municipal Master Plan (PIMEU – Plano inter-municipal de estrutura urbana)

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As noted in the cases of Angola and Cape Verde, additional instruments, usually part of an urban policy, have also been adopted in the post-independence period in Mozambique,103 or have been applied in the main urban centres, as Vanin (2013) and Ferraz (2005), among others, have described in the case of Maputo. Conclusion The political and administrative histories of each of the Lusophone African countries have characteristics that are common but also specificities that make the history of urban planning in each country different from that in the others. The revolutionary period that lasted the first decade and a half after independence was marked in each country studied in this chapter by the existence of a single-party regime, a highly centralized state, an economy controlled by the state in key sectors and the inexistence of local self-government. These strong, common characteristics explain to some extent the similarities found. This period was followed by the implementation of a multi-party democratic political regime, the gradual implementation of local selfgovernment and the gradual development and expansion of the market economy. Nonetheless, the postcolonial period is also marked by specific political characteristics in each of these countries, for example the long civil wars in Angola and Mozambique,104 the political split between Cape Verde and Guinea-Bissau in the 1980s, with the constitution of two different states, or the frequent political instability in Guinea-Bissau since then, in contrast to the comparatively more stable political evolution in São Tomé and Príncipe in the post-independence period.105 These political circumstances and the characteristics of the administrative systems affected the way urban planning was perceived and practised by the state. In the three Lusophone countries studied here, the size of the municipalities differs significantly and raises therefore different problems. The size of some municipalities makes it more difficult for local authorities to administer and to govern such a large territory. Besides that, the dimension of the urban phenomenon and the size of urban centres may also explain some of the differences between all five Lusophone African countries, in particular the relative delay in the implementation of a formal spatial planning system in São Tomé and Príncipe and in Guinea-Bissau compared to the other three. The lack of political will in some cases, the extreme administrative concentration in central government, the fear of local government falling into the hands of the opposition, are just some of the conditions perceived to be responsible for the delay in the implementation of local self-government in some of the Lusophone African countries, which limits the possibilities for the full implementation of a spatial planning system. It took around three decades of independence for Angola, Mozambique and Cape Verde to create a full, formal spatial planning system, for the first time in their history, which somehow indicates the low level of priority spatial policy, and urban issues in general, had in the initial years after independence. Nonetheless, compared to the situation during the colonial and revolutionary periods, the present planning frameworks in the three countries represent a major improvement, even considering that some of the assumptions behind this kind of formal and comprehensive spatial planning systems and planning methodologies are not always evident in the African cities. In the three cases, the new systems adopted in 2004, 2006 and 2007, respectively, have similarities with the current spatial planning system in Portugal.106 From the point of view of the relationship between the state and local self-government, the spatial planning systems in these three Lusophone African countries have characteristics of a mixed planning system, in the sense that, at least in formal terms, neither the state nor the sub-national tiers are overwhelmingly dominant, and both the state and local self-government have to cooperate with and articulate the respective spatial plans. As is common in spatial planning systems in unitary states, central government in these countries has the competence to confirm if a local or regional plan matches the law and other legally binding spatial plans. Regarding the types of plans, the three systems include the four main categories of spatial plans: strategic spatial-development plans (at the national, regional and local levels); land-use plans (as is usual, at the local level; in the Mozambique case, also at the sub-regional level); sector spatial plans (for every policy sector, at the national level, but also at the regional and local, if necessary); special spatial plans (for specific kinds of problems, including environmental and cultural among others). Besides the formal planning tools these spatial planning systems have sufficient flexibility to allow the adoption of additional types of plans that would make it easier to address unexpected situations.

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In sum, since the implementation of these spatial planning systems is fairly recent, and considering also the fact that the municipal layer is only partially implemented in Mozambique and in Angola is yet to be introduced, it is too soon to make a complete evaluation of these spatial planning systems. The competences assigned to local self-government and its level of autonomy, the governance model that will be adopted in the major urban and metropolitan areas,107 as well as the human and financial resources allocated to local self-government, will all determine the practice of the spatial planning system in these three countries. Aside from Cape Verde, where the decentralization process is already well developed, and where local democracy is established, it will be some time before a real form of local self-government is in place in the entire national territory. While in Mozambique municipal elections have taken place in only a limited number of municipalities, in Angola the implementation of local self-government is yet to begin. The real functioning of the system will also depend on the mechanisms facilitating internal coordination between central government and the various tiers of territorial administration with competences in the planning system, as well as coordination between the spatial planning system and other policy sectors. That applies to, for example, relations between the different sector plans (e.g. national road plan) and special plans (e.g. coastline special plan), between these and regional plans, or between these and municipal landuse plans. The preparation of these plans and their implementation requires more than political will within central government. Land policy, land tenure rights and the institutional arrangement under which urban land is managed will certainly affect the level of success achieved by urban planning. An informed and competent local political class, educated citizens and qualified planning professionals are some of the other basic conditions for the success of these spatial planning systems. The situation in these three countries is unequal in this regard, but the need for more built environment professionals, trained in planning paradigms and methodologies more responsive to the characteristics of African cities, seems to benefit now from a larger consensus, which was not the case only a few years ago. References Alexandrino, José Melo (2010). O poder local na Constituição da República de Angola: os princípios fundamentais. Revista da Faculdade de Direito da Universidade de Lisboa, 51(1–2): 61–92. Attahi, Koffi, Hinin-Moustapha, Daniel and Appessika, Kouamé (2009). Revisiting Urban Planning in SubSaharan Francophone Africa. Nairobi: United Nations Human Settlements Programme – Regional Report Francophone Africa. Boletim da República – Publicação Oficial da República de Moçambique (several years). Boletim Oficial da Guiné (several years). Boletim Oficial da República da Guiné-Bissau (several years). Boletim Oficial da República de Cabo Verde (several years). Boletim Oficial de Angola (several years). Boletim Oficial de Cabo Verde (several years). Boletim Oficial de Moçambique (several years). Boletim Oficial de S. Tomé e Príncipe (several years). Briggs, John and Yeboah, Ian (2001). Structural Adjustment and the Contemporary Sub-Saharan African City. Area, 33(1): 18–26. Brito, Wladimir (2014). Cabo Verde: instituicionalização, organização e problemas do Poder Local. In Melo, Alexandrino (ed.). Jornadas de Direito Municipal Comparado Lusófono. Lisboa: Associação Académica da Faculdade de Direito de Lisboa, pp. 55–74. Caetano, Marcelo (1934). Resumo da História da Administração Colonial Portuguesa. In Amaral, Diogo Freitas (ed.) (1994). Estudos de História da Administração Pública Portuguesa. Coimbra: Coimbra Editora. Cistac, Gilles (2014). Moçambique – Institucionalização, organização e problemas do Poder Local. In Melo, Alexandrino (ed.). Jornadas de Direito Municipal Comparado Lusófono. Lisboa: Associação Académica da Faculdade de Direito de Lisboa, pp. 77–120. Correia, Adérito and Sousa, Bornito de (1996). Angola: História Constitucional. Coimbra: Almedina. Diário da República – Órgão Oficial da República de Angola (several years).

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Diário da República – São Tomé e Príncipe (several years). Domingues, Ângela (1991). Administração e Instituições. Transplante, Adaptação, Funcionamento. In História de Cabo Verde. Coimbra: Imprensa de Coimbra. Feijó, Carlos (2014). Poder Local em Angola – Institucionalização, organização e problemas. In Melo, Alexandrino (ed.). Jornadas de Direito Municipal Comparado Lusófono. Lisboa: Associação Académica da Faculdade de Direito de Lisboa, pp. 123–35. Feijó, Carlos and Paca, Cremildo (2005). Direito Administrativo. Introdução e Organização Administrativa. Luanda: Universidade Lusíada de Angola. Ferraz, José (2005). Uma estratégia para o melhoramento e a reabilitação dos slums em Moçambique. Cadernos da Faculdade de Arquitectura da Universidade Técnica de Lisboa, 5: 92–7. Fonseca, Jorge (2006). Do regime de partido único à democracia em Cabo Verde: as sombras e a presença da Constituição Portuguesa de 1976. Themis, 30 anos da Constituição portuguesa 1976–2006, número especial: 81–118. Freitas, Lourenço Vilhena (2014). O sistema das autarquias locais de São Tomé e Príncipe. In Melo, Alexandrino (ed.). Jornadas de Direito Municipal Comparado Lusófono. Lisboa: Associação Académica da Faculdade de Direito de Lisboa, pp. 159–74. Gomes, Carla Amado (2013). O desafio da protecção do ambiente em Angola. Scientia Juridica. Revista de Direito Comparado Português e Brasileiro. 62(331): 33–58. Gouveia, Jorge Bacelar (2014). Direito Constitucional de Angola. Lisboa: Instituto de Direito de Língua Portuguesa. Jornal de Angola, 28 January 2011. Jornal de Angola, 13 May 2011. Knieling, Joerg and Othengrafen, Frank (eds) (2009). Planning Cultures in Europe: Decoding Cultural Phenomena in Urban and Regional Planning. Aldershot: Ashgate. Kosta, Kafft (2014). Guiné-Bissau. Poder Local – Institucionalização, organização e problemas. In Melo, Alexandrino (ed.). Jornadas de Direito Municipal Comparado Lusófono. Lisboa: Associação Académica da Faculdade de Direito de Lisboa, pp. 139–56. Machado, Jónatas, Costa, Paulo and Hilário, E. (2013). Direito Constitucional Angolano, 2nd edition. Coimbra: Coimbra Editora. MAHOT (n.d.). Programa Nacional de Desenvolvimento Urbano e Capacitação das Cidades. Praia: Ministério do Ambiente, Habitação e Ordenamento do Território. Miranda, Jorge (1991). As novas constituições – Cabo Verde, São Tomé e Príncipe e Moçambique. Lisbon: AAFDL. ——— (2002). Teoria do Estado e da Constituição. Coimbra: Coimbra Editora. Njoh, Ambe J. (2009). Urban Planning as a Tool of Power and Social Control in Colonial Africa. Planning Perspectives, 24(3): 301–17. ——— (2012). Urban Planning and Public Health in Africa. Farnham: Ashgate. O País, 25 July 2011. Okpala, Don (2009). Regional Overview of the Status of Urban Planning and Planning Practice in Anglophone (Sub-Sahara) African Countries. Nairobi: United Nations Human Settlements Programme. Silva, Carlos Nunes (2000). O sistema de gestão do território em Portugal. Cadernos Municipais – Revista de Acção Regional e Local, 14(74): 21–35. ——— (2001). Metodologias de Avaliação e de Monitorização no Ordenamento do Território e no Urbanismo. Cadernos Municipais – Revista de Acção Regional e Local, 15(76): 52–66. ——— (ed.) (2015). Urban Planning in Sub-Saharan Africa: Colonial and Post-Colonial Planning Cultures. New York: Routledge. ——— (2015a). Urban Planning in Sub-Saharan Africa: An Overview. In Silva, Carlos Nunes (ed.). Urban Planning in Sub-Saharan Africa: Colonial and Post-Colonial Planning Cultures. New York: Routledge, pp. 8–40. Silva, Mário (2010). As Constituições de Cabo Verde e Textos Históricos de Direito Constitucional Cabo Verdiano, 2nd edition. Praia: n.p. UN (2007). Mozambique Urban Sector Profile. Nairobi: United Nations Human Settlements Programme.

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——— (2011). Global Report on Human Settlements 2011. Cities and Climate Change: Policy Directions. Nairobi: United Nations Human Settlements Programme. ——— (2014). The State of African Cities 2014: Re-Imagining Sustainable Urban Transitions. Nairobi: United Nations Human Settlements Programme. Vanin, Fabio (2013). Maputo, cidade aberta – Maputo, Open City. Lisbon: Fundação Serra Henriques. Notes 1 As several chapters in this book show. For a critical overview of colonial urban planning in the Lusophone African countries (Angola, Cape Verde, Guinea-Bissau, Mozambique, São Tomé and Príncipe) and a comparison with other colonial planning cultures, see Chapter 2 and Silva (2015a). 2 As several chapters in this book show. The Colonial Urbanization Office (GUC) or Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial, was created in 1944, within the Ministry of Colonies, and was based in Lisbon. Later, the GUC opened a permanent delegation in Angola and another in Mozambique. The other three colonies (Guinea-Bissau, Cape Verde, São Tomé and Príncipe) continued to be served by regular visits of members of the GUC. It was replaced by GUU (Overseas Urbanization Cabinet / Gabinete de Urbanização do Ultramar) in 1951 (GUU, 1951–57), which later became the Direcção dos Serviços de Urbanismo e Habitação in the former Colonial Ministry. For an overview of the rather weak institutional capacity in the Portuguese African colonies in the period before the Estado Novo, in particular until the Berlin Conference, see Caetano (1934). 3 In the case of Guinea-Bissau, unilateral independence was declared by the PAIGC on 14 September 1973, and recognized by Portugal in 10 September 1974; Angola, 11 November 1975; Cape Verde, 5 July 1975; Mozambique, 25 June 1975; São Tomé and Príncipe, 12 July 1975. 4 Ruptures with the colonial planning model, equivalent to those experienced before by the former Francophone and Anglophone colonies in sub-Saharan Africa. For example, the abandonment of planning and building norms or practices that directly or indirectly stimulated social segregation along ethnic/racial lines (e.g. different density criteria; land and infrastructure policies; land tenure regime; legalization of informal areas etc.). Examples of continuities: political and administrative centralization; master physical planning; a low level of citizen participation; planning by external consultants etc. 5 Gouveia (2014) supports the view that the influence of the Soviet ‘model’ could be felt in the case of Angola in the first years after independence. Miranda (1991: 11) supports the view that the new democratic constitutions adopted by the Lusophone countries in the early 1990s reveal direct influences of the Portuguese Constitution. For an overview of the first Constitutions in the Lusophone countries see Miranda (2002: 229–32). 6 The colonial legislation that continued to be applied after independence was applied only if not contrary to the Constitution or if not against the ‘spirit of the Revolution’. This gave wide discretionary power to national governments in the interpretation of these colonial norms, as Machado et al. (2013: 38) notes in the case of Angola. 7 The 1975 Land Law (Lei 4/1975) was revised by the 1998 Land Law (Lei 5/98, 23 April 1998). The 1975 law replaced the 1961 colonial discriminatory land act. 8 Plano Geral Urbanístico de Bissau – Decreto 17/95, 30 October (Regulamento do Plano Geral Urbanístico de Bissau). 9 Resolução 4/92, 29 January. 10 Decreto-lei 12/2006 (Lei orgânica MATOT). 11 Control by central government (Ministério do Equipamento Social – D.G. Habitação e Urbanismo). It was the responsibility of the municipality to prepare the lower level plans (e.g. Planos Urbanísticos Detalhados; Plano de Pormenor; Projecto de Parcelamento; Projecto de Infraestruturas Urbanísticas). 12 Parque Natural dos Tarrafes do Rio Cacheu; Parque Natural das Lagoas de Cufada; Parque Nacional Marinho João Vieira-Poilão; Parque Nacional das ilhas de Orango; Parque Nacional de Cantanhez; Área Marinha Protegida das ilhas Urok; Área Marinha Protegida das ilhas Urok; Reserva de Biosfera de Arquipélago de Bolama-Bijagós. 13 Plano Nacional de Gestão Ambiental (Decreto 3/2004, 19 May). 14 The 1956 Regulamento Geral de Edificações Urbanas; Decreto 8/2006, 31 July (Regulamento Geral de Construção e Habitação Urbana) replaced the colonial building code. 15 Regulamento Geral das Edificações Urbanas – Portaria 2709, 29 January 1959. 16 Despacho 1/99, 8 January 1999, revised by Despacho 1/2000, 15 May. Despacho 20 December 2002 created the national commission (Comissão Nacional de Distribuição de Terras destinadas a Urbanização).

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17 Decreto 12/2005, 15 August – Plano de Ordenamento do Território. Responsibility was assigned to the Ministry of Public Works (Ministério das Obras Públicas, Infraestruturas, Recursos Naturais e Meio Ambiente). 18 Despacho Conjunto 12/2009 – to be applied in the entire country and not only in the capital. 19 Miranda (1991) provides an overview of the circumstances in which the first constitutions were adopted and the process that lead to the democratic constitutions in the early 1990s (in Cape Verde, the constitutional revision took place in January 1990; in São Tomé and Príncipe, in September 1990; in Mozambique, in November 1990). Machado et al. (2013) and Gouveia (2014), among others, associate the move towards these new constitutional arrangements and new organization of the state to the Perestroika in the former Soviet bloc. 20 The island of Príncipe is a Region. 21 For an overview of the constitutional process in the Lusophone African countries after independence see, among others, Miranda (1991), Silva (2010), Fonseca (2006), Machado et al. (2013), Gouveia (2014). 22 The Treaty of Alvor, signed by the Portuguese government and the three liberation movements (MPLA, FNLA and UNITA) on 15 January 1975, established 11 November 1975 as the date for the independence of Angola. For an overview of this process, in particular the constitutional process and the corresponding definition of the structure of the state see, among others: Machado et al. (2013), Gouveia (2014), Miranda (2002), Correia and Sousa (1996). Gouveia (2014: 99–100) enumerates three main phases: the First Republic, the transition to a democratic system after the Bicesse Agreement, and a third phase marked by the consolidation of this democratization process with the adoption of the 2010 Constitution approved by an elected multiparty parliament. Raúl Araújo, quoted in Gouveia (2014: 123–4) considers the period after the approval of the 2010 Constitution as the Third Republic, while Jorge Miranda, quoted by Gouveia (2014: 124), considers it to be part of the period that started with the 1992 Constitution. 23 Lei 23/92, 16 September 1992 – Constitutional law of Angola; and the legislative and presidential elections in 1992. 24 Gouveia (2014: 82–5) and Machado et al. (2013) provide broad overviews of this process. The new Constitution was approved in 1991, although changes did start a little earlier with the law on privatizations adopted in 1988 (Lei 10/88), the law on public corporations approved in the same year (Lei 11/88) and the law on foreign investments (Lei 12/88). ‘República Popular de Angola’ (First Republic) was replaced by ‘República de Angola’ (Second Republic). 25 Peace agreement between the government of Angola, supported by MPLA, and UNITA, on 4 April 2002. The second legislative elections for the national parliament took place on 5 September 2008. 26 The full text of the 2010 Constitution is published in Diário da República de Angola, 5 February 2010. Local selfgovernment also has a long history in Angola. In the sixteenth century, Luanda already had a municipal council, the ‘Senado Municipal’, constituted in 1575 (Caetano, 1934; Feijó, 2014: 128). Feijó (2014) notes the existence of forms of local selfgovernment organizations in the period prior to 1482, the pre-colonial period. Between 1482 and independence in 1975, the institutional and administrative evolution in Angola is similar to that of other Portuguese colonies. 27 Constitution 2010, art. 242. Feijó (2014: 134–5), agreeing with Alexandrino (2010), suggests that it would be unconstitutional to create local self-government in some parts of the country and not in other parts. The argument in favour of ‘gradualism’ in the implementation of local self-government, also applied in Mozambique, is related to the lack of suitable conditions (e.g. qualified staff and other administrative conditions). 28 Lei 2/97, 3 January 1997 defined the organizational norms and the functioning of the state local administration. Among others, see Gouveia (2014). It was revised and replaced by Lei 17/10, 29 July 2010. Considering that administrative decentralization has not been considered a strategic priority by the Angolan government, the way the state local administration is organized is a fundamental condition for the spatial planning system since part of it is implemented by the state local administration. Decreto-lei 30/10, 9 April 2010 defines the local finance system. 29 For example: the special regime for the rehabilitation of Cazenga and Sambizanga in Luanda (Decreto Presidencial 266/10, 29 November 2010); the creation of a strategic council for Luanda – Conselho de Coordenação Estratégica para o Ordenamento Territorial e de Desenvolvimento Económico e Social da Província de Luanda (Decreto Presidencial 104/10, 21 June 2010); the special regime for new towns in Luanda (Regime de Organização Administrativa da Cidade do Kilamba and Regime Específico de Organização e Gestão da Urbanização da Talatona – Decreto Presidencial 62/11 and 63/11, 18 April 2011). 30 Constitution 2010, articles 213; 224; 225. Feijó (2014: 135) raises important issues related to the compatibility between these traditional authorities and the rule of law in a modern democratic state (e.g. the fact that women cannot succeed the traditional leader seems to violate the constitutional principle of equality; the existence of kingdoms in a Republican state seems to be incompatible, and so on). 31 The preamble to Lei 3/04 is very clear about the reasons behind the adoption of this Planning Act at that moment (2004).

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32 Lei 3/04, 25 June 2004. This main Planning Act was expected to be complemented by specific regulations and norms, which has been taking place gradually since then. The legislative process that ended with the publication of this Planning Act took some years (e.g. a draft project of this law was published in 2001). The procedures for the elaboration, approval and ratification of spatial plans included in the 2004 spatial planning system, except for the special plans, was regulated in 2006 (Decreto 2/06, 23 January – Regulamento Geral dos Planos Territoriais, Urbanísticos e Rurais). The land development regime, urbanization works and construction was regulated in 2006 (Decreto 80/06, 30 October – Regulamento de Licenciamento das Operações de Loteamento, Obras de Urbanização e Obras de Construção). 33 Decreto 13/07, 26 February (Regulamento Geral das Edificações Urbanas) replaced the colonial building code adopted in 1948 (Portaria 6269, 19 April 1948). 34 Decreto 412/70, 26 August replaced by Lei 9/98, 18 September 1998. 35 Replaced the ‘Colonial Water Act’ (Lei de Águas do Ultramar, approved by Decreto 35/3, 23 January 1946). 36 The Water Act defines two categories of plans: Plano Nacional de Recursos Hídricos and the Plano Geral de Desenvolvimento e Utilização dos Recursos Hídricos da Bacia, both competences of the central government. 37 The 2010 Constitution, article 219, assigns to local self-government (autarquias locais) a number of competences in the field of spatial planning, housing and numerous other closely related fields. As Gomes (2013) notes, the 2010 Constitution assigns competences to the municipalities in environmental policy. 38 Lei 3/04, article 34; Decreto 2/06, 23 January, articles 7 to 28. 39 Lei 3/04, article 29; Decreto 2/06, articles 31 to 39. 40 The Provincial and Inter-Provincial Spatial Plans are regulated in Decreto 2/06, articles 46 to 51. 41 Municipal and Inter-Municipal Plans are regulated in Decreto 2/06, articles 63 to 111. 42 Lei 3/04, article 32, para. 3. 43 Lei 3/04, article 32, para. 4. 44 The national road network plan was approved in 1992 (Decreto 21/92, 22 May 1992) replacing the previous colonial road network plan. 45 Both municipal sector and special spatial plans are regulated in Decreto 2/06, articles 109 to 111. Municipal sector plans can be prepared for the following sectors: water for human consumption, sanitation, energy, mining, health etc. Municipal special plans can address the following issues: natural, agrarian and forest protected areas; areas for mining exploration; river dam protection areas; coastal areas; areas with military or defence purposes, among other types of areas. 46 The ‘National Sector Spatial Plans’ are regulated in Decreto 2/06, articles 40 to 45. 47 The ‘National Special Spatial Plans’ are regulated in Decreto 2/06, articles 52 to 62. 48 Decreto 2/06, 23 January, article 29. 49 Lei 3/04, articles 64 and 66; Decreto 2/06, articles 151 to 153. 50 Decreto 2/06, articles 10 to 12 and 124. Citizens and all private entities are entitled within the urban planning process to all guarantees established in the general norms of administrative procedures (Decreto-lei 16-A/95, 15 December). 51 Lei 10/87, 26 September (Lei-quadro sobre transgressões administrativas). 52 It was announced that local elections for municipalities, the necessary condition for true local self-government, would take place after the national elections that took place in 2012. It was also announced that local self-government would be implemented gradually, first in a limited number of municipalities and later, gradually, in others, a process similar to that followed in Mozambique (Jornal de Angola, 13 May 2011: statement by the Ministry of Territorial Administration). For the organization of Central Government, see Decreto-lei 6/08, 10 November 2008. Local self-government had not yet been implemented at the time of writing. 53 Decreto 2/06, article 158. See also Decreto-lei 17/99, 29 October and Decreto 27/00, 19 May on the de-concentrated state administration in the provinces and municipalities, respectively. 54 The 2004 Angolan Spatial Planning System was defined by the 2004 Planning Act (Lei 3/04, 25 June 2004 – Lei do Ordenamento do Território e do Urbanismo) and specified in two main regulations: Decret 2/06, 23 January – Regulamento Geral dos Planos Territoriais, Urbanísticos e Rurais; and Decret 80/06, 30 October – Regulamento de Licenciamento das Operações de Loteamento, Obras de Urbanização e Obras de Construção. 55 The Cultural Heritage Act (Lei 14/05, 7 October). The 2004 Land Act: Lei 9/04, 9 November 2004 (replaced the previous ‘Land Act’ – Lei 21-C/92, 28 August; and its regulations: Decretos 32/95, 8 December and Decreto 46-a/92, 9 September); the 2007 regulation of the 2004 Land Act: Decreto 58/07, 13 July – Regulamento Geral de Concessão de Terrenos; the Cultural Heritage Act: Lei 14/05, 7 October; the 2007 Building Code: Decreto 13/07, 26 February – Regulamento Geral das Edificações Urbanas.

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56 As Gomes (2013) shows, the environment was not considered in the 1975 Constitution. Only the 1992 Constitution included explicit references to the environment and a new role for the state in this field. This new approach was later expressed in the planning laws as well, namely in the 2004 spatial planning system. Among other legal acts adopted after the 1992 Constitution, referred to by Gomes (2013), are: Lei 5/98, 19 June – Lei de bases do Ambiente; Decreto 39/00, 10 October 2000 – Regime de protecção do ambiente no âmbito da actividade petrolífera; Decreto 51/04, 23 July – Regime de avaliação de impacto ambiental; Lei 5/04, 7 September – Lei das actividades industriais; Lei 6-A/04, 8 October – Lei dos recursos biológicos; Decreto 59/07, 13 July – Regime de licença ambiental; Decreto Presidencial 194/11, 7 July – Regime de responsabilidade por danos ambientais. 57 Programa Nacional de Urbanismo e Habitação para o período 2009 – 2012 (Resolução 20/09, 11 March 2009). 58 Lei 3/04, article 27. 59 Decreto 2/06, articles 156 to 158. 60 Silva (2010) and Fonseca (2006) provide broad overviews of this process since independence. 61 Cape Verde has a very long history of local self-government that dates back to the initial stages of the colonization period in the fifteenth century, when the first structures of local government were implemented in Ribeira Grande de Santiago, on the island of Santiago, and on the island of Fogo (Domingues, 1991; Brito, 2014). With an evolution similar to what happened in other parts of the Portuguese colonial empire, the last major administrative reform before independence was adopted through the 1933 ‘Colonial Administrative Reform’ (Reforma Administrativa Ultramarina, instituted by Decreto-lei 23229, 15 November 1933). 62 Based in the first law that defined the Political Organization of the Cape Verde State (Lei sobre a Organização Política do Estado), approved on 5 July 1975, the first government of the new independent state decided to implement a reform of local government, based on the revolutionary principle of a single party political regime. The new local government system had to express that revolutionary conception of the political organization of the state. This role was assigned to PAIGC (Partido Africano para a Independência da Guiné e Cabo Verde), the party that conducted the liberation war. 63 Brito (2014: 61) notes that, in practice, local leaders had some autonomy and room for manoeuvre, more extended than that explicitly expressed in the law, due to the fact that they were all members of the same political party. 64 Among other changes achieved in that period, Brito (2014: 62) notes the publication, in 1980, of the Local Finance Law (Lei das Finanças Locais), and the Reform of Municipal Financial Administration (Reforma da Contabilidade Municipal). 65 Considered the first Constitution of Cape Verde (revisions: 1988, 1990, 1992, 1995, 1999 and 2010). See Silva (2010) for an overview of this process. It was expected to be applied after the parliamentary elections due to take place on 7 December 1980. A military coup in Guinea-Bissau on 14 November 1980 changed completely the political situation and was responsible for the end of the bi-national project and led to the split between the two countries (Cape Verde and Guinea-Bissau). 66 Lei 47/III/89, 13 July 1989 (Lei de Bases das Autarquias Locais) defined the principle of general, free and secret election of the municipal assembly, expanded the municipal competences, and introduced the principle of legality control instead of the control of the local political decisions. Lei 48/III/89, 13 July 1989 defined the electoral system, allowing the election of groups of citizens, besides the candidates of the single party. 67 Decreto-lei 23229, 15 November 1933 (Colonial Administrative Reform / Reforma Administrativa Ultramarina) was last abolished by Lei 47/III/89, 13 July 1989. Brito (2014: 66) notes, quoting Eurico Pinto Monteiro, that this colonial act was replaced gradually: in 1975, in 1980, in 1983 and in 1990. 68 Decreto-lei 122/91, 20 September 1991; Decreto-lei 123/91, 20 September 1991; Lei 134/IV/95, 3 July 1995. 69 Act 69/VII/2010, 16 August 2010 (Lei 69/VII/2010 – Lei Quadro da Descentralização). 70 Proposta de Lei (2008) – Estatuto Administrativo Especial da Cidade da Praia. 71 Lei 69/VII/2010, 16 August 2014. 72 Among others, see the following document: Unidade de Coordenação da Reforma do Estado. Comissão para a Descentralização e Desconcentração (2007). Parâmetros do processo conjunto de descentralização e desconcentração do Estado. Aproximar o Estado das populações, sem perder a eficácia na prestação do serviço público e visão de desenvolvimento integrado. 73 Decreto-Legislativo 1/2006, 13 February 2006, revised by Decreto-Legislativo 6/2010, 21 June (Lei de Bases do Ordenamento do Território e Planeamento Urbanístico), introduced and defined the first spatial planning system in Cape Verde. Decreto-lei 43/2010, 27 September 2010 – Regulamento Nacional do Ordenamento do Território e Planeamento Urbanístico (RNOTPU). 74 In 1985, Lei 57/II/85, 22 July 1985, was the first Planning Act in the post-independence period and included the following spatial plans: Plano Director Municipal (PDM); Plano de Desenvolvimento Urbano (PDU); and Plano

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Urbanístico Detalhado (PUD). This legislation was complemented in 1990 by Decreto 88/90, 13 October. In 1988, a new building code was approved (Decreto-lei 130/88, 31 December) replacing the former colonial code. In 1991, a central government department in charge of spatial planning was created (Direcção Geral do Ordenamento do Território). In 1993 a law on spatial planning was approved (Lei 85/IV/93, 16 July – Lei de Bases do Ordenamento do Território e do Planeamento Urbanístico). 75 For example: the national road network approved by the colonial administration in 1970–71 was only revised and replaced in 2006; the colonial building code was replaced only in 1988; the colonial land laws (expropriation regime) from 1948 was revised and replaced in 2005, and so on. 76 For the organization of Central Government, see Decreto-lei 16/2010, 17 May 2010. 77 Several proposals have been tabled for the creation of Administrative Regions. 78 The DNOT was approved in 2013 (Lei 28/VIII/2013, 10 April). Based on Resolução 20/2009, 20 July; and Resolução 19/2011, 24 May. 79 EROT Ilha de Santiago, 2010; EROT Ilha S. Nicolau, 2011; EROT Ilha do Fogo, 2010; EROT Ilha de Santo Antão, 2010; EROT Ilha do Sal, 2011; EROT Ilha da Boavista, 2011; EROT Ilha do Maio, 2011; EROT Ilha São Vicente, 2011. 80 Examples include: the national road network plan (Plano Rodoviário Nacional, approved by Decreto-lei 26/2006, 6 March); and the Plano Estratégico Sectorial de Energias Renováveis (PESER), approved by Resolução 7/2012, 3 February. 81 Programa Nacional de Desenvolvimento Urbano e Capacitação das Cidades (Resolução 24/2012, 25 April). 82 Decreto-lei 2/2011 – approved the regime of urban rehabilitation. 83 Decreto-lei 18/2011, 28 February 2011. 84 Plano Nacional de Saneamento Básico (Resolução 52/2010, 4 October 2010). 85 Plano de Acção Nacional para a Gestão Integrada dos Recursos Hídricos (Resolução 66/2010, 24 November 2010). 86 PANA II – Segundo Plano Nacional de Acção para o Ambiente, 2004–2014 (Resolução 14/2005, 25 April). 87 Decreto-lei 20/2011, 28 February. 88 Programa ‘Casa para Todos’, 2010; Sistema Nacional de Habitação de Interesse Social, 2010. 89 Sistema de Informação Territorial de Cabo Verde (Resolução 39/2010, 26 July 2010). 90 The new Constitution of Mozambique was adopted on 2 November 1990. The Rome Agreement that put an end to the civil war was signed in Rome on 4 October 1992. However, the political and economic changes that led to the Second Republic started earlier, in 1987, with the plan for economic rehabilitation (Programa de Reabilitação Económica). 91 The colonial local administration system was abolished and replaced by a new local government system in 1978 (Lei 5/78, Lei 6/78 and Lei 7/78, 22 April 1978). 92 UN (2007) provides useful and updated information on urbanization and urban issues in Mozambique. 93 PROL – Programa de Reformas dos Órgãos Locais, 1992; Lei 3/94, 13 September 1994. For an analysis of this process see, among others, Cistac (2014: 80–82). This reform was first tested in the following provincial capitals: Maputo, Beira, Quelimane, Nampula and Pemba. Lei 3/94 was replaced by Lei 2/97, 18 February. 94 Lei 2/97, 18 February 1997 approved the legal framework for the creation of local government units. In 1997, several laws concerning local government organization were approved. Lei 10/97, 31 May created 33 municipalities; in a second move, Lei 3/2008, 2 May created 10 more municipalities; in 2013, Lei 11/2013, 3 June created 10 more municipalities, reaching the total, at the time of writing, of 53 municipalities. In 1997 other laws on local government were also published: Lei11/97, 31 May 1997 on local finance; Lei 7/7, 31 May 1997 on administrative control by the state; Lei 5/97; Lei 6/97; Lei 8/97; Lei 9/97; Lei 10/97. 95 Decreto-lei 33/2006, 30 August 2006 defines the rules for the transfer of competences (before by Lei 2/97, 18 February 1997, art. 25). Decreto 58/2009, 8 October 2009 expanded the deadline for the transfer of competences defined in Decreto-lei 33/2006. Lei 1/2008, 16 January 2008, art. 84 requires the observation of certain financial conditions for the creation of local government units. The 2006 law allows the municipalities to require/propose the transfer of certain responsibilities/competences. 96 The party in power, FRELIMO, won the elections. Independent candidates were elected in several municipalities, in some cases with an expressive percentage of the vote. Lei 19/2002, 10 October on local elections was revised by Lei 18/2007, 18 July. 97 Lei 8/97, 31 May 1997 – Estatuto especial do município de Maputo. 98 Resolução 40/2012, 20 December. 99 UN (2007) refers to legal instruments in the field of urban planning / urban management in 2007: Postura Municipal sobre o Direito de Uso e Aproveitamento da Terra; Lei de Terras; Regulamento do Solo Urbano. Vanin (2013) provides an informed overview of the transition from the colonial to the early postcolonial period.

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100 The 2004 Constitution establishes two categories of local self-government: municipality and ‘povoação’. However, it admits the possibility of upper and lower tiers. Mozambique opted for a gradual implementation of local government units. Therefore, the national territory is only partially covered by municipalities. At the time of writing, there are 53 municipalities. Initially 33 were created, corresponding to the national capital, the 10 provincial capitals, and 22 other medium-sized municipalities, selected by reference to the criteria established in Lei 2/97, 18 February 1997 for the creation of local government units. The gradual approach was chosen due to the lack of conditions to implement municipalities in all parts of the national territory. 101 Lei 19/2007, 18 July – Política do Ordenamento do Território da República de Moçambique; Decreto 23/2008, 1 July – Regulamento da Lei de Ordenamento do Território. 102 For example, the ‘national road network plan’, in the first case, and the Plano Especial de Ordenamento da Província de Tete (Resolução 38/2012, 8 November), in the second. 103 Examples include the housing policy strategy, approved in 2011 (Resolução 19/2011, 8 June), and the reform of the public transport corporation in Maputo, in 1996 (Decreto 7/96, 20 March). 104 In Angola, between 1975 and 2002, with short breaks in the 1990s; in Mozambique, between 1976 and 1992. 105 Gouveia (2014: 83) supports the view that the close relationship between the new states and the former Soviet bloc influenced the initial constitutional frameworks. 106 Adopted in 1998/99. It was the first formal and comprehensive spatial planning system adopted in Portugal (Silva, 2000). 107 In Cape Verde, the special administrative statute for the capital, the city of Praia, has been discussed for several years. The governance model adopted in Luanda and in Maputo, capitals of Angola and Mozambique, respectively, do not seem to be sufficient to address the size and complexity of the urban challenges in these two metropolises. This has been acknowledged on numerous occasions by government officials (e.g. Governor of the Province of Luanda – Jornal de Angola, 28 January 2011; in 2011, the administrative division of Luanda was modified to take into consideration recent urban development trends – O País, 25 July 2011; the main opposition party in Angola (UNITA) proposed, in its constitutional project (2009), the creation of the Luanda Metropolitan Area; IGPUL (Instituto de Gestão e Planeamento Urbano de Luanda) is responsible for the General Plan for Metropolitan Luanda / Plano Geral Metropolitano de Luanda – IGPUL, October 2010). If the recent population growth rate continues, Luanda risks becoming a mega-city in the next decades, and this will inevitably have consequences for urban planning and urban governance.

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Chapter 11

Urban Planning in Angola in the Postcolonial Period: From Theory to Practice – A Critical Perspective1 Carlos Miguel Guimarães, Sofia Valente and Frederico Costa Leite

Introduction Colonial practices regulating land use and urban planning activities in Angola were effective in establishing a basis for the future. For better or worse, colonial planning was the formal basis upon which it is still possible today to envision sustainable future growth in the country.2 However, those colonial urban practices were not socially impartial. Extensive reports and studies have shown that colonial cities in Angola fuelled social segregation, by promoting a functional city based on the separation of functions (Viegas, 2012; Fonte, 2007). Some of this colonial planning, reinforcing the differentiation between the Portuguese population and natives, and granting the former extensive privileges, had spatial repercussions that cannot be neglected in studying the shape of today’s Angolan cities. Yet, even if the modernist heritage is questioned,3 at the present time the only discernible, formal and state-promoted urban forms throughout Angolan territory, are Portuguese colonial interventions. After independence, and from 1975 onwards, the civil war suspended any kind of active planning policies. Besides the obvious consequences of every war, what should be highlighted, from an urban point of view, is the increasing flow of the rural population to cities, in search of a safer place to live and greater opportunities. Nonetheless, these cities were unprepared to receive such a large number of people, and as a result, they started to grow without any kind of planning or established land management priorities. An immediate consequence of this rural exodus was the abandonment of agriculture and the rise of the tertiary sector in cities, even if in an uncontrolled, informal manner. When the civil war ended, Angola had one of the world’s highest percentages of people living in slums (called musseques in Angola). According to the Global Urban Observatory of UNHABITAT (2005), 83.1 per cent of the population was living in musseques, in 2001. The first years after the end of the civil war gave rise to a certain hope for a better future. However, the inadequacy of the existing legislation on urban issues, along with the predominance of illegal structures almost everywhere, was responsible for the current situation of uncertainty in urban affairs in Angola. Without a clear path ahead, the Angolan Government tried to open the country to new markets and investments, while attempting to solve the most basic needs of 13.5 million Angolans (UN-HABITAT, 2005). As a planning team, our main professional goal in Angola has been to inform and influence central and local government decision-makers about proper planning solutions for the current problems and challenges confronting cities in Angola. To a certain extent, our planning action in Angola has been based on the conviction that ‘planning is the single most important tool that governments have at their disposal for managing rapid urban population growth and expansion’ (Watson and Agbola, 2013, p. 2). In our Angolan experience, we have worked with four major planning-related issues. The first of these issues – Governmental Consultancy on urban issues – consists of providing advice for the development of good urban practices and supporting public entities in their planning decisions. The second – we have named Urban Planning / Social Housing – is particularly connected with the consultancy service we have developed; and the other two – Statutory Spatial Planning and Master Planning – are a natural consequence of this evolving process, as the lack of large-scale (national, regional and municipal) spatial orientations has often led to disconcerting situations, where the decision-maker has no data, facts or figures to support his/her decision. In the following sections of this chapter, we examine these different areas of planning intervention, and we also analyse how they complement each other. We will also discuss the suitability of these planning models to the Angolan reality, and which priorities should be enhanced. In doing this, we aim to add new

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evidence to current planning practices in Angola and to shed new light on whether these planning practices are contributing to solving the major urban problems in Angola and whether this is being done for the benefit of the majority of the population. Governmental Consultancy A first important step to allow planners to intervene in the country was taken in 2004 when the first postcolonial urban-planning-related laws were approved. The Lei de Terras4 and Lei do Ordenamento do Território e Urbanismo5 established the fundamental legal basis of land regulation, planning systems and corresponding political action. Two years later (2006) the ratification of the Regulamento Geral dos Planos Territoriais, Urbanísticos e Rurais6 and Regulamento do Licenciamento das Operações de Loteamento, Obras de Urbanização e Obras de Construção7 came to regulate specific planning and construction operations. After the initial years of the National Reconstruction Programme – in which investment in basic infrastructure was prominent – Angola’s Government decided to create a National Programme of Urbanism and Housing with the ambitious purpose of building 1 million houses in a period of just four years (2008–2012). Under the responsibility of the Ministry for Urbanism and Housing (known as MINUHA) this was the first postcolonial programme on a national scale and with a direct impact on the territory, being the trigger for several other planning programmes around the country. Although clearly an ambitious and apparently impossible task, this was not the first time a programme like this had been conceived. In fact, some others were running in parallel or were also being established at more or less the same time (Moreira, 2011): • In Brazil a similar programme was launched in 2009 – Minha Casa, Minha Vida – aiming to build 3 million houses by 2014. • In Sri Lanka, similar programmes were launched, the last one in 2011, to help people affected by natural disasters (Jana Sevana Housing Programme). • In South Africa, more than 1 million houses have been built since 1994 (the end of Apartheid), in a programme called the Reconstruction and Development Programme. • In Sweden 1 million houses were built in a 10-year programme (1965–1975) named The Million Programme. A significant international opening of the Angolan market was observed as a consequence of this governmental initiative. The lack or insufficient qualifications of technical personnel in the country required or induced various forms of international cooperation and the establishment of partnerships with skilled and trained international professionals and companies. In this context, the Iperforma/Soapro Group participated in several of these governmental projects, acting as consultants for spatial and urban planning issues. Our experience has been tested on several occasions, as the range of the consultancy has been broad and constant. Nonetheless, major themes have been related to the evaluation and redefinition of urban land reserved for housing construction (known as reservas fundiárias); the establishment of urban parameters, such as plot and housing dimensions; infrastructure systems; and the financial evaluation and readjustment of the One Million Houses Programme. Urban Planning / Social Housing Closely linked with the One Million Houses Programme, our consultancy on Urban Planning for Social Housing required a sound knowledge of the country’s reality, in particular an understanding of Angolan housing models and ways of living and a comparison with international models, especially those on the African continent. In parallel to this research, we started calculating the cost of building 1 million houses in four years, by considering initial governmental parameters and premises. Evidence showed that to build 1 million houses, each one of which was to be placed on a plot of 1,000 square metres (the originally intended

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area per plot), hundreds of thousands of hectares of free land would be required. To provide infrastructure for this entire area with the minimum expected infrastructure system (estimated at 50 dollars per square metre) it would cost something like 1.5 trillion dollars, which is a fanciful amount for the Angolan reality (in fact, for any reality). Another important aspect to highlight is the governmental legal procedure of designating sites for housing construction throughout the country. Known as reservas fundiárias, these sites were exclusively intended for the implementation of this programme. Invariably, they were located in unoccupied areas outside city boundaries, far away from the infrastructure of the city centres, which is something we have questioned from the outset. As a consequence of these inadequacies, we attempted to progressively adapt the One Million Houses Programme to Angola’s social, economic and urban reality, adjusting its premises and parameters. To illustrate this attempt, we will describe a plan we had the opportunity to implement: the Chongoroi Urban Plan (Figure 11.1). Chongoroi Urban Plan Chongoroi is a small village in Benguela Province, located halfway between the city of Lubango (in Huila Province) and the city of Benguela. It contains a very small colonial settlement, which is still the centre of the village today. Like many other colonial villages located in the countryside, Chongoroi has an unpaved airfield that is still perfectly visible in aerial photos, but is no longer being used. This airfield is located right next to the village centre, suggesting an interesting infrastructural continuity. The area for the new urban plan was envisaged to be located a long way south of the centre, but we reversed this decision and proposed implementing it in the heart of the village, promoting mixed uses and enhancing existing infrastructure. After strenuous local debate, the proposal was accepted and we started working on plots with areas between 300 and 400 square metres, revitalizing the centre and encouraging its natural expansion by interpreting the colonial urban heritage and promoting an urban pattern that would better serve the population. Statutory Spatial Planning With regard to our Statutory Spatial Planning experiences, evidence shows there is almost no monitoring or record of data about land regulation in Angola and there is a serious lack of information of any kind. This is not just a lack of technical information (maps, statistics and so on), but also that concerning socio-economic data. This situation also reflects the legal gap between formal, political entities and the crucially important traditional local communities (which themselves represent authority with their own rules). Furthermore, as previously mentioned, the absence of any kind of planning during almost 30 years has resulted in population dispersal and the construction of informal settlements around city centres. Further evidence is provided by clients often misunderstanding this on-going process. This is not a closed process at all; it is continuously open to new inputs. It is not merely a project with immediate physical repercussions, but instead is an important tool for land management. This kind of planning gives vast responsibilities to political stakeholders. That is its strength but also its weakness. The participation of the population is also crucial in this kind of process, something that has been tremendously difficult in Angola for several reasons. Uíge Statutory Spatial Plan One of the best cases to illustrate this kind of planning approach is the Uíge Spatial Plan (Figure 11.2). Uíge is a municipality (and capital of the province with the same name) with a total area of 1,370 km2 and about 320,000 inhabitants. The great majority of the population (more than 90 per cent) live in the city of Uíge, a city with an urban perimeter that has expanded without control in the last decade. A first aspect to highlight concerns mapping, an essential tool when the aim is to incorporate informal areas into the formal space of the city. Through mapping we were able to determine analytically that 40

Figure 11.1 Chongoroi urban plan Source: Iperforma/Soapro database

Figure 11.2 Uíge statutory spatial plan

Source: Top images: UN-HABITAT (2014); bottom image: Iperforma/Soapro database

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per cent of Uíge’s population lives in areas at risk, either on the path of water courses or on steeply sloping terrain. This was our major challenge: how to address informality and how to act in these specific cases where dwellings were located in threatened zones? We were perfectly conscious and aware of international recommendations to prioritise in-situ upgrading (UN-HABITAT, 2012; 2014), but what strategies could we recommend when housing was located in hazardous areas, other than housing relocation? In parallel, we started questioning what kind of city pattern was suitable for this particular reality. Should we intensify the city centre and contain sprawl? Should we extend city limits to ensure there is enough land to accommodate people? Or should we consider satellite town models? Firstly, we support the idea that major cities must promote compactness instead of dispersion. As compactness is closely related to increasing densities, we certainly support the idea of intensifying city centres. However, we agree there is not a one-size-fits-all solution and sometimes there is a huge gap between theory and practice. Therefore, in this particular case, the high percentage of housing to be relocated also forced us to increase the amount of buildable area by extending the city boundary. At the same time, we also strategically demarcated three functional satellite areas, located outside the urban perimeter, to promote clusters in different sectors. In this case, as very often happens, the best strategies were not unidirectional. Besides these formal strategies some questions still remain, such as knowing if this statutory kind of planning is the best approach in territories as dispersed and fragmented as Uíge. Without diminishing the importance and logic of top-down interventions, we must encourage the development of bottom-up strategies as a way of ‘getting their shoes dirty’ and promoting two-way learning, where planners learn with local communities and vice-versa (Watson and Agbola, 2013). That is the challenge we all must face, together with local authorities and populations. Master Planning The greatest difference between this kind of planning approach and that presented above, is the fact that there is no legal framework supporting it, although, from a strategic point of view, they are quite similar. We must also add the fact that when referring to Master Planning, we are usually dealing with a plan that covers small parts of the territory rather than an entire municipality. This usually represents less social and geographical complexity, but also means more detail and design accuracy. In some ways, it can be considered a more academic kind of approach, although closely connected to the specific reality of a place. Conceptually it is also closely connected to what has been currently designated a ‘street-led approach to citywide slum upgrading’ (UN-HABITAT, 2014). Cabinda Harbour Master Plan This case study (Figure 11.3) shows that this planning approach plays an important role in enlightening city leaders about generic urban issues and developing potential site-specific strategies to upgrade some parts of the territory. The state-owned Cabinda Harbour Company required a Master Plan to envisage the future evolution of this harbour. It was a long, evolving, but also very open process, in which we were able to get informal input from several internal and external entities that helped us to achieve balanced and creative solutions. The first focus of our research was to understand the historical evolution of the harbour, which over time, has been steadily conquering the sea. In the past decade, the Cabinda Harbour Company has undertaken a number of interventions with the aim of facilitating port activity, enhancing cargo movement and allowing the berthing of larger vessels. Decisive examples of these interventions are the construction of a new jetty (Ponte Cais) and the dredging of the navigation channel. The first version of the Master Plan proposed a new shoreline design, while adding a new breakwater in deep waters. However, during the development of the Master Plan, the Government announced the future construction of a new deep-water port about 9 kilometres north, in the Caio area. This political decision caused the Cabinda Harbour Company to hesitate over its previous intentions, leading to some indecision about the fate of the harbour. Would it still be able to remain as a harbour, while occupying a secondary place in relation to Caio, or should it be seen as an opportunity for a new seafront and a new public space for the city, since Caio would become the main harbour? Given this uncertainty, the latest version of the Master Plan

Figure 11.3 Cabinda Harbour master plan Source: Iperforma/Soapro database

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adopted the latest guidelines of the Cabinda Harbour Company, opting not to move the current shoreline, but to resize and redraw the harbour area, and open up the city to the sea through a privileged new waterfront. Conclusion Our practical experience in the field becomes particularly relevant when the moment comes to analyse and confront different approaches and methods of intervention. Our interest in research about urban planning is connected to the adequacy of the plans to the reality of a specific place and the understanding of a particular way of living. We are now able to recognize priorities more easily and, as such, to provide better advice. This is the main role of planning, to help in the decision-making processes. As such, the importance of our consulting work must be highlighted. It is very important to establish fluent communication between all parties, promoting a two-way learning process, as planning implications in people’s daily lives is quite perceptible. From our perspective, with respect to the different planning tactics, two simultaneous approaches must be strengthened. On one side, the crucial development of social housing and basic infrastructure based on existing layouts and with a street-led approach is an essential aim. On the other side, large-scale, strategic spatial planning is crucial to the establishment of a sustainable vision for the future. The promotion of onesize-fits-all planning legislation must be avoided, as very often what is really necessary is a glimpse of the future and not the establishment of rigid and unrealistic planning laws. References Fonte, Maria Manuela, 2007. Urbanismo e Arquitectura em Angola – de Norton de Matos à Revolução [dissertação para Doutoramento em Planeamento Urbanístico]. Universidade Técnica de Lisboa. Le Corbusier, 1933. The Athens Charter. New York: Grossman Publishers, 1973. Moreira, Paulo, 2011. Falemos de 1 milhão de casas. Notas sobre o Concurso e Exposição ‘A House in Luanda: Patio and Pavillion’. [Online] Available at: http://www.artecapital.net/arq_des-72-falemos-de-1milhao-de-casas-notas-sobre-o-concurso-e-exposicao-a-house-in-luanda-patio-and-pavillion [Accessed 19 May 2014]. UN-HABITAT, 2005. Population of Slum Areas at Mid-Year, by Region and Country 2001. [Online] Available at: http://ww2.unhabitat.org/programmes/guo/documents/Table1.pdf [Accessed 19 May 2014]. ———, 2012. Urban Planning for City Leaders. [Online] Available at: http://mirror.unhabitat.org/pmss/ listItemDetails.aspx?publicationID=3385 [Accessed 19 May 2014]. ———, 2014. Streets as Tools for Urban Transformations in Slums: A Street-Led Approach to Citywide Slum Upgrading. [Online] Available at: http://www.citiesalliance.org/sites/citiesalliance.org/files/publications/ UN-Habitat_Street-led%20Citywide%20Slum%20Upgrading_2014.pdf [Accessed 19 May 2014]. Viegas, S.L., 2012. Urbanization in Luanda: Geopolitical Framework. A Socio-territorial Analysis. [Online] Available at: http://www.fau.usp.br/iphs/abstractsAndPapersFiles/Sessions/29/VIEGAS.pdf [Accessed 19 May 2014]. Watson, Vanessa and Agbola, Babatunde, 2013. Who Will Plan Africa’s Cities? Africa Research Institute. [Online] Available at: http://www.africaresearchinstitute.org/publications/counterpoints/who-will-planafricas-cities/ [Accessed 19 May 2014]. Notes 1 Iperforma/Soapro’s planning experience in Africa, especially in urban planning consultancy in Angola, is based on a practical daily approach and as such, this chapter intends to reflect that experience and to examine the consequences of our practical urban planning activities. Although containing some theoretical references, this chapter is produced by working architects and not by academics, and therefore we will try to contribute within the practice (a valid approach towards theoretical production and the expansion of knowledge). Iperforma is a private Portuguese group with 30 years of

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experience in the engineering, architecture and planning fields. At an international level, Iperforma has assumed a leading presence in Angola through a structural link with Soapro, an Angolan group with more than 20 years of experience in the same fields of expertise. 2 Until 1975 (Angola’s independence), the management of urban planning processes was governed by Portuguese planning laws. Nonetheless, and in rebellion against the prevailing ideology, Portuguese architects and planners working in Angola – such as Vieira da Costa and Simões de Carvalho – introduced a new architectural and planning language in the then Portuguese colony of Angola, an approach deeply influenced by Le Corbusier’s work and the Athens Charter (1933). 3 The promotion of a ‘functional’ city, suggesting a separation of functions, is being redressed in present-day urban planning theories, as it causes huge mismatches between housing and jobs, and promotes social exclusion and unhealthy daily routines. 4 Lei 9/04, 9 November. 5 Lei 3/04, 25 June. 6 Lei 2/06, 23 January. 7 Lei 80/06, 30 October.

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Chapter 12

Questioning the Urban Form: Maputo and Luanda Fabio Vanin

Introduction Maputo, Mozambique’s capital, is still often described as a dual city, composed of the so-called Cimento (concrete city), the former colonial centre, and the Caniço, the vast surrounding informal settlements. If on the one hand until the early years of the twenty-first century and despite its urban morphology, Maputo looked almost the same as the city left by the Portuguese after independence in 1975, on the other hand its use, land occupation and daily practices revealed another city, in which informal rules guaranteed a certain (fragile) equilibrium even without official governance. Following the rise of FRELIMO, the Marxist-Leninist government placed emphasis on the need to change the urban and territorial form – towards the construction of a ‘new society’ living in condominios comunais and aldeias comunais (3rd FRELIMO Congress, 1977). However, the urban plans for Maputo produced in the postcolonial years (1979, 1985, 1999) never found fertile ground, mainly because of the lack of resources but also because of a clear distance between the aims and the real capacity of the Mozambican government at the time. Moreover, the civil war that affected Mozambique between 1981 and 1994 had the direct consequence of weakening the power of the state and producing a large wave of migrants that started to occupy the periphery of Maputo. Institutional inability to control the phenomenon led to a self-regulated city that despite the poverty was ‘incredibly safe’.1 This particular and, above all, precious reality reveals an important aspect of urban functioning: the extreme porosity and permeability of the city. We can thus affirm that the freedom to circulate, sell and engage in daily practices with few restrictions has guaranteed that social equilibrium. What lessons can we learn from this, not only for Maputo but also for future African and non-African urban development? Today Maputo is changing rapidly, thanks to the country’s recent economic growth. The most recent plan for the city (Pro Maputo 2008) suggests many important themes, from urban agriculture to water management to urban upgrade, but the proportions of the challenges are huge. The growing wealthy groups as well as external investors are proposing and imposing urban patterns that are closer to Johannesburg’s conflictual references than to the new, resilient and sustainable African city. The construction of gated communities, the privatization of common spaces and the regulation of public ones have started a process of social exclusion that questions the urban model. On the other hand, the most recent developments in Luanda allow us to reflect on a contrasting situation – besides the similarities between the two former Portuguese colonies we must consider the economic, political and social differences – in which rapid urban transformations are imposing a city model that raises a series of sometimes dramatic questions regarding the city’s publicness, control, safety and security. By questioning the contemporary urban form of Maputo and Luanda in order to highlight potentials, weaknesses and risks for the future development of the capital cities, this chapter briefly traces the colonial and postcolonial planning history of Maputo and points out some remarkable and ‘sensitive’ urban sites in contemporary Luanda. This non-parallel description of the two cases aims at analysing on the one hand the strict relationship between urban growth and city form as a direct expression of political visions, social structures, culture and uses, on the other hand the risks to urban developments of uncontrolled, unbalanced and unshared decisions. Thus, Maputo and Luanda represent two cases that are directly connected by common historical ties but reveal different recent evolutions from which there is, perhaps, much to learn. The following two sections are dedicated to the colonial and postcolonial planning history of Maputo while the third focuses on Luanda. The chapter ends with a brief conclusion evaluating the two cases.

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Maputo: The Colonial Parabola When speaking of plans before 1969 we refer only to the colonial Lourenço Marques, today Maputo, the so-called Cimento and its infrastructures. The indigenous urban part of the city, the so called Caniço, now bairros, that originated and grew up alongside the Cimento, was only studied, recognized and included in urban planning from the 1960s on, providing a more comprehensive view of the capital. Between what can be considered Lourenço Marques’ first city plan – stemming from the implementation of the old military garrison – known as the Plano Araújo (1887) and the ‘futuristic’ Plano Aguiar (1952–1955) we see a progressive phase that was the product of optimism and long-term projections reflecting both the exponential growth in the urban population and the huge efforts and investments put into the capital by the colonial government (Câmara Municipal de Lourenço Marques, 1955). This period is somehow emblematic of the whole colonial parabola, which began with the race to exploit the African colonies (Morais, 2001; Oliveira Marques, 2003) by the reduced Portuguese empire – after Brazilian independence (1822) – and ended with the loss of confidence in unimpeded growth that followed the outbreak of conflicts for independence in Africa. In 1887 the need to provide what was still a small town or vila with an expansion plan stemmed from a convergence of different factors and interests. The close relationship between South Africa and Mozambique led the Lisbon government, in 1852, to promote the construction of large infrastructures such as the famous Transvaal Railway. This major project, linking Lourenço Marques to Pretoria and Johannesburg, was carried forward both as project and as political design along with the harbour as the main trigger for the real development of the Mozambican capital (Morais, 2001), which offered South Africa direct access to Lourenço Marques’ strategic bay, the main outlet for the British mining trade (Newitt, 1995). The port of Lourenço Marques, along with the railway into the hinterland, became the powerful nexus that fuelled the growth and development of the city as well as the entire colony. The development of Lourenço Marques should be seen from this standpoint: not as a natural consequence of the colony’s gradual development but the fruit of a precise, detailed and strategic design born of a specific historical moment and triggered by a pressing need to avoid isolation. The 1887 plan for Lourenço Marques originated as an artificial choice that led to an almost a priori imposition of the city, as occurred with many other places in Mozambique. The design of Lourenço Marques as a capital that landed from above becomes clear when considering anti-geographical factors such as its extremely decentralized position in the country, its vulnerability because easily accessed by sea, and the extremely unhealthy nature of its location, featuring depressions and marshes. In fact, the adoption of a plan to expand the boundaries of the vila was clearly a strategy to keep the future city at the service of the railway and port: the huge engineering effort required to expand the existing city inland rather than re-founding it, following a major reclamation of the wetlands separating it from the mainland, made sense only in this framework. The city would have lost its direct access to the sea, undermining the close contact between port and railway line if it had been moved to the more distant headland. The group of military engineers involved in the ‘outsider global vision’ of the new plan had to define the orientation, appearance, sense and symbolic meaning of the expanding capital, producing ‘an abstract vision of the territory focused on a rationalized intervention’ (Morais, 2001, p. 80). Planners seem to have favoured entirely a perspective aligned with the Western planning theory of the time. The process of granting land to private individuals, sometimes very influential, such as Oscar Sommerschield and Gerard Pott, formed the basis for rapid urban development and acted as a catalyst for a property market that had the dual outcome of meeting growing demand and giving carte blanche to the construction of a ‘modern’ city (A concessão Sommershield, 1953). The artificial nature of the Lourenço Marques expansion design is clearly visible both in the approved plan for the expansion of the vila and in the discarded drawings. The first two rejected proposals to build a new nucleus, separate from the existing fortified garrison, present a layout based on geometric street systems and connected to the original settlement via a partially existing route: they are both somewhat utopian but also short-sighted in terms of specific topography and functional requirements. The approved plan of 1887, signed by Antonio José de Araújo, is, on the contrary, an adaptation of a grid model widely adopted in cities of Portuguese foundation (Rodrigues, 1999) where the new grid was intended to be a perfect flexible expedient

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that would resolve specific requirements – such as connections to the port, railway station and hospital – that could be easily changed and expanded leaving ample freedom for land management. The Plano Araújo, with its regular layout imposed on Lourenço Marques, reveals an artificial nature that links the solution of infrastructural and redevelopment problems to economic issues but lacks the symbolic weight of previous projects and erudite reference models, such as Baixa Pombalina, revealing great pragmatism and an awareness of the economic interests that surrounded the African capital. After that, until the 1940s, in response to the increasing demands of urban growth, a series of partial expansion and alteration plans followed the Plano Araújo, modifying the bare minimum but in some cases leaving indelible marks that are still visible and hugely significant, such as the ring-road (1900) built to mark the boundary between the so-called Cimento and Caniço. However, the 1887 plan laid the foundation for subsequent urban development being the matrix on which the city was built and conditioning attempts at urban development until the 1952 Plano Aguiar. Meanwhile, the growing peri-urban pressure produced by the multiplication of indigenous settlements in a ring immediately outside the city was clashing with the general need to expand the Cimento and the boundaries of the concelho (municipality), to build large residential areas by foreign investors such as G. Sommerchield (Câmara Municipal de Lourenço Marques, 1953) and to construct a new image which was increasingly becoming ‘modern’. Thanks mainly to private developers, the colonial government drawn up a new plan which was approved in January 1952 and signed by the architect João Aguiar. Looking at its drawings and content, the Plano Aguiar can be considered anachronistic and inapplicable from the very first, containing outdated concepts and not suited to the climate and actual urban development. Nonetheless, it did impose a number of general planning and construction regulations long required by the city and which were effectively adhered to. The complex and fairly inconsistent plan soon proved inapplicable for its erroneous and over-optimistic visions glaringly at odds with a reality that was taking a very different turn and marked the clamorous end of a colonial spirit that believed Portugal would progress as a great Nação Unica (‘single nation’): it can be seen as one of the final throes of Salazar’s Portugal which was clinging to the idea of a colonial future. The intent on introducing a clear separation between indigenous settlements and colonial city is a clear example of how this great design was also to prove immediately outdated given the large informal settlements established there, for which even partial removal was unthinkable. In the following decade, dramatic population growth, partially the result of the outbreak of fighting for independence in the northern countryside (1960–1964) (Oliveira Marques, 2003), and the ensuing housing and sanitary issues in the suburbs, as well as the demands of foreign investors and developers, led to the revision of the 1952 plan and forced the Lisbon government to rethink its objectives. The 1969 Master Plan, coordinated by the engineer Mário de Azevedo (Câmara Municipal de Lourenço Marques, 1969), was a clean break from previous planning approaches, indicative of an ongoing review of the theoretical foundations on which urban design had previously been based, in both the homeland and colonies. The changing trend reflects a certain openness, focusing primarily less on a vision of the city and more on understanding it, i.e. the need to look beyond the municipal boundaries to the territorial scale, in order to understand the links between Lourenço Marques and the nearby towns of Matola and Catembe, but also the more distant national and international ones. This vision, by which urban planning cannot be separated from socio-economic and ecological issues and must shun all formalism, unveiled data highly relevant to an understanding of fundamental social dynamics, such as migration, population distribution and the links between different ethnic groups, and placed great emphasis on ecological data, from hydrogeology to rainfall. Moreover, one of the most important parts of this work relates to the Caniço, constituting a previously unpublished study and a topic never previously scientifically addressed, trying to grasp the relationship between the traditional autochthonous habitat and the forms it took in the suburban context of Lourenço Marques. This part is significant not only because it lends visibility to a previously denied reality, at least officially, but also for the way this is interpreted. Thus one of the most relevant merits of the 1969 plan – over and above the government rhetoric on integration forced to justify the retention of the colonies – is the proposal of an ecological and environmental regeneration of a large portion of the city, to which it gives visibility and ‘urban status’.

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Maputo: The Postcolonial Phase As the struggle for liberation heightened and with the proclamation of independence in 1975, Azevedo’s Plan made no major impact on the city. The urban issue, along with the rural one, became a priority for the new Marxist-Leninist government which was faced with the immediate and urgent problem of restructuring the Mozambican territory and cities, until then developed to serve colonial interests and not those now seen as being the interests of the newly independent country. The required urgent response to these needs started a ‘revolutionary phase’ in Mozambican planning with the express intention of making a break with previous planning history. The new instruments required were purged of prior connotations and theories but drew on the inherited information and analysis, which proved extremely ambiguous. The never approved 1979 Structural Plan for Maputo (Conselho Municipal de Maputo, 1979) revealed a radical desire to reorganize the national landscape, cities and the capital, to return to the notion of ‘urban image’, specifying also that the Caniço needed a designed urban landscape, as was always the case for the Cimento, working on the identity of streets, junctions and centres. According to the plan, only in this way would it be possible to overcome the dualism between centre and suburbs. The process started with the 1979 plan and led later to the Structural Plan for Maputo (Plano de Estrutura da Cidade de Maputo) dated 1985, which provided the city with essential guidelines for urban management (Instituto Nacional de Planeamento Fisico, 1985). Its main declared goal was to manage the uncontrolled growth of Maputo, which had continued relentlessly in the meantime. The problem of the city was, to some degree, shifted outside it and the true urban focus was now the countryside and the scattered, low-density areas together with a new and complex planning hierarchy. The scenarios proposed in the 1985 plan resemble a work-plan for the future without offering solutions or proposing a single development model, but rather suggesting ideal policies, especially for management, training and administration, asking questions about different possibilities. The 1999 Structural Plan for the Metropolitan Area of Maputo (Direção Nacional de Administração Local, 1999) was a revised version of the previous plan designed as a back-up and guide for local governments, individual bodies and technical staff, indicating a vision of the city from afar without bringing sufficiently innovative proposals. The plan did not provide tools on how to analyse, convey and operate in the field nor did it explain how to use the proposed regulations, simply providing ambitious indications on a large scale. Although they do contain suggestions worthy of reappraisal and interest, such as that of urban agriculture, the last three plans described above have in common the strong desire to restructure the physical city and the society living there, according to extremely idealized projections of future scenarios, and to reform the whole administrative and management machine of urban planning and the state sector as well. They also share a desire to overcome the existing condition, with a tendency to suggest macroscopic solutions in the presence of very few resources. In recent years, signs of a critical process and a move away from the earlier stances of the previous structural plans were visible in studies such as that on the ‘Improvement of Informal Settlements’ (DINAPOT – MICOA, 2005), which highlights a work method for and sensitivity to long-ignored themes and where special emphasis placed on social and cultural themes shifted towards a more comprehensive approach. This attitude demolishes the idea of ​​a plan that promotes a single, all-embracing reference model and major solutions, advancing that of a tool operating simultaneously on different levels and scales in a combined effort of research and action, giving more power to administration bodies and training local technicians. The recent plan, born out of a World Bank programme (Pro Maputo, 2007–2016) is in line with that vision. It focuses on resolving management issues, adopting a strategy of power decentralized to district and local levels, and striving to raise the awareness and accountability ‘of the lower administration levels with regard to their problems’2 and trying to provide concrete tools with which to operate. The desire observed in earlier plans to ‘save’ Maputo by attempting a radical restructuring is countered here with an attitude that favours a lower but no less ambitious profile. Starting this time from a ‘bottom-up’ approach the plan aims at reasserting the centrality of rethinking and reimagining the society, understanding the factors that determine recurrent social practices and dynamics. That implies also the ways it demolishes and reformulates certain preconceived and consolidated ideas such as the difference between formal and informal neighbourhoods, which could no longer be defined simply in terms of the Cimento and Caniço and geographically divided by a boundary line traced from above on a plan of the city. Spatial analysis and planning are then required to decipher the informal sector and build the

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skills needed: the bairros (the Caniço) were no longer seen simply as unstructured chaos but as an inadequate environment with great potential that merely had to be grasped and better expressed. As José Forjaz (2005) claims: ‘I believe it is right and proper in this city. Right to consider that it is informal activity that keeps the country at peace. Without these activities, social tensions would increase so much that we would be far less sure of the future than we already are’. Despite the city’s economic constraints, denounced by the architecturban planner himself, ‘Maputo works, and works well,’3 but the city is striving hard to strike a balance that is currently threatened by uncertain future developments. The question of the ‘other’ city, the former Caniço, today’s bairros, is still central. In 1979 the unapproved plan defined those settlements as follows: The people attracted [to the city] and that lived in the suburbs constituted a labour reservoir …. The population was slowly establishing a semi-rural way of life, cultivating a machamba to guarantee sustenance when jobs in the city were lacking, or splitting the family into machamba workers and city workers. All this produced a fabric of semi-rural land occupation, giving rise to large low-density areas of dwellings. (Conselho Municipal de Maputo, 1979, p. 36)

The bairros are in fact the product of practices that, like the Mozambican rural dispersed habitat, comprise physical and economic spaces closely interlinking social and cultural spaces, i.e. those of the domestic economy, which are predominantly informal. Today we see a normal process of consolidation and appropriation of the suburbs which leads to a stabilizing of social and urban forms, but also continuous new land occupation due to the large number of ‘temporary’ workers, attracted by the city. In this frame, together with contemporary major structural and physical changes within the basic family unit, recent research (Jenkins, 2012) points out the huge importance and impact of kinship relations on the physical space. A large number of those living today in suburban areas feel rooted and a part of the capital and they participate in its consolidation process and do not regard themselves as part of a slum (Jenkins, 2012). Thus, almost 40 years after the proclamation of the People’s Republic, the so-called Caniço grew and became more consolidated, giving rise to a particular way of living, peculiar to Maputo and partially changing the forms of land occupation (Jenkins, 2012). Moreover, from the time of independence, following the occupation of the city centre (Cimento), conditions of degradation and uncertainty where the more vulnerable population resides can be found in both parts of the city.4 This mutual influence and penetration of housing conditions between the two parts of the city, centre and peri-unban areas (Cimento and Caniço), set in motion in 1975, effectively opened the boundaries to the poorer classes but simultaneously stabilized and consolidated some of the substandard housing. We can claim that the contemporary bairros no longer corresponds to the former ‘city of reeds’ (Caniço) to which the former name is linked. Those new conditions force a rethinking of the clear-cut vertical categories often used to cluster rich and poor, formal and informal, developed and underdeveloped, urban and rural (Lachartre, 2000; Robinson, 2006) towards a redefinition of the old dual city in the search for new parameters that can, instead, highlight the horizontal overlaps, the rejections and the frictions. Additionally, the great changeability of life’s dynamics and each one’s inventiveness and ability to adapt make it hard to link actual indications and lifestyles and a comprehension of the necessary elements. The extent of this transience is also conveyed by the different codes of interpretation of the personal space of many of those living in the bairros. The lines that should mark boundaries and barriers are faint and can be crossed. The visible network of pathways, for example, does not constitute all the available ones, as shown by the permeability of the living spaces, which can be passed through even though they would normally be private. The spaces set aside for ‘public’ activities coexist with private ones and vice versa, transforming the spaces of the bairros into a hybrid mix where it is often impossible to assign specific names or affix permanent labels (Vanin, 2013). Thus, the challenge is trying to represent and give visibility to very intangible and complex but fundamental dynamics that are able to guarantee a certain social and spatial equilibrium. According to José Forjaz (2005), the reason for this success rests largely on the organizational capacity of the inhabitants of Maputo who imported and adapted practices from their places of origin in a system of regulations that is midway between traditional common law and institutional law, managing to maintain

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the fragile balances of the urban system (Vanin, 2013). The continuous adaptation to the urban spaces and the invisibility of the people living there, on the borderlines of legal recognition, go hand in hand with the invisibility and fluidity of the environment they move in. The invisible signals that govern the functioning of life in the former Caniço, as Mia Couto claims,5 constitute the real backbone of an urban functioning that is hard to map. We can say that precisely because of these characteristics Maputo, despite all limitations, operates as an extremely open and fluid system where a relatively good quality of urban life is possible. This ‘amazing’ condition, in the words of José Forjaz,6 should be preserved to avoid slipping quickly into dramatic situations similar to other African examples. Luanda: A Prototypical Future African City? The city of Luanda is representative of a counter-case where the issues of publicness, centre-periphery, social security and balance are vey much in evidence, in particular due to the rapid changes that the urban environment is undergoing. Today Luanda can in many ways be described as a prototypical postcolonial – though it would perhaps be better to say postindependence – African city, comprising three very different parts, each of which corresponds to three distinct urban forms that are representative of a diffuse grammar of built space recognizable in similar contexts. The city centre, the bairros (‘neighbourhoods’) and the southern area (Luanda Sul and Belas) are in fact expressions of Luanda’s urban history, but they also layout patterns of socio-economic differences and ways of living that are mirrored in the architectural forms, spatial blueprints and physical traces of daily practices. Even looking at Luanda from above, one can easily recognize the above-mentioned divisions that compose the landscape of the city: besides the topography, clear fractures and formal differences are evident between the former colonial centre of Luanda, the southern gated neighbourhoods and the precarious conditions of the peri-urban bairros surrounding the city – until recently called musseques – that are the so-called ‘spontaneous’ settlements where people from the outlying areas, migrants from all over the country, in fact most of the city’s population live. The bairros have also been entry points for families and individuals who migrated from war-torn areas of Angola. As Marissa Moorman (2008, p. 28) argues: ‘The musseques, while on the physical periphery of the ever-growing city, have always been at the center of urban discourse and life’. Developing during over 30 years of civil war and 10 years of conflict for independence, the city appears the result of experiences of unprecedented violence. Political chaos has caused perceived fragmentation that can also be traced in the physical condition of the city as divides have been politicized and militarized since independence in both Angola and its capital (Collier, 2010). Luanda has only recently – since the ceasefire in 2002 – started to re-establish planning rules and a sort of urban design (Jenkins et al., 2002), including the provision of basic facilities, although with significant contradictions related to spatial and class differences. New developments and buildings, that concentrate in wealthier areas (the centre and south), do not proceed hand in hand with the provision of diffuse public services – water and electricity – but on the contrary, new projects, mostly designed by foreign firms, are often costly and unsustainable constructions with independent water and electricity supply and with no relation to the rest of the city. Gated community models together with Dubai-like aesthetics are the paradigms that drive most new constructions. Looking at Luanda’s urban spaces today, security issues, social frictions and threats emerge in different ways. In the last decade the city centre, which corresponds in general terms to the former colonial city and grew until the early 1970s according to various planning interventions, has been extensively modified through demolitions and new constructions. This process has caused a rapid change in the socio-economic geography of the downtown area where weaker groups have been forced to move away without planned alternatives. Moreover, mapping the number of military departments, institutions, private houses and facilities, barracks and so on, only in the centre of Luanda, one immediately realizes that the city is constellated and largely occupied by militarized areas. The presence of different military forces that circulate in Luanda, some of which survey sensitive spots, is sizeable. Additionally, transit police stand in small groups at almost every major crossing in Luanda and private security companies patrol in front of bank offices, malls and other facilities. The result is that on the one hand the centre can be perceived as secure thanks to the presence

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of patrolling forces, while on the other the large distance between the population and the decisional power that modifies the city produces a general sense of insecurity directly linked to the publicness and control of urban spaces. Other situations representative of the contemporary city are the blueprints of Luanda Sul and Belas. Planned in the 1950s as new residential areas on the city outskirts, the neighbourhoods today appear as a collection of gated communities with no open public spaces, with enclosed malls, facilities and services, all organized with a mishmash of roads, where both navigation and even walking are problematic. Large nonlinear roads are surrounded by high walls and defence systems fortified with cameras and electrified wires, seen by the high and middle class of Luanda living there as effective prescriptions against crime. The bairros, which represent the other face of Luanda, because of the precarious construction and living conditions, are generally perceived from the outside as dangerous places. Inequalities are thus strengthened not only by physical separation but also by the perception of insecurity. Forced evictions, military control, the lack of information and basic infrastructure (water, electricity and sewage), and social recognition (no census) keep the population of the bairros in a constant state of insecurity. Moreover, these dense settlements present the state with a true challenge as they are nearly impossible to govern and are seen as impossible to upgrade. In fact, little effort is registered to try to improve the living conditions in these parts of the city. As mentioned above, the militarization of the urban space – in hand with the perceived security – is one of the main issues that conditions daily practices. For several years Luanda has been perceived as quite safe by visitors or foreign businessmen. Due in particular to the high presence of military forces in the city, it is possible during the day to circulate on foot in most of the city centre (ex-colonial centre) and in the new wealthier areas of Belas and Luanda Sul. The renewed Marginal de Luanda, the large public space along the bay, open to the public at large but controlled, is a good example of efficient deterrence against crime in the city centre. The perfect maintenance of the public facilities, the vegetation, and the floor, clean and well kept, with few security guards, some of whom are not even armed, seem to work as a deterrent against crime and squatting. If on the one hand the image of the centre of Luanda is somehow still similar to a European city, where people walk on the pavement and where there are aligned shops and offices, on the other hand the perceived security in Luanda Sul follows a different model and it is built on an opposite pattern. The cityscape of Luanda Sul is characterized by a continuous series of high walls equipped with electrified barbed wire and cameras that hide private housing. No sidewalk is built alongside the streets and therefore human beings are scarce. Roads follow non-rectilinear lines, forming a monotone labyrinth of one-way alleys. The only safe point where it is possible to meet outside private spaces is the mall, which is also built on the same pattern and can be reached only by private transport. The model for such new development clearly derives from the notorious gated communities, such as those found in South Africa or Brazil, where separation, segregation and opposition by difference are the physical devices used against crime and insecurity. Many notable studies (Casati 2012, Bauman 2003, Beck 1992, among others) have already demonstrated that in large part manifestations of social disease are connected with the perception of an increase in criminal phenomena, which consequently sees modern society defined as a ‘risk society’. This paradigm, which can be well applied to the case of Luanda, is used in research on urban security and the perception of risk to prove how contemporary societies are characterized by distrust, anxiety and uncertainty, which are invested in the structures and places of everyday life. If on one hand governance strategies mix repressive safety emergency measures with security actions aimed at prevention and rehabilitation, on the other hand private, communal, local interventions against insecurity are progressively growing, often self-controlling and impose their own urban model. However, different societies, even different groups living in the same city, employ different strategies and interventions to secure private and public spaces, which range from spatial segregation (e.g. gated communities) to the control of access routes, the use of road bollards, the installation of closed-circuit television systems, and other techniques of crime prevention through environmental design. As opposed to what has been said about Maputo, the perception of security and the production of different urban patterns by different social groups are major issues in Luanda, where social separation and frictions are evident both socially and physically. The bairros of Luanda, until recently called musseques, have always been represented, by the colonial power first and by the new elite today, as the main source of insecurity – social, political and material. Luanda is well known as a violent city because of the gangs coming from the bairros and

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still based there. But a large part of the stigmatization of the violence in the bairros was used instrumentally to isolate their people and to allow their marginalization. Some of the bairros, like Marçal or Rangel, were until recently infamous as being ‘closed ghettos’, some of the most dangerous to enter. As declared in an interview with Ausinio Lopes7 – a journalist at TV Marçal, an independent broadcasting channel that was established in 2004 to fight the negative image of the neighbourhood and to work against violence – before the introduction of TV Marçal the bairro had maybe the worst image in town. But thanks to public complaints made through the channel about local crime and the dissemination of information about the bairro outside its borders, the living conditions have clearly improved. This shows how communication, visibility and information seem to be fundamental to changing the material conditions of this part of the city. Another structural problem that affects the bairros in particular but also the rest of the city is the lack in the provision of constant water and electricity: with the country’s new infrastructure systems, including a new dam and electric plants, this problem should no longer exist, which suggests a deliberate strategy to keep control over the population. Moreover, long periods without electricity result in a rise in the price of power generators and their parts and do not allow the constant functioning of internet connections, limiting access to information. Despite the fact of being insecure in many parts due to crime, murders and so on, the most dramatic security issue is linked to the perceived and psychological insecurity that most of the population, especially in the bairros, have to face daily: the lack of infrastructure and information, sudden demolitions and the displacement of sections of the population, and the lack of a census which leaves most of the inhabitants of the bairros ‘faceless’, invisible and not legally recognized. Violence and exclusion is communicated not only by the physical forms of the city, like the gated communities of Luanda Sul, but also by the sizeable military and police presence in public spaces. The line between public defence and abuse is very subtle according to many witnesses. The areas of Cazenga and Marçal provide two good examples. Moreover, the repression of public protests and the general fear of a return of conflict, given the 40 years of war the country experienced either side of independence, is a phantom that casts a heavy shadow over most of the population. Learning from Maputo and Luanda Evaluating the case studies of Maputo and Luanda, from an urban point of view, the most urgent themes that need to be considered are connected to the rapid and radical transformations that the cities are experiencing or are about to experience. These transformations not only challenge the entire existing social, functional and spatial equilibrium, but also raise questions of collective memory and identity that cannot be avoided. Moreover, if we consider the key relationship between urban spaces and social-cultural practices, the urban transformations and massive demolitions, both in the city centre and of the bairros in Luanda, raise issues of the preservation of certain elements, the flexibility of spaces and the pervasiveness of diffuse practices. The accent placed on emotional, immaterial aspects and mental spaces are key concepts for the construction of an Angolan (African) identity – as claimed by several intellectuals, for example Fernando Alvim (Alvim et al., 2005) and Simon Njami8 – and are relevant for the impact on urban spaces in Luanda. In different ways, Maputo reveals as well the importance of immaterial aspects in ruling the city and maintaining social equilibrium, as discussed earlier. In Maputo, the definition of the former Caniço (and, consequently, of the former Cimento) becomes critical when we realize that architecture is no longer the sole reflection of economic conditions, or that we cannot precisely find indicators that allow us to describe the users. Paraphrasing Mia Couto (interview, 2008), we can say that invisible signals govern the functioning of life in the city but they are hard to map. Indeed, it is not possible to speak of a certain type of homogeneous population living in a specific settlement and assign a two-way relationship to the two factors, as it is also impossible to define a bairro with conviction because its dynamics escape us, the parameters for its interpretation have yet to be constructed and we can only grasp slight indications (Vanin, 2013). But invisibility is not per se a negative category. People living on the borders of legal recognition is matched by the invisibility and fluidity of the environment they move in, which stems from a continuous adaptation to the urban spaces (Simone, 2004). Such spaces – interstitial, non-institutionalized and noncontrolled – allow the existence of ‘grey zones’ that the weaker groups can use, avoiding strong frictions

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or processes of exclusion, and allowing their subsistence. Without forgetting the struggle for individual and social recognition, these spaces should be considered possible spaces that can ensure integration processes. In Maputo as well as in Luanda, in the urban realm, that fundamental condition is progressively threatened. In both cities, the emerging and growing middle class – that is today limited in number – risks becoming a threat if it reproduces a pattern of social exclusion. The consolidation of devices for exclusion, the modification of lifestyles and the built environment, the different strategies (from material to immaterial) for the appropriation and defence of spaces are models that wealthier groups have progressively developed in order to create a secure, comfortable environment for themselves, their families and their businesses. Invisibility, social cohesion and patterns of exclusion represent a series of urgent issues dealing with social, anthropological, economic, perceptual and physical problems that are specific to the different contexts and require different urban strategies as well as the rethinking of urban paradigms. In that sense, the choice of a correct urban model for Africa (and beyond) becomes fundamental. Today, transformations in the urban forms of Maputo and Luanda, for example, follow dubious Dubai-like models that are also strongly conditioning the population living there. Are we able, collectively, to learn from existing African cities and their dynamics, imagining alternative and more sustainable, resilient models? References Alvim, Fernando, Munder, Heike and Wuggenig, Ulf (eds) (2005). Next Flag: The African Sniper Reader, Zurich: JPR-Ringier. Bauman, Zygmunt (2003). City of Fears, City of Hopes, London: Goldsmiths College. Beck, Ulrich (1992). Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity, London: Sage Publications. Câmara Municipal de Lourenço Marques (1953). A Concessão Sommerchield – e o novo contrato entre a Câmara Municipal de Lourenço Marques e a Delagoa Bay Lands Syndacate Limited, Lourenço Marques: Câmara Municipal de Lourenço Marques. ——— (1955). Plano de Urbanização de Lourenço Marques – Memória descritiva e justificativa, Lourenço Marques: Câmara Municipal de Lourenço Marques. ——— (1969). Plano director de Urbanização de Lourenço Marques, 1969, Lourenço Marques: Câmara Municipal de Lourenço Marques – Direcção dos Serviços de Urbanização e Obras. Casati, Roberto (2012). Urban Safety and Security. In Mobile A2K Methodology Guide: Mobile Access to Knowledge, Culture and Safety in Africa, Lugano: SUPSI. Collier, Delinda (2010). Art in a State of Emergency: Figuring Angolan Nationalism, 1953–2007, PhD in Art History, James T. Laney School of Graduate Studies. Conselho Municipal de Maputo (1979). Maputo, Plano de Estrutura, Maputo: Conselho Municipal de Maputo. DINAPOT – MICOA (2005). Moçambique – Melhoramento dos Assentamentos Informais, vol. II: Proposta de Estratégias de Intervenção, Maputo: DINAPOT – Direcção Nacional de Planeamento e Ordenamento Territorial and MICOA – Ministerio para a Coordenação da Acção Ambiental. Direção Nacional de Administração Local (1999). Plano de Estrutura da Area Metropolitana de Maputo, Maputo: Direção Nacional de Administração Local. Forjaz, José (2005). Uma estratégia para o melhoramento e a reabilitação dos slums em Moçambique. Cadernos da Faculdade de Arquitectura da Universidade Técnica de Lisboa, 5. Instituto Nacional de Planeamento Fisico (1985). Plano de Estrutura da Cidade de Maputo. Maputo: Instituto Nacional de Planeamento Fisico – Concelho Executivo da Cidade de Maputo. Jenkins, Paul (2012). Context Report – Home Space Maputo. [Online] Available at: http://www.homespace. dk/publications.html [accessed January 2014]. Jenkins, Paul et al. (2002). City Profile: Luanda. Cities, 19(2), pp. 139–50. Lachartre, Brigitte (2000). Enjeux urbains au Mozambique. De Lourenço Marques à Maputo, Paris: Karthala. Moorman, Marissa (2008). Intonations: A Social History of Music and Nation in Luanda, Angola, from 1945 to Recent Times, Athens, OH: Ohio University Press. Morais, João Sousa (2001). Maputo – Património da Estrutura e Forma Urbana, Topologia do Lugar, Lisbon: Livros Horizonte.

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Newitt, Malyn (1995). History of Mozambique, London: C. Hurst and Co. Oliveira Marques, A.H. (2003). Breve História de Portugal, Lisbon: Presença. Robinson, Jennifer (2006). Ordinary Cities: Between Modernity and Development, New York: Routledge. Rodrigues, Maria João Madeira (1999). Cidade Oceanica e Mundial. Fundamentos da Teoria do Urbanismo Colonial Portugues. GEHA, 2(3). Simone, Abdou Maliq (2004). For the City Yet to Come: Changing African Life in Four Cities, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Vanin, Fabio (2013). Maputo, Open City – Maputo, cidade Aberta, Lisbon: Fundação Serra Henriques. Notes 1 From an interview with Josè Forjaz conducted by the author (unpublished), Maputo, 2008. 2 Ibid. 3 Ibid. 4 Ibid. 5 From an interview with Mia Couto conducted by the author (unpublished), Maputo, 2008. 6 From an interview with Josè Forjaz, conducted by the author (unpublished), Maputo, 2008. 7 From an interview with Ausinio Lopes conducted by the author (unpublished), Luanda, 2013. 8 From an interview with Fernando Alvim conducted by the author (unpublished), Luanda, 2013; from an interview with Simon Njami conducted by the author (unpublished), Paris, 2012.

Chapter 13

Postcolonial Transformation of the City of Maputo: Its Urban Form as the Result of Physical Planning and Urban Self-Organization1 David Leite Viana

Introduction Nowadays, it is commonly known that more than 50 per cent of the world’s population lives in urban areas and more than half of them live in fragile urban conditions in terms of urban services, infrastructure, public transport, formal jobs, land property, equipment and social facilities, sanitation and water access. Urban suburbs and peripheries are no longer a question which can be dealt with as a ‘peripheral’ issue. In this chapter it is argued that urban intervention in this type of territory requires a wider understanding of its logic, patterns, rules and structure, besides its integration in a larger and ‘chameleonic’ notion of urbanity. According to the United Nations Human Settlements Programme (UN-HABITAT, 2010, p. 25), many African cities can be found in the ‘very high’ and ‘extremely high’ inequality brackets. Although Latin American and Caribbean (LAC) cities were until recently the most unequal in the world, UN-HABITAT’s State of the World’s Cities 2010–11 shows that they have been lagging behind African cities in recent years (income-based coefficients, urban areas: 0.529 on average in Africa, compared with 0.505 in LAC; average of available city-specific coefficients: Africa: 0.581; LAC: 0.528). In Mozambique, about 80 per cent of urban settlements are ‘informal’ ones. Maputo, according to the 2007 Census, has surpassed one million inhabitants, and the residential areas that have spread through the territory raise problems and constraints in terms of the adjustment of physical planning strategies to the extension of these vast housing areas, with great focus, particularly, on the management of urban space. The integration of the ‘unordered’ and self-produced settlements in the structure of the city had been approached through dichotomist and normative relations between the urbanized centre and the so-called ‘peripheral fringes’. Despite the relatively enviable scenario in terms of political stability, 46.8 per cent of the population in Mozambique faces life conditions that do not reach the minimum necessary to escape extreme poverty, according to UN estimates. This number, defined by the UN as the Human Poverty Index, places Mozambique 127th among 135 analysed countries. Since independence in 1975, the capital city of Mozambique, Maputo, has undergone prolific transformation with regard to its urban forms and the framework they inhabit. To understand the urban tissue of Maputo it is necessary to combine different morphological approaches (qualitative, quantitative and analytical ones) in order to establish comparative studies of the urban forms that can contextualize the major aspects that characterize the processes of urban extension in the city, for example housing self-construction and the self-production of residential areas. Such studies would reveal how the city changes through both structural planning strategies and the everyday actions of its inhabitants. Thus it is possible to verify intricate urban contrasts in Maputo, constituted not only by major infrastructures, equipment and fluxes, but also by particular micro-interventions (dwellings and productivecommercial activities), which consolidate a complex relationship between its colonial core and the vast polymorphic urban tissue surrounding it. The extension of the city-capital northwards was the outcome of both physical planning developed by official governments and microstrategies of self-organization set by the growing number of people living in Maputo (mainly after the 1990s).

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The city’s diffuseness results in misperceived limits between urban ‘formality’ and individual ‘informality’, making the dichotomist paradigm ‘concrete city’ (designated as ‘formal’) / ‘reed city’ (nowadays called bairros and considered as ‘informal’) inadequate and insufficient to respond to all the self-forms and microcentralities that one observes when analysing Maputo in terms of its morphology and organization. It is possible, therefore, to say that the formal and the informal co-exist in the city, making it (in)formal. This is the view – not a dualistic one – of the city adopted in this chapter. The Transformation Phases of Maputo after Independence As pointed out by the UN-HABITAT survey Mozambique: Habitat Country Programme Document (2008–2009), and according to UNPD (2004), Mozambique had an estimated population of 19.4 million people, with an average annual growth of 2.1 per cent during the first 30 years of independence (the population was 10.6 million in 1975). By 2015 it is estimated that the number of inhabitants will reach 23.5 million, with a reduction in the annual growth rate to 1.7 per cent for the period 2004–2015. The life expectancy was, in the early years of the new millenium, 41.6 years (42.3 for women and 41.0 for men). The country has 37.8 per cent of its population living below the poverty line of US$1 per day, and 78.4 per cent living on less than US$2 per day. Since its independence, in 1975, the country’s literacy rate has increased from less than 5 per cent to 46 per cent in 2004 (35.6 per cent for women and 65.7 per cent for men). The proportion of the population living in urban areas increased to 33.7 per cent in 2004, and it is estimated to reach 42.4 per cent in 2015 (UNPD, 2004). In the colonial period, the Mozambican capital city grew around the port infrastructure and the railway, due to the expansion of the mining economy of its neighbouring countries. The urban facilities were located in central positions of the urban structure, arranged in a hierarchical system throughout the urban fabric: those with a broader level of service to the community or a more specialized one were located in the central area; the others, which were of a smaller scale, were more widespread. In the postcolonial phase, the situation had to change as the largest percentage of the population was distributed through the neighbourhoods in peri-urban housing areas in need of public services. As previously mentioned, it is estimated that the so-called ‘informal’ settlements constitute more than 80 per cent of the urban population. The inhabitants with access to a sustainable source of drinking water were 36 per cent in 1990 and they increased to 43 per cent in 2004. Access to sanitation facilities increased from 20 per cent in 1990 to 32 per cent in 2004 (UNPD, 2004). The document Mozambique. Improvement of Informal Settlements: Analysis of the Situation and Proposal of Intervention Strategies (Forjaz, 2006) indicates that the urbanization of Maputo can be split into three main periods: (i) 1975–1977, the occupation of the city; (ii) 1977–1987, the period that set the beginning of the environmental and urban deterioration of the city; (iii) 1987–early 2000s, the deterioration phase and onset of city recovery strategies. Raposo et al. (2012) suggest a fourth period (early 2000s–the present), with intensive real estate investment in the central areas of Maputo and increasing speculation in peri-central zones. With independence from the Portuguese colonial administration, semi-urbanized or non-urbanized areas of the city, designated until then ‘cidade de caniço’ (‘reed city’ [reed was the predominant building material for walls]), were integrated into the administrative limits of Maputo, being considered part of the city or as areas to be urbanized. Since the late 1980s/early 1990s, with political and economic liberalization, those areas began to be referred to as ‘informal’ in the mainstream discourse of international organizations. The issue of the ‘informality’ of considerable parts of the suburbs and the peripheral zones of the capital implies there are high levels of diversity in relation to more or less urban precariousness and ongoing transformation (Raposo and Salvador, 2007) – which has undergone diverse types of approach. As pointed out by Raposo et al. (2012), the concept of ‘informal’ settlements is based on what these neighbourhoods do not have and forgets the attributes and gains which are inherent in their own processes of self-production. As Jenkins and Andersen (2011) state, it is necessary to go beyond this dichotomy (formal/informal) and base understanding and action on urban development, on concepts and values that are predominantly grounded in realities (cultural, social, institutional, economic and political) and not on predominantly transferred concepts and values.

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First Phase, 1975–1977: Occupation of the City Between 1975 and 1977, the city was almost totally abandoned by the Portuguese settlers, leaving a considerable number of houses and apartments available in the core area of the capital. These housing facilities were nationalized and came under the administration of the central government, which rented the houses to local inhabitants or to the state or private companies, in order to distribute them among their employees through allocation contracts based on their salaries. Consequently, in the so-called ‘cement city’ a new sort of urban population arose, comprising mostly people from the suburbs or from other cities, which is explained by: the integration of the citizens of Mozambique into the state administration structure; the need to pursue academic learning; the attractive growth presented by the capital city after independence (Oppenheimer and Raposo, 2002). According to Forjaz (1999), the urban area of Maputo was subjected to processes operated by endogenous and exogenous factors, at a micro and macro scale, which promoted the abandonment of a certain regularity and a break with the stability gained in the first half of the 1980s. The beginning of the 1980s, as mentioned by Oppenheimer and Raposo (2002), marked the emergence of the ‘informal’ sector with the establishment of clandestine markets of food products in the context of the institutionalization of administrative distribution provided by the New Supply System programme (Novo Sistema de Abastecimento, 1981). The growing scarcity of jobs in the ‘formal’ sector and the strategies used to try to bypass administrative, bureaucratic and fiscal constraints triggered the growth of the ‘informal’ sector, but given the authorities’ repressive measures, the sector remained (until the end of the 1980s) restricted to a minor extension and it remained a minor expression of non-conformism in the otherwise ordered town. The distribution and area of influence of the various markets reveal that the provision of facilities for markets followed the implementation of housing layouts in the expansion of the city. The trade in the markets, though conducted under the supervision of the Directorate of Urban Services, was the largest subsector of the ‘informal’ sector in Maputo, absorbing about 30 per cent of the ‘informal’ workforce. It played a key role in the supply chain which ensured the survival of the townspeople. Lacharte (2000) also highlights the importance of the sub-sectors – the construction industry and urban transport. Second Phase, 1977–1987: The Beginning of the Environmental and Urban Deterioration of the City From 1977 to 1987, the city administration and the inhabitants’ ‘formal’ organization underwent bureaucratization, the result of various factors: a lack of technical staff; difficulties in consolidating a new social and economic policy, characterized by a socialist framework; the war, which lead to financial and economic crises; low salaries, which resulted in low tax revenue; the citizens’ traditional approach to their everyday appropriation of space being incongruous with the city’s physical structure. As mentioned in the document Mozambique. Improvement of Informal Settlements: Analysis of the Situation and Proposal of Intervention Strategies (Forjaz, 2006), one sign of the deterioration of the city and the overall state of its environment was the number and decreasing condition of urban services and facilities – such as support equipment, water supply, waste collection – and their inability to cover the entire city, which, following independence, had grown to embrace the suburbanized neighbourhoods and extended further due to ongoing population growth (Oppenheimer and Raposo, 2002). Later, the extension of the suburbs highlighted the lack of collective and public transportation. Investment in economic activities (industry, commerce, services) tended to be focused in existent urban areas where infrastructure systems, accompanied by more robust land-use controls in reserved industrial zones, protected the areas against ‘unordered’ and ‘informal’ occupation and against subdivision for residential purposes. Besides investing in the occupied areas and the existing reserved zones, it was recognized that there would be a need to develop regions of economic activity driven by the new access to urban areas created by the motorway to South Africa. However, as the urban centre’s area of influence dissipates, units for public use become increasingly dispersed, affecting both the number of units, and the distance between them. An analysis of economic activities (manufacturing, warehousing and repair, trade and services, agriculture and livestock, and mining) reveals that industry and agriculture grew along the banks of the river Infulene, while the farming sector was consolidated in the estuary of the Incomati. One also finds that areas of land used

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exclusively for economic activities were reduced. However, despite the invasion of areas considered reserved for industry, some areas, such as Machava and the north of Matola, went underutilized. Third Phase, 1987–early 2000s: Deterioration Phase and the Beginning of the Recovery of the City After 1987, both economic transformations and the war had impacts on the urban space and its form (Raposo and Salvador, 2007). With regard to the former, central governmental entities promoted changes in terms of productive paradigm relations, starting, in 1987, with the Economic Rehabilitation Programme. Through this initiative, as pointed out by the document Mozambique. Improvement of Informal Settlements: Analysis of the Situation and Proposal of Intervention Strategies (Forjaz, 2006), social and economic processes occurred which resulted, in the first instance, in the emaciation and deterioration of urban living conditions. Later, however, Maputo slowly started to recover (despite greater economic and social disparity in the urban population). During this period the population of Maputo increased due to migration as a result of the civil war. This resulted in the establishment of new areas of settlement in sectors of the city that were not the best suited for habitation (wetlands, hilly areas, spaces reserved for city expansion). Thus residential land-use became even more widespread in the capital, extending across its surface. As a consequence, in the late 1980s and early 1990s, the city showed signs of physical instability that called for greater focus on the rehabilitation and improvement of infrastructure and urban facilities, not to mention the opening of new residential areas, to the detriment of more ambitious projects. Land use in the central residential area in the early 1990s focused on multifunctional blocks, predominantly single and multifamily buildings. One of the main proposals in the Structural Plan for the Metropolitan Area of Maputo (1999) was the densification of the colonial grid. It was to this area that, from the 1990s, the ‘informal’ urban-social dimension had spread, followed by disruptions in the city land-uses. The residential areas of the periphery continued to expand, in orthogonal grid configurations, within the existing ‘unordered’ cluster. The provision of social facilities, infrastructure and public services also spread more significantly over the urban space (compared to the situation of the early 1980s), reflecting the strategies laid out in urban planning. Furthermore, the housing blocks, via their collective nature, constituted concentrated nodes of population attracting ‘informal’ activities that sought to take advantage of that concentration. Most visible perhaps was the increase in the number of salespersons in retail markets and dispersed across neighbourhoods in fixed locations, along roads, paths, squares, behind plots or near entrances to houses. Throughout the 1990s Maputo ‘imploded’, but also ‘exploded’ (Raposo and Salvador, 2007). From the middle of that decade onwards, in the most valued vacant spaces, luxury buildings and private condominiums rose. However, the ‘formal’ public sector (central or local) invested less and less. In this context, over the past 20 years, poverty has became widespread. Out of a total population of approximately 540,000 in 1980, about 81,000 lived below the poverty line. By 1997, the figure had reached 460,000 out of a total population of almost 1 million. The global population nearly doubled in these 17 years but the number of poor people increased almost six-fold. In Maputo, the poor who had occupied the centre in the post-independence period were increasingly reappointed to the periphery. Furthermore, according to Oppenheimer and Raposo (2002), it is in the periphery (increasingly extensive and dense) that hundreds of thousands of these excluded people live in daily intense activity, following their own strategies, which form a new culture of inhabiting the city. During the three phases of urbanization outlined above, the colonial structures of the city were not deeply changed – the (cement) ‘centre’ of the capital maintains its general configuration. On the other hand, the peripheral bairros grew considerably. In the early 1990s, following the introduction of a neo-liberal economic system in order to attract private investment, the government of Mozambique prepared a National Housing Policy. In 1990 a draft of the policy was submitted to Parliament. It addressed issues such as development of the building materials industry, setting up a housing market, providing affordable housing and capacity building. While the policy was not approved, it inspired the formulation of several legislative tools that: (i) liberalized real estate activity; (ii) allowed Mozambicans to acquire nationalized houses; and (iii) created the Housing Fund (FFH). However, after 10 years’ activity, the FFH was only able to provide about 7,500 plots of land with access to infrastructure systems and basic services, and support the construction of just 2,000 houses.

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According to data from Mozambique’s National Statistics Institute (1997), only 27.5 per cent of the urban population lived in ‘modern’ or adequate dwellings. The remaining 72.5 per cent lived in traditional huts (made of thatched grass or palm leaves) or flimsy material dwellings. In the urban areas the housing backlog is close to 1 million units and the housing market is being constricted by legal and administrative bottlenecks that impede any sort of responsive ‘formal’ dynamics (UNPD, 2004). In the semi-urbanized areas of the capital city a wide range of situations prevail, alongside which dynamics of inner transformation can be perceived. If by the late 1990s/early 2000s a direct proximity effect could be perceived that saw the urban bairros influenced by the urbanized historical centre (Raposo and Salvador, 2007), today new dynamics are at play in both the centre and the periphery which are the result either of the direct action of financial capital or the actions of public actors, civil society and the city’s inhabitants observing a less linear structure in relation to the levels of urbanity in the semi-urbanized neighbourhoods (Raposo et al., 2012). Thus, although the fragile living conditions found in the suburban residential sector are a constant constraint on the inhabitant’s everyday lives, they deal with it and invest in the progressive improvement of their habitat (Raposo and Salvador, 2007) through creative processes (Lage, 2001) and methods of selforganization and self-production, despite scarce resources and rapid urban change. Fourth Phase, 2000–the Present: Real Estate Investments in Central Areas and Speculation in Peri-central Zones The Structural Plan for the Metropolitan Area of Maputo (1999) indicated that in 1997 185,000 individuals in the city were engaged in secondary and tertiary activities, developing activities in numerous different areas. It also emphasized the importance of family subsistence farming, which also constituted a portion of the production marketed at the doors of houses or in the markets and absorbed a significant quantity of the workforce. Of note in this period was also the fact that the provision of public facilities and infrastructure reflected a pronounced asymmetry. To mitigate this, the adoption of a legal and administrative structure comprising representatives of the government of the area covered was recommended in order to improve the coordination of different stages of the plan’s implementation in the fields of infrastructure and facility provision, urban services, environmental protection and land-use control among others. In order to prevent illegal speculation and the underutilization of the urban land, the government would also be tasked with creating mechanisms that allowed the development of urban land and the payback of investments in urbanization by taxing the urbanized areas at different rates. Common features of the physical planning to extend the urban fabric of Maputo included: (i) expansion of infrastructure; (ii) improvement in the operation of public services (water, electricity, sanitation, waste removal, transport, public safety); and (iii) improvement in the financial management of public services in order to ensure their maintenance. The basic elements of the urban form were: the block, the network – with a linear configuration (transport, roads, highways and so on) – and the spaces configured by the geometry of the layout of urban activities. Analysis of the geometric relationship between this urban layout and the structural components of the city’s road network, together with the Structural Plan for the Metropolitan Area of Maputo (1999), revealed the following possibilities for expansion of the city’s urban space: (i) densification of the urban area; (ii) physical expansion along the transport routes; (iii) expansion towards the north. In this context, the turn of the millennium ushered in a fourth phase in the urbanization of Maputo, with large financial investments in historical and emerging urban areas, embracing gradual renewal processes of peri-central areas, which demanded large capital resources provided by financial market operations, but not including substantial investment in the improvement of semi-urbanized areas. Today, the urban space constitutes a complex system with an intricate urban form, in which different fragments of urban tissue co-exist. This corresponds to a fragmented society that supports a set of relations between actors, networks, topologies and morphologies, linear and complex geometries, residential mono-functional land use and activities like industrial production, storage, agricultural subsistence and ‘informal’ commerce among others. This fragmented, complex, urban tangle, contradictory and dynamic, constantly changes the expression of power relations among its multiple actors, and ultimately between the interests of finance capital and the population undergoing urbanization. For example, as Rosário (2011,

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p. 128) states: ‘popular housing is problematic, with deficient support from the few municipalities, which themselves also struggles due to insufficient financial and technical resources to invest in the expansion of the infrastructural network’. Anjos Rosário (1999, p. 190) also emphasizes: The question of managing the urban environment in Mozambique cities is particularly difficult because of the parallel existence of two socio-economic systems with sometimes contradictory needs and interests. Every Mozambican urban centre has clearly differentiated zones. There is a formal modern zone where people of different classes and economic and cultural levels live, and where individual isolation is the dominant feature. And there is a suburban and periurban zone. The traditional, informal, rural world meets the modern, formal urban world in all the zones in Mozambican urban centres.

As mentioned by Forjaz (1999), the contemporary urban condition of Maputo lies in the equation between ‘survival’ – a day to day concern – and ‘rupture’, regarding which Forjaz (1999, p. 31) states, ‘we need a new strategy to solve the inevitable rupture with the technique and formal traditions and with the colonial legacy, since both these systems do not respond now to the new cultural and material ambitions of the people of our region’. In the current context of uncertainty and change, the different residential typologies provide a reading of the social extension of urbanization, the types of housing representing moments in the process of the city’s transformation and indicating the level of integration or marginalization of their inhabitants in the urban space. Raposo and Salvador (2007), in line with Forjaz (2001), question whether this is the genesis of a new culture of inhabiting or a syncretic process of transition and passage from rural to urban, a ‘subculture’, as Saúte (2001) advocates, compared to the ‘Western’ urban model. Physical Planning, Self-Organization and Urban Morphology Cross-References According to the Structural Urban Plan for the Municipality of Maputo (2008), in terms of the classification of housing spaces, the capital of Mozambique has both a consolidated residential space and spaces to be urbanized. The former is ‘formally’ established and has a significant level of infrastructure that supports the primary use of the land as residential. The latter is also mainly for housing purposes, but it was not developed according to existing official rules and is lacking in urban services, local facilities and infrastructure. Thus parts of the fabric of the city were structured with no ‘formal’ strategies of urbanization. On the other hand, in recent years, renewal interventions related to economically well located suburbanized areas are emerging, resulting in the total demolition of urban tissues and the peripheralizaton of the areas’ populations (Raposo et al., 2012). The different types of interventions taking place in those semi-urbanized areas of Maputo, along with the constant pressure the city suffers from the increasing number of inhabitants (who occupy the available space in varied ways), have had significant impacts on the urban form, which must be carefully considered as far as their results and effects are concerned. Indeed, the urban fabric of Maputo comprises a highly varied set of configurations and types of aggregations, establishing a plural and somewhat contradictory situation that, in respect of urban morphology, requires a special framework. Moreover, the city’s fabric is intensely woven in that its urban space houses multiple forms of life and ways of acting or expressing, myriad residential types and a diversity of correlations between them, the residents and the urban form. According to Bérnard da Costa and Biza (2010), housing questions related to shelter, family social representation and sociability (privacy, sharing and so on) determine the meanings that people attribute to their houses, with implications for how they daily appropriate and live within their domestic spaces. As stated by Bruschi et al. (2005, p.7), the choices adopted, … in new buildings which will replace the reed houses on the outskirts of large cities are interesting, not only because they allow us to analyse the interplay between “formal” and “informal” architecture, but also because of the influence traditional space uses have on today’s house forms, building techniques and ways of appropriation.

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This type of urban dynamic results simultaneously from historic socioeconomic, political and technical capacity conditions resulting from the transition from colonialism to socialism, quickly suppressed by an imposing neoliberalism. This framework occurs within a cultural context of strong rural and oral traditions and under the influence of the proximity of a landscape of strong contrasts – the rural, the urban and the periurban – that constitute a peculiar way to be and to do the city (Raposo et al., 2012). Thus in Maputo, it is possible to observe types of urban aggregations in which multiple connections modify the city structure in terms of its composition, integration, accessibility and arrangements – all stratified in apparent disorder – and which are characterized by social, cultural, economic and urban complexity, increasingly inter-dependent systems and housing self-organized via micro-strategies of order. These aggregations also adopt conceptual logics that reduce the relevance of notions such as unity, identity, completeness, homogeneity, continuity, organism and evolution. This condition of indeterminacy vis-à-vis urban space in the Mozambican capital hinders the anchoring of predictability. Adopting the words of Simone (2004), the minimal features of this existence come to provide a context for economic activities, almost always unconventional, that are often far-reaching in their scope and highly flexible and sophisticated in their organization. The urban form of Maputo is generally understood as the result of a historic process of planning strategies which, with more or less effect, determine the morphological configuration of the urban space, setting its structure, urban tissue, buildings, networks and connectivity. Nevertheless, despite the existence of planning instruments, it is also possible to verify that reality often overlaps the prevision established in those urban management documents. The reasons why this happens are numerous: the lack of technical and financial resources; low economic income from public taxes; accelerated population growth and densification pressure on the urban spaces; social and urban duality; the proliferation of non-formal activities in the productive tissue and spaces of production; planning principles and instruments that ignore urban everyday life; new sorts of urban culture; renewed ways of living and appropriating the city; temporary uses of the public spaces; fragile urban services and social facilities; disorientated infrastructures; and so on. Within this framework it is important to focus not only on forms but also, primarily, on space production processes and the power relations established between the actors that set the transformations that occur in the space. This is a perspective that tries to understand the strategies of the inhabitants in their living space, given the leeway they have to build their habitat within the economic and socio-cultural constraints they often have to deal with (Raposo and Salvador, 2007). Such an overview is in line within a structuralism-interactional approach, simultaneously sensitive not only to structures that affect the practices but also to the processing practices that operate within, but also beyond the structures. Through this approach (see Figure 13.1), it is possible to analyse urban self-organization processes and verify the different effects they have on the urban form, that is, by considering space as a ‘social product’ (as posited by Lefebvre, 1974) and by measuring the distinct rules, patterns and procedures that structure land-use distribution, land value and population density in relation to urban transformation, public space conditions, access to urban services and social infrastructure. Despite the several structural plans for the capital of Mozambique, such as those produced in 1985, 1999 and 2008 (to assure the physical planning of the city), Maputo is strongly marked by the everyday selforganization strategies of the citizens. Quoting Simone (2004, p. 458), these are important procedures to define the terms of belonging, use and appropriation, not only in the spaces or the ways that the prevailing paradigms and operations of urban development would normatively consign them. Urban sociability goes beyond strict demarcations of the “formal” and “informal”, of becoming and belonging, of visibility and invisibility, and of normative and dysfunctional, and the use of the possibilities for one to change the apprehension and the use of the other.

Self-organization processes addressing the housing question are developed from typological components (Raposo and Salvador, 2007), space elements (Lage, 2001) and tectonic options. In general terms, the quality of the housing sector depends on overall access to infrastructures, urban services and support facilities, housing density and typology, building construction, accessibility, land ownership and public space.

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Figure 13.1 Combining different morphological approaches in the study of Maputo Source: Developed by the author (2014) in his post-doctoral research on the morphology of Maputo

In reference to Maputo, Oppenheimer and Raposo (2002) consider that residential type is associated with basic conditions in terms of access to domestic infrastructure (water, sanitation, electricity, fuel). These authors underline the existence of a significant difference between the quality of the bairros of the city centre and the ones located on the periphery of the urban space. This difference is reinforced through significant capital investments in real estate in the central areas of Maputo (Raposo et al., 2012). Despite this analysis, if one approaches the situation only in morphological terms (see Figure 13.2), it is possible to realize – through a syntactical examination of the urban shape of Maputo (using Depthmap software) – that the so-called ‘peripheral area’ shares the same high levels of potential integration and accessibility as those related to the colonial core of the city, located in the southern part of the urban space. An analysis of Figure 13.2 reveals that, when focusing on self-organization, that which is more relevant to the urban form of the city will not be the eventual stable relationship between typology and morphology, but rather network topology and morphology correlations. Space self-production induces a significant permanent change in the character of the urban form, reflecting an adjustment in and diversity of urban uses and appropriations that re-focus the attention on urban form not in terms of typological devices, but rather the topology of the actions of the different stakeholders that operate in and about the city. It also reveals splintering nodes of local integration and accessibility dispersed throughout the urban space. A significant part of Maputo is self-produced by its inhabitants through micro-strategies of urban production, transformation and appropriation, in which residential self-construction promotes a prolific standard of creative processes that must be integrated into a wide range of approaches to future city planning – in terms of access to urban services, land property, local facilities, uses, activities. More important than defining

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Figure 13.2 Maputo, map created through a syntactical examination of the urban shape of the city to verify global integration measures Source: Developed by the author (2014) in his post-doctoral research on the morphology of Maputo

a normative and homogeneous quality and physical attributes of urban spaces, attention ought to be paid to the connections and correlations established between the different areas of the city and, moreover, to how people perceive, use, appropriate and transform the city in its multiple forms and procedures. Raposo and Salvador (2007) point out the construction of new forms of urbanity on the periphery (between European and African, urban and rural, modern and traditional references). Lage (2001) notes that Maputo is home to a dynamic growth in and birth of new spatial and aesthetic values. Such a reaffirmed and extended phenomenon is a sign that a process of matching the typology and shape of houses and of the city is underway.

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Conclusion In order to recognize the coexistence of normative physical planning and empirical self-organization in the transformation of Maputo since Mozambique’s independence, one ought to understand the city’s individual and the communitarian multiplicity and the specificity of micro-strategies that have resulted in renewed approaches to urban space production. This will make it possible to transform the spaces based on the city’s inner rules and reframe them in view of hard-line financial market conditions, which otherwise tend to make a blank slate of those self-practices and micro-strategies. New urban paradigms can be developed if spatial analyses of cities like Maputo are able to combine and establish an adjusted and reciprocal relationship between network form and spatial location. It is important, therefore, to understand how to read the intricate relations between actors, networks and the fragmented configuration of urban forms, but also to know how to establish the intervention framework within that which really characterizes the different parts of Mozambique’s capital city. Its vast urban extension built on housing self-production structured around location-related micro-strategies therefore requires a flexible type of city form with the capacity to become a sort of ‘linking’ form between the ‘formal’ and self-produced parts of the city. This would be achieved through participatory and collaborative micro-multiple multi-scalar urbanism, engaged with the macro-planning of the city. This approach implies the inclusive development of Maputo through a location-oriented perspective that overlaps current notions of the perennial construction of the city, thereby granting prominence to the relational production of the urban tissue. Ogbu (2010, p. 78) describes an approach that justifies the location-related dimension attached to urban forms like the one related to the suburban and peripheral sectors of Maputo: ‘[a] cross disciplinary approach that allowed the innovative urban scheme to break free from a meta narrative and instead consists of multiple narratives that together advanced the political, economic, and social opportunities of the individuals that converge’ on its space daily. Ogbu (2010, p. 78) also embraces the multi-scalar aspect of the approach: ‘there was a clear understanding of each individual project at the micro scale (how specific design moves could be responsive to particular users and activities) and the macro scale (how the contiguous and overlapping systems and activities could negotiate within the spatial realm)’. This implies a wide set of open and multi-organizational elements, which tend to compose a creative and elastic framework of connections. Through self-organization, and by analysing it in order to learn from it, one can achieve a wide range of actions – structured in a ‘chameleonic’ approach (Viana, 2010, p. 184) – that exhibits changeability and flexibility in adaptation. This process may be organized into relational methodologies of the relational paradigm (open systems; free forms; absorbing the ‘irregular’, the unpredictable, the apparent disorder, the self-innovation). And it can be a process whose body is as common as a collective – manageable, with little hierarchy and stratification, organized in a flexible and adaptable way – like a ‘chameleon’. The internal organization of this type of process should be constantly evolving in order to adjust to the strain of transition that is felt in the city: ‘chameleon’-like principles that metamorphose themselves in order to better fit the urban spaces (Viana, 2010, p. 185). References Anjos Rosário, M., 1999. Participatory Development and Urban Management. In: Ferraz, B. and Munslow, B. eds. Sustainable Development in Mozambique. Oxford / Trenton, NJ: James Currey / Africa World Press, pp. 183–201. Bérnard da Costa, A. and Biza, A., 2010. Relatório Etnográfico: Espaço do Lar – O espaço do lar como construção social. Maputo: HomeSpace. Bruschi, S., Carrilho, J. and Lage, L., 2005. Era uma vez uma palhota. História da casa moçambicana. Maputo: UEM-Faculdade de Arquitetura e Planeamento Físico. Conselho Municipal da Cidade de Maputo / Universidade Eduardo Mondlane, 2008. Plano de Estrutura Urbana do Município de Maputo (Structural Urban Plan for the Municipality of Maputo). Maputo: Conselho Municipal da Cidade de Maputo / Universidade Eduardo Mondlane.

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Direção Nacional de Administração Local, Ministério da Administração Estatal, República de Moçambique, 1999. Plano de Estrutura da Área Metropolitana de Maputo: Relatório Final (versão preliminar), volume I: Análise da situação urbana e opções de desenvolvimento (Structural Plan for the Metropolitan Area of Maputo. Final Report (preliminary version) – volume I: Analysis of the Urban Situation and Development Options). Maputo: Direção Nacional de Administração Local, Ministério da Administração Estatal, República de Moçambique / Arcadis-Euroconsult, JTK Associates. Forjaz, J., 1999. Entre o adobe e o aço inox. Ideias e projectos. Lisbon: Editorial Caminho. ———, 2001. Lições para a urbanização aqui e agora. Revista Moçambiente, 29, Maputo. ——— ed., 2006. Moçambique. Melhoramento dos assentamentos informais. Análise da situação e proposta de estratégias de intervenção (Mozambique. Improvement of Informal Settlements: Analysis of the Situation and Proposal of Intervention Strategies). Maputo: Direção Nacional de Planeamento e Ordenamento Territorial (DINAPOT), Ministério para a Coordenação da Ação Ambiental (MICOA). Instituto Nacional de Planeamento Físico, Conselho Executivo da Cidade de Maputo, 1985. Plano de Estrutura Cidade de Maputo. Maputo: Instituto Nacional de Planeamento Físico, Conselho Executivo da Cidade de Maputo. Jenkins, P. and Andersen, J.E., 2011. Developing Cities in between the Formal and Informal. Conference Proceedings: International Conference ECAS 2011 – 4th European Conference on African Studies. African Engagements: Governing Informal Settlements, on Whose Terms?, The Nordic Africa Institute, 15–18 June, 2011. Lachartre, B., 2000. Enjeux urbains au Mozambique. De Lourenço Marques à Maputo. Paris: Karthala. Lage, L., 2001. Produção de habitações informais: O caso de Maputo. In: Um olhar para o habitat informal moçambicano: de Lichinga a Maputo. Maputo: Faculdade de Arquitetura e Planeamento Físico da Universidade Eduardo Mondlane, Edição Centro de Estudos e Desenvolvimento do Habitat, pp. 69–85. Lefebvre, H., 1974. La production de l’espace. Paris: Éd. Anthropos. Ogbu, L., 2010. A Search for Specificity: Learning from Africa. Conference Proceedings: International Conference AP2009 – African Perspectives. The Future Life of the African City Centre (Re)Sourced, University of Pretoria, 25–28 September, 2009, pp. 69–79. Oppenheimer, J. and Raposo, I., 2002. A pobreza em Maputo. Lisbon: MTS. ——— eds, 2007. Subúrbios de Luanda e Maputo. Lisbon: Edições Colibri. Raposo, I., Jorge, S., Viegas, S. and Melo, V., 2012. Luanda e Maputo: Inflexões suburbanísticas da cidade socialista à metrópole neoliberal. Urbe. Revista Brasileira de Gestão Urbana, 4(2), July–December, pp. 89–205. Raposo, I. and Salvador, C., 2007. Há diferença: ali é cidade, aqui é subúrbio: urbanidade dos bairros, tipos e estratégias de habitação em Luanda e Maputo. In: Oppenheimer, J. and Raposo, I. eds, Subúrbios de Luanda e Maputo. Lisbon: Edições Colibri, pp. 105–38. Rosário, M., 2011. Porquê projetar as nossas cidades como cidades europeias e porque não pensar em cidades africanas, cidades islâmicas? (Interview with B. Marques and D.L. Viana). Africana Studia, 16, Revista do CEAUP-Centro de Estudos Africanos da Universidade do Porto: Problemas da Habitação em áfrica. Reflexões sobre a África de língua portuguesa, pp. 125–9. Saúte, N., 2001. Maputo. Capital da transição cultural entre o subúrbio e a cidade. Seminário de Arquitetos de Língua Portuguesa. Maputo. Simone, A., 2004. For the City Yet to Come: Changing African Life in Four Cities. [e-book] Durham, NC / London: Duke University Press. UN-HABITAT, 2008. Mozambique: Habitat Country Programme Document (2008–2009). UN-HABITAT’s State of the World’s Cities 2008/2009: Harmonious Cities. New York: United Nations Human Settlements Programme. ———, 2010. The State of African Cities: Governance, Inequality and Urban Land Markets. UN-HABITAT’s State of the World’s Cities 2010/2011: Cities for All: Bridging the Urban Divide. New York: United Nations Human Settlements Programme. UNPD, 2004. Country Evaluation: Assessment of Development Results – Mozambique. New York: United Nations Development Programme. Evaluation office.

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Viana, D.L., 2010. African Cities: Towards a New Paradigm – ‘Chameleonic’ Urbanism for Hybrid Cities. Conference Proceedings: International Conference AP2009 – African Perspectives. The Future Life of the African City Centre (Re)Sourced. University of Pretoria, 25–28 September, 2009, pp. 179–87. Note 1 This chapter is an expanded and improved version of the presentation prepared by the author for the Conference Colonial and Postcolonial Urban Planning in Africa, held at the Institute of Geography and Spatial Planning, University of Lisbon, in September 2013. The information and data organized here were utilized in two other conference presentations: ‘The Role of Self-production Process of Housing for the Urban Transformation of Maputo’ (Viana and Raposo | ECAS 2013, ISCTE-IUL, Lisbon, Portugal); ‘Urban Culture of Transition or a New Culture of Inhabiting the City’ (Viana, Alves and Rivas | CITTA 2009, FEUP, Oporto, Portugal).

Chapter 14

Mozambique’s Rescaled Dualistic Urbanisation: Dealing with Historical Legacies of Imperialism and Resistance Céline F. Veríssimo

Introduction In pre-colonial Mozambique there were mainly two opposed societal systems: on the one hand, the stateless Bantu communities, which developed an agro-social system based on kinship relations and subsistence agriculture and lived in scattered domestic settlements, and on the other hand, the centralised Monomotapa state which increased agricultural production, developed a new metal technology and expanded trade within a network of walled cities linked to the port city of Sofala. Later, Portuguese colonialism introduced an imperialist economy through non-sustainable relations of intensive exploitation of human and natural resources with forced labour and taxation. This resulted, on the one hand, in the increased dispersion of people in scattered settlements to escape oppression, and on the other, gave rise to a dualistic form of urbanisation in the search of improved livelihoods – the ‘cement city’, which is the postcolonial central part of the city with modern concrete buildings, surrounded by another city, the Mozambicans ‘reed city’ of the past, where most of the urban population now lives. The delayed decolonisation process of the Portuguese Estado Novo (‘New State’) overlapped with the Cold War being fought in Africa. Reagan’s election as US President in 1980, and in 1979, Thatcher as Prime Minister in the UK, led to its intensification with serious consequences for the former Portuguese colonies in Africa (São Tomé and Príncipe, Cape Verde, Guinea-Bissau, Angola and Mozambique). Shortly after independence on 25 June 1975, the US and NATO empowered apartheid South Africa to attack communism in Mozambique (and Zimbabwe) by supporting the opposition guerrilla Renamo in a devastating destabilisation war against Frelimo’s Marxism-Leninism (1977–1992). Frelimo’s post-independence development model of ‘villagisation’ (Aldeias Comunais) was a collective form of social organisation based on democratic centralism but was also influenced by modernism that totally neglected any elements of traditional selforganisation. State Farms and Communal Villages were meant not only for the collectivisation of the liberated Mozambican society but also for rapid economic growth to withstand foreign destabilisation and consolidate national legitimacy. Under constant threat of Renamo attacks in the hinterland and with poor central state support, there was a massive rural exodus to the cities to escape the war and find aid. That not only marks the moment of a rapid urban sprawl throughout the country, but especially triggers the reinforcement of existent self-organising strategies in urban transformation for communal survival. The pre-capitalist legacy of domestic urbanity and urban cultivation1 merits consideration when conceptualising the urbanisation of Mozambique as a self-organising system. Likewise, Dondo2 is classified as evidence of an ‘Agrocity’ rather than an ‘urban village’.3 The notion of ‘Agrocity’, simultaneously as a positive and a normative hypothesis, challenges the mainstream separation of ‘rural’ and ‘urban’ inherited from the ‘cement’ and ‘reed’ dualistic city and is characterised by small size, low-density levels, spacious house plots, low input built environment characteristics, natural urban habitats and ecosystems, permaculture, low dependence on the peri-urban natural resource-base, high dependence on the urban natural resourcebase, high levels of civil participation in the urban food supply, households’ autonomy regarding food from urban farming and income from domestic businesses, and high input in the local economy. This generates a spontaneous ruralised and green urbanisation that is self-maintained collectively by the urban communities themselves. This chapter is concerned with the fact that society is self-organised in a way which initially sprung from resistance to colonialism, but also to a form of resistance to the state’s centralist definition of socialism. The

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chapter advocates that there is an alternative form of development which looks to decentralised and selforganised forces and shows how ‘ecodevelopment’ exists not just as a utopian idea, but as a real force based on a type of self-organisation of the human habitat and its relationship with nature, drawn from the case study empirical evidence. Crucial to this argument is the most recent circumstances in which these processes have been evolving. With the fall of the Soviet bloc and the triumph of neoliberalism, pressured by the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund in Structural Adjustment Programs, Mozambique converted itself to globalisation. Likewise, the ‘cement city’ is now the core of neoliberalism, as a node of the global economy, where foreign donors and international market economy control the national political economy, its people, land and resources, exacerbating the premise of the negation of self-sufficiency that continuous to evolve gloriously at its margins. The adoption of a neoliberal model of development, which has come in the past 20 years, completely bypasses the realities of Mozambican society. Therefore, the chapter concludes that the strategy of self-organisation regarding the household/Outdoor Domestic Space unit, which existed previously as a resistance strategy, first of all against colonialism and secondly against the statist definition of socialism, has become a strategy for survival in the face of a global economy which completely neglects both the people and the land. Furthermore, because the capitalist model is now threatening to collapse (Brenner et al., 2009; Berberoglu, 2012), this raises the possibility for what was previously seen as a marginal survival strategy to become the mainstream of a new pathway to development whereby humanity can salvage itself from the ruins of the current system. On the one hand, the character of global capitalism which, when functioning well, is a highly exploitative system that subjugates people and nature, appeals to be liberated in order to ensure survival. Paradoxically, on the other hand, when capitalism crashes, people are not released from exploitation but instead face a high risk of the massive collapse of livelihoods that have become dependent on, or are part of, the failing capitalist system. Apart from communities such as Dondo4 that have remained largely self-reliant, decentralised and close to nature, the failure of the global capitalist system makes livelihoods deteriorate drastically and restricts the rapid recovery needed for the establishment of a new state of order within the whole system. This suggests that self-organising systems working with nature are more resilient and autonomous and therefore more immune to the effects of external crisis. Therefore, under particular decentralised social configurations neither poverty, population densification nor the intensification of production are responsible for environmental degradation and global warming. Consequently, urban expansion, as the human species production of habitat, instead of being the source of environmental problems, poverty and environmental degradation, might instead embody the rise of a new ecodevelopment. The Dialectics of Increased Disjunction Between the Human Habitat and Nature When the city is produced on the basis of capital accumulation it naturally creates a disjunction of two different worlds: the part of society that evolves by exploiting people and nature and the part that lives by working with each other and with nature. This second one is increasingly marginalised as the neoliberal part of the city expands. Under neoliberalism the core of every city becomes part of the global economy and loses its links with its own self, people and place, namely its local identity. Then, this growing extreme polarisation between ‘the formal’ and ‘the informal’, ‘the rich’ and ‘the poor’, ‘the country’ and ‘the city’, generated by globalisation, marks the difference between those few that have the power in detriment of the large majority that is ruled, which underlies the core–periphery relationship where the periphery is always deeply marginalised. According to Araújo (1998), this highly differentiated spatial production in Mozambique results from a colonial ‘dominator–dominated’ relationship that increased with globalisation, given continued complex relationships of complementarity and opposition. This kind of growth and development pattern will always have a negative feedback in the adjacent areas to some extent. Inevitably, it will continue causing sharpened inequality among the people and degradation on the land. This disjunction between human society and nature is materialised in Mozambique’s dualistic urbanisation that demonstrates a core–periphery system where the marginalised periphery is actually building the prosperous future, which in this case is also re-joining humanity with nature. Then, as the core becomes more detached

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from the periphery, it builds its own way of survival. Today, this social and spatial disjunction is widespread, more evident and even heightened at the global level as the crises rise – whether these are (a) urban problems: the rise of urban poverty, poor basic infrastructures and services, pollution, etc.; (b) ecological crisis: climate change, global warming, biodiversity extinction, etc.; or (c) social inequality: popular insurgency against repression from authoritarian or globalisation-based states (e.g. the ‘Arab Spring’ and ‘Occupy Wall Street’); and (d) global transition movements (e.g. Transition Network). Therefore, problems of climate change, peak oil, food crisis, political economy crisis, decreased social equity, world poverty, biased democracies, oppressive regimes and so forth highlight the current disjunction between humanity and the earth that is increasingly aggravated. Transition towards a post-capitalist society does not necessarily involve rupture with the current system in the form of a revolution, which would probably generate tragic results. A silent revolution is not only possible, but has already been taking place, as is it in Dondo. This is so, because ecosocialism is, on the one hand, a spontaneous reaction against the unnatural way of capitalism, and on the other hand, a dialectical process between societal groups and between society and nature that re-discovers humans’ connection with nature (Schultz et al., 2004). Land Degradation, Environmental Problems and Climate Change The main sources of environmental impacts on cities in the developing world are commonly assumed to be related to urban and industrial development. These impacts primarily consist of deforestation, soil erosion and pollution, which generate environmental problems such as disease and physical hazards affecting both human welfare and natural ecosystems (see Table 14.1). Faced with the gradual environmental degradation of their resource base in rural areas, people are attracted by the idea of progress, jobs and the opportunity to earn an income offered by cities. Once in the city, high unemployment and the shortage of waged work compel people to adjust to urban challenges by making use of their rural knowledge and reinventing traditional forms of production. This is the way people can replicate the natural environmental conditions they know so well and have always depended on. Through simple but sophisticated strategies, people are not merely adjusting their livelihoods to the challenging scenario found in the city but are actually reconstituting the environment as part of their physical habitat and as a natural pre-condition of life. Despite the best efforts of the local authorities, due to their very limited capacity and overload of responsibilities, infrastructure systems are still inadequate. However, the municipality of Dondo has implemented a new system of participatory budgeting and planning,5 which is gradually improving and extending the distribution of basic infrastructures and services. Nevertheless, the unregulated industrial waste freely released inside the neighbourhoods, the insufficient number of upgraded latrines, the continuing use of wells and the use of traditional witchcraft remedies for health problems still facilitate the spread of air and waterborne diseases (District Administration of Dondo, 2006). In addition, climate change has led to an increase in severe seasonal droughts, heat waves and crop losses, alternating with seasonal over-flooding in new flood-prone areas due to soil erosion (IPCC, 2007; Veríssimo, 2010). On the one hand, this has increased the population’s vulnerability to political economy and environmental crises, while, on the other hand, triggering more innovative and resilient livelihood and community organisation strategies. The city is both a spatial product of civilisation and a spatial product of nature in the sense that humanity is part of nature’s processes. Moving away from the conventional argument that population growth and urban sprawl are a source of multiple problems, the notion of ‘city’ in this chapter emphasises a symbiotic social connection with nature. This is seen as having the inherent and powerful potential to become a part of the solution to world problems in the twenty-first century (Lovelock, 1979) that has not been fully explored. The decentralised nature of the case study provides evidence that the informal city can play a vital role in ecological development by contributing towards local economic growth, environmental upgrading, enhanced social identity and individual self-esteem, the mitigation of urban poverty, ecosystems and the conservation of resources, amongst other factors. The collective decentralised practices of the dominant Mozambique cityscape prove that the city itself is central to creating opportunities both for human development and natural regeneration, with benefits beyond municipal boundaries. As a result, a city that expands by self-regenerating its own growing natural ecosystem

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Table 14.1 Environmental problems in Dondo informal neighbourhoods

Urban

Sub-urban

Peri-urban

Environmental Problems

Causes of Problems

Effects on People

Effects on Nature

Poor sanitation and waste management; Insufficient drinkable water supply; Water contamination; Poor house conditions due to infrequent maintenance; Crime facilitated by lack of public lighting and house security; Seasonal flooding; Urban soil erosion; MANDRUZI VALLEY: Seasonal flooding and droughts; Mangrove degradation; THUNDANE: Frequent and indiscriminate felling of trees; Deficient access routes (swamp soil); Frequent uncontrolled fires; Practice of traditional nomadic agriculture; Furtive hunting of wild animals using traditional weapons.

Insufficient human and financial resources to comply with needed urban infrastructures and management; Environmentally unmanaged and uncontrolled waste from industry sector inside residential areas; Extended and uncontrolled wood industry and forestry business sectors; Continuing need for firewood and charcoal as main domestic fuel; Traditional use of wood as main structural material in house construction; Deficient management of and insufficient resources in the natural environment; Some inappropriate cultural habits affecting the management of natural resources.

HIV/AIDS, malaria, diarrhoea and dysentery; Lack of fuel; Shortage of traditional construction materials sources; Seasonal flooding in newly floodprone areas; Soil erosion (loss of lives, houses, roads and agricultural areas); River and underwater pollution; Crop loss; Poverty and hunger; Longer energy and time consuming distances in search of firewood, charcoal, wood; Limited capacity and potential for participating in economic development.

Deforestation; Desertification; Loss of animal wildlife and biodiversity; Depletion of natural resources; Air, water and soil pollution; Climate change; Constrained nature’s regenerative lifecycle capacity.

Source: Author based on District Administration of Dondo (2006) and observation and primary data collected during fieldwork

not only improves the quality of the urban environment but also reduces human pressure on natural resources in peri-urban areas. Challenging the general negative assumptions associated with urban development, the low input Agrocity built environment, agricultural system and consumption pattern enable the city to help reduce global warming. The Dualistic Urbanisation of Mozambique Historical analysis demonstrates that the origins of urbanisation in Mozambique is linked with the requirements of a mercantile economy based on the exports of materials, resources and even people for foreign countries (first the Arabs, Persians, Indians and Chinese, and later the Portuguese), which generated social spatial segregation and dates back to the pre-colonial highly hierarchised societies6 descended from the Great Zimbabwe Kingdom, the Monomotapa. Portuguese colonial rule, characterised by the use of forced labour and taxation, led the population to disperse and return to scattered domestic settlements in more remote areas (Newitt, 1997). This dispersal and isolation of the Mozambican population occurred as a means of

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escaping colonial oppression and finding security. Spatial segregation and isolation also occurred between the villages and extensive cultivation farms in rural areas (Araújo, 1998), whether during colonial occupation or today’s land concessions for foreign market agents. Meanwhile, Mozambican men, who represented the main colonial work force, were settled in dormitories built around workplaces (Casal, 1996; Araújo, 2002). Later, from the 1950s onwards, when the modernist Portuguese cities grew, as a result of a major influx of Portuguese settlers in Mozambique to legitimise Salazar’s Portuguese empire ‘Overseas Provinces’ to postwar anti-colonial international criticism, Mozambican workers gradually began settling with their families in scattered settlements around the cities. Since women were not allowed to have a job, they continued their rural lifestyle, cultivating backyards and any open space found in and around the cities, to produce food and supplement the low wages of the men, especially when a surplus allowed part of the production to be traded (Guedes, 1976). Facing several food crises, as well as a permanent scarcity of food due to events of natural disaster and political economy change, the rural tradition and knowledge of natural processes were creatively adapted by households to meet urban challenges, giving rise to the phenomena of urban agriculture, informal food markets and domestic businesses providing commerce and urban services in the cities of Mozambique (Costa, 2002). The very rapid growth of informal urban settlements that took place following independence in 1975 was mainly due, firstly, to the nationalisation of property and land, which encouraged people to occupy the recently vacant houses and apartment blocks in colonial neighbourhoods and occupy land in the surrounding suburban areas, especially in the capital city of Lourenço Marques, today’s Maputo, and later, the mass exodus of the rural population to the cities to escape the 1976–1992 war with the counter-revolutionary Renamo (see Table 14.2). In addition, the effects of a series of natural disasters and climate change, combined with the collapse of the urban infrastructure and rapid urban sprawl, increased the social spatial segregation, which was exacerbated by privatisation since 1991. The impact of these factors has led to an increased rescaling of the inherited dualistic urbanisation that characterises the cityscape of contemporary Mozambique (see Figure 14.1). Today, the former colonial city is the formal city centre, known as ‘cidade cimento’ – the ‘cement city’ – because of the modernist European high-rise and low-rise concrete buildings and paved roads contrasting with the surrounding spontaneously settled, self-built and unserved Mozambican neighbourhoods (see Figures 14.2 and 14.3). In colonial times the latter were called ‘caniço’ or ‘bairros de caniço’ – the ‘reed’ or ‘reed neighbourhoods’, as this was the main material used to build houses (Guedes, 1976). Table 14.2 Lourenço Marques’ population during the colonial period and Maputo’s during the postindependence period Lourenço Marques (thousands)

1904

1935

1961

10

47

184

Maputo (millions)

1985

1990

2000

1.09

1.59

3.14

Source: Freund (2007) and UN-HABITAT (2008)

Despite the post-independence socio-economic transformations in the city – the great majority of residents in the ‘cement city’ are now of the Mozambican population – the contrast between the urban (the cement) and the suburban (the reed) has remained and even sharpened (Araújo, 1999: 177). The former ‘reed neighbourhoods’ are now simply called ‘bairros’ – ‘neighbourhoods’ – as any other neighbourhood whether formal or informal, to give them the dignity they are entitled. Informal neighbourhoods are actually the most dynamic and vibrant part of the Mozambican city and the place where the great majority of the population live (see Table 14.3). According to evidence from Dondo’s neighbourhoods, the creative area where the urban system regenerates itself autonomously lies in the popular margins rather than the official core, which is becoming to a considerable extent less dominant and increasingly obsolete. In Maputo, just as in other African capital

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Figure 14.1 The dualistic urban structure of Mozambique’s urbanisation – schematic diagram Source: Author, 2009

cities, the formal core dominates, expanding over informal neighbourhoods, pushing people farther to give place to suburban areas over former peri-urban areas (Araújo, 1998; 1999). The dualism of Mozambican cities is the spatial embodiment of the struggle between capitalist-induced class relations and the prevalent social systems based on kinship relations and proximity to the land (Mabogunje, cited in Stren, 1984). The mercantile genesis of Mozambique’s urbanisation which attempted to replicate the modernist European city model of planning, architecture and way of life, especially during the last period of Portuguese colonisation, in fact projected the social divisions and separations operated towards society, and urban practice has become its basis of continuation (Baía, 2011). Medium-Sized Cities Despite the fact that issues concerning cities in the developing world are commonly associated with megacities, the majority of the world’s urban population lives in small and medium-sized cities (UN, 2014) which are expected to experience the world’s fastest urbanisation rates up to 2030 (UN-HABITAT, 2012). According to the same source, the urban population of Mozambique is expected to nearly double from natural growth, migration and the classification of new urban areas from 29.1 per cent in 2000 to 36 per cent in 2025 – 60 per cent of whom will be concentrated in scattered medium-sized cities (see Tables 14.4 and 14.5). The city of Maputo will remain the single large urban centre in Mozambique, with almost 2 million residents by 2015, and in 2025 two other cities will join its ranks – Beira and Matola, or Nampula – accounting for just 34 per cent of the urban population. For this reason, in 2020 more than half (60 per cent) of the national urban

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Figure 14.2 Av. Julius Nyerere towards Av. Eduardo Mondlane, Maputo Source: Author, 2008

population will be concentrated mainly in small and medium-sized cities of less than 500,000 inhabitants (see Table 14.5). Although Mozambique has been a predominantly rural nation and the urban population is still only 35 per cent (INE, 2007) it is now an urbanising nation driven since independence, in 1975, by political economy change and environmental disaster. This rapid transition from a predominantly rural population to an increasingly urbanised one occurs in small and medium-sized cities rather than in large cities (see Table 14.6), although the study of the urbanisation phenomenon in Mozambique is still predominantly focused on the region of Maputo. Acknowledging Mozambique’s urban growth pattern of medium-sized cities is crucial to understanding the emergence of a semi-rural and low-density urbanisation pattern that has proliferated throughout the territory in a scattered network of municipalities, of which Dondo in Sofala Province is an example (see Figure 14.4). Additionally, given that the great majority (94 per cent) of the urban population currently live in informal settlements (UN-HABITAT, 2008), this both clarifies the reality neglected by conventional misconceptions of urban development, as well as important urban-rural linkages, and also anticipates the emergence of a new urbanisation paradigm in Mozambique. Transformation of the Traditional House Unit, Reorganisation of Livelihood Strategies and the Emerging Agrocity Facing the degradation of their resource base, environmental problems and unemployment, households have transformed their use of domestic space and reorganised production strategies to secure their livelihoods. The outdoor space that traditionally encloses the house and has domestic and social functions, which I have

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Figure 14.3 Urban life in Bairro Aeroporto A, Maputo Source: Author, 2008

Table 14.3 Urban population, development and the environment in Mozambique compared to Africa and developed regions Mozambique

Africa

Developed

Urban population as percentage of total population 2005

35

38

74

Urban settlements percentage of land area

0.3

0.7

3.8

Urban population average annual growth rate 2000–2005 (%)

4.8

3.4

0.6

Urban density 2005 (per km2 of urban extent)

2,609

1,589

482

Urban population living in slums 2005 (%)

80

51



Urban population with access to improved sanitation 2004 (%)

53

62

98

Urban population with access to improved water 2004 (%)

72

84

100

Energy use 2005 (kg of oil equivalent per capita)

427

712

4,937

Carbon dioxide emissions 2004 (metric tonnes per capita)

0.1

1.3

11.9

Motor vehicles in use 2000–2005 (per 1,000 population)

8

31

536

Source: UN-HABITAT (2008)

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Table 14.4 Mozambique demographic profile, 1950–2025 1950

1960

1970

1980

1990

2000

2010

2025

Rural pop. (thousands)

6,289

7,365

8,902

10,553

10,689

12,905

16,149

20,754

Urban pop. (thousands)

153

280

546

1,592

2,858

5,296

7,241

11,685

Percentage urban (%)

2.4

3.7

5.8

13.1

21.1

29.1

31.0

36.0

Source: UN-HABITAT (2012)

Table 14.5 Mozambique urban population, number of cities and percentage of urban population Settlement size class

1950

1960

1970

1980

1990

2000

2010

2020

Number of agglomerations

0

0

0

0

0

1

1

2

Population

0

0

0

0

0

1,019

1,132

2,636

Percentage of urban population

0

0

0

0

0

19

16

27

Number of agglomerations

0

0

0

1

1

0

2

2

Population

0

0

0

550

776

0

1,289

1,365

Percentage of urban population

0

0

0

35

27

0

18

14

Population

153

280

546

1,041

2,082

4,277

4,820

5,907

Percentage of urban population

100

100

100

65

73

81

67

60

1 to 5 million

500,000 to 1 million

Fewer than 500,000

Source: UN-HABITAT (2012)

termed the Outdoor Domestic Space (ODS), becomes strategically green and productive in terms of food, income, shade, cool and clean air, and social networking (see Figures 14.5–14.7), in order not only to adapt to environmental problems, resource degradation, climate change and political economy transformation, but in particular to replicate the natural conditions needed to secure livelihoods traditionally attached to nature – ‘livelihood subsistence strategies are organised and developed by households in a way that allows them to face economic adversity without loosing family cohesion and identity’ (Costa, 2002: 267). For decades, women of varying backgrounds and places have been cultivating urban farms, known locally as ‘machambas’,7 either in the ODS or in any other available open spaces in the cities of Mozambique (Sheldon, 1999). Despite that fact, most food production comes from rural machambas – the national average family

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Table 14.6 Population estimates by area of residence, 1997 and 2007 1997 (pop.)

2007 (pop.)

Absolute Growth (pop.)

Annual Average Growth (%)

National

16,075,708

20,530,714

4,455,006

2.48

Urban

4,601,100

6,203,035

1,601,935

3.03

Rural

11,474,608

14,327,679

2,853,071

2.25

Dondo District

117,719

142,387

24,668

2.14

Dondo Municipality

62,424

70,436

8,012

1.35

4,052,274

5,361,819

1,309,545

2.84

Maputo City

966,000

1,068,607

102,607

1.01

Beira City

405,040

418,141

13,101

0.32

All Municipalities

Source: INE (2007)

Figure 14.4 Map of Dondo administrative limits and selected case study neighbourhoods

Source: Author over CMD map, based on exploratory field research, 2008

Figure 14.5 Tailor workshop and domestic food garden at ODS in Bairro Nhamayabwe, Dondo Source: Author, 2010

Figure 14.6 A pleasant urban environment collectively managed in Bairro Mafarinha, Dondo Source: Author, 2010

Figure 14.7 Domestic urban farming in Bairro Nhamayabwe, Dondo Source: Author, 2010

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195

cultivated land measures 1.66 hectares (see Table 14.7) – evidence from the field demonstrates that urban households in Dondo neighbourhoods depend on urban machambas in their Outdoor Domestic Space as an important complementary source of food and fruits (see Table 14.8). Table 14.7 Family cultivated land (machamba) profile by province, 1996–2002 North

Profile

Centre

South

National

Province Niassa

C. Delgado

Nampula

Zambézia

Téte

Manica

Sofala

Inhambane

Gaza

Maputo

Total area (av. ha) 1996

1.61

1.37

1.40

0.98

1.60

1.83

1.87

2.31

2.03

1.60

1.51

2002

1.65

1.37

1.56

1.25

2.35

1.92

2.06

1.86

2.12

1.77

1.66

Cultivated area (av. ha) 1996

1.28

1.10

1.22

0.88

1.25

1.41

1.33

1.96

1.75

1.28

1.26

2002

1.51

1.26

1.06

1.14

2.13

1.50

1.72

1.27

1.51

1.16

1.34

Total area/adult (av. ha) 1996

0.45

0.45

0.43

0.28

0.41

0.42

0.45

0.63

0.42

0.37

0.42

2002

0.47

0.45

0.54

0.40

0.69

0.48

0.55

0.53

0.60

0.50

0.50

Cultivated area/adult (av. ha) 1996

0.35

0.36

0.38

0.25

0.33

0.32

0.33

0.54

0.37

0.29

0.35

2002

0.43

0.41

0.36

0.36

0.62

0.38

0.42

0.36

0.41

0.33

0.40

Animal traction (%) 1996

0

0

0

0

2

9

1

30

37

19

7

2002

0

0

0

0

35

11

2

47

44

12

11

Chemical fertiliser (%) 1996

6

1

3

0

0

0

0

0

2

0

1

2002

7

3

3

1

15

3

1

2

5

3

4

Manure fertiliser (%) 1996

1

0

2

8

1

4

1

6

2

2

3

2002

4

1

1

1

14

9

2

24

12

15

6

Irrigation (%) 1996

2

1

4

1

0

8

3

8

23

4

4

2002

8

3

2

1

28

22

6

29

27

24

11

Hired labour (%) 1996

17

17

25

17

16

20

17

14

26

14

19

2002

21

22

5

13

31

28

18

19

14

21

16

Owns bicycle (%) 1996

17

7

9

7

8

3

4

3

3

1

7

2002

42

20

14

38

36

17

20

4

10

9

23

Owns livestock (%) 1996

67

49

76

73

80

79

88

89

75

70

74

2002

62

66

72

78

85

85

79

84

76

74

76

Owns cattle (%) 1996

0

1

0

0

8

9

3

10

16

5

3

2002

0

0

1

0

14

8

1

8

18

5

4

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Table 14.7 Family cultivated land (machamba) profile by province, 1996–2002 (concluded) North

Profile

Centre

South

National

Province Niassa

C. Delgado

Nampula

Zambézia

Téte

Manica

Sofala

Inhambane

Gaza

Maputo

Owns sheep/goats (%) 1996

16

16

11

5

34

35

35

38

41

21

20

2002

15

23

22

11

52

48

42

41

30

27

27

Owns pigs (%) 1996

4

6

15

11

19

12

17

47

20

4

16

2002

1

9

10

16

18

15

12

45

18

11

15

Owns poultry (%) 1996

11

13

22

20

17

18

26

23

29

30

21

2002

10

11

11

10

10

16

18

23

26

40

14

Source: Author, adapted from Boughton et al. (2006, p. 48)

Table 14.8 Households dependency level on ODS for livelihoods: food security and income Neighbourhood

Exclusive (sole) source of …

Complementary (significant) source of …

Supplementary (back up) source of …

Only as a source of fruit and not a source of income

Food

Income

Food

Income

Food

Income

Food

Income

Nhamayabwe: 32 households



26

12

3

12



7



Mafarinha: 25 households



19

8

4

6



11

1

Thundane: 3 households

1



2

3









Total: 60 households

1

45

22

10

18



18

1

Source: Author, 2011

Urban machambas are commonly seen in open spaces throughout the neighbourhoods of Dondo beside households that have a small Outdoor Domestic Space (Veríssimo, 2010). As a response to scarcity and adversity, this has ensured that intimate knowledge of the ecological system continues uninterrupted. The process of transforming Outdoor Domestic Space is based on the continuation and reinvention of familybased subsistence lifestyles rather than an assumed rupture with their cultural past, and evolves from the traditional Mozambican house typology and the collective notion of ‘home’ – the muti. In the muti, life takes place outside rather than inside houses and reveals a very strong domestic urbanity which is the basis of today’s decentralised community organisation of the neighbourhoods developed from the ODS (see Figure 14.8). According to Costa, the multidimensional aspects of urban change can only be understood by considering the production of domestic space, which Costa calls ‘home space’, because it shapes African cities through spatial and social practices (Costa, 2011). Probably as a result of this, and given the limited official delivery of services, the urban environmental maintenance is collectively managed, and infrastructures and services improvised by the communities, in a spontaneous manner to help keep the urban system in balance. Most urban households rely on informal activities improvised from their ODS

Source: Author, 2009

Figure 14.8 Outdoor Domestic Space transformation and livelihood self-organisation in the spontaneous neighbourhoods of Dondo

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Table 14.9 Average size of ODS – multifunctional areas Neighbourhood

Plot Surface Area (m2)

No. of Residents (Res.)

House Surface Area (m2)

Density (m2/ Res.)

Outdoor Domestic Space Total ODS Surface Area (m2)

Cultivation Surface Area (m2)

Business Services Surface Area (m2)

Commerce Surface Area (m2)

Nhanmayabwe

531

6

53

9.0

478

122

21

14

Mafarinha

402

5

38

8.6

363

128

7

4

Thundane

3,967

7

42

6.0

3,924

3,085

0

1

Total (av.)

1,633

6

44

8.0

1,588

1,112

9

6

Source: Author, 2011

Table 14.10 Summary of key respondents interviewed (by communal unit, quarter, gender and occupation per neighbourhood) regarding production at their ODS Neighbourhood

Location Com. Units

Quarters

Nhamayabwe (urban-suburban)

9

28

Mafarinha (urban-suburban)

9

Thundane (peri-urban) Total

Household ODSs

Interviews

Production at ODS

Women

Men

Agric.

Servic.

Com.

32

26

24

16

25

32

23

25

21

17

15

15

23

1



3

3

3

3

0

3

19

51

60

50

44

34

40

58

Source: Author, 2011

(see Tables 14.9 and 14.10 above): domestic food gardens for subsistence and income, when a surplus allows for this, with improvised stalls and grocers selling basic goods and the typical services a city offers (carpenter, barbershop, tailor, mechanic, etc.) – ODS is shaping a new ruralised form of urban settlements in medium-sized cities, which I have named the Agrocity. Agrocity Metabolism Outdoor Domestic Space is considered here as the individual building block or cell unit in the wider whole, the Agrocity, whose definition is explored in terms of the details of the larger operative system, its dynamics and overall implications (socio-cultural, economic, ecological and institutional). The cell is resilient and incorporates modern and traditional knowledge, providing the basis for the resilience of the wider system – the human habitat – to shocks. Historically, the human habitat, as a space for production and human concentration, has been viewed as a source of conflict, reaching its peak during capitalism. In contrast, this case demonstrates that other forms of human settlement and production are possible – the use of ODS, the production process and neighbourhood self-organisation are themselves expressions of the material-energy exchange in the relationship between society and nature. The Agrocity dissipates social differentiation and power relations, promoting inclusion through collaborative networking. I analyse the Agrocity metabolism as a self-regulatory system (Girardet, 1996) both separate and derived from technocratic post-modernist (colonial and neo-colonial) urban models connected to wider processes of political and economic historical change (see Figure 14.9).

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Figure 14.9 The Agrocity Metabolism: ODS interaction forming neighbourhoods at the local level, and emergent behaviours at global levels Source: Author, 2011

Conclusion Historically, the people of Mozambique have faced oppression and social spatial segregation and responded in a way that has reinforced rather than dismantled their traditional values. Since pre-colonial times, the population’s strategy for escaping environmental and foreign political disruption has been to reinterpret and reinvent tradition, based on the principles of resilience, resistance and self-reliance. The spatial resistance and resilience expressed through the development of decentralised human settlements, involving the appropriation of land for domestic space and the self-organisation of Outdoor Domestic Space and neighbourhoods, were strategies to protect the population from successive adversities. During colonial oppression, they were used to counter discrimination, forced labour and taxation, and later, as a reaction to and a rejection of the postindependence Frelimo militarist national development agenda, and recently to halt the Guebuza government’s increasingly intolerable food and energy prices.8 Following this tradition of popular spatial insurgency and the post-independence urban boom, the Mozambican city has gained more substance and autonomy to enable it to create the conditions for urban survival and improved welfare in times of hardship. The future of Mozambique’s urbanisation would benefit from acknowledging and reinforcing the potential developed by people living in informal neighbourhoods, which has proved more advanced and effective than neo-colonial planning approaches as a means of effectively meeting the real needs of the population and helping them deal with urban challenges. The extent to which ODS is shaping a ruralised urban form challenges the imported post-modern urbanism and its top-down approaches to the relationship between the expanding informal city, growing urban population and deteriorating environment which, instead of improving urban life, exacerbate social inequality, spatial segregation and urban poverty. Given that the vast majority of the urban population rely on ODS for securing livelihoods, I suggest that through awareness, recognition and collaborative processes, the spontaneous urban expansion contributes not only to a legitimate and more sustainable form of urban development but also to positive environmental change through which society recreates itself linked with nature.

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What is initially a social response to crisis inherently becomes a response to environmental challenges too, if the balance between humanity and nature is a precondition for survival. Through resilience, decentralised urban space not only has the ability to return to its previous equilibrium in the face of shocks, but can also reinvent a new state of equilibrium. Continued crises in Mozambique have made social systems resilient enough on a basic survival level. Yet, during this process they have gone one step further to move beyond simple survival and create a new dynamic form of equilibrium that is ready to respond to present and future challenges, gradually moving towards a new kind of equilibrium in the relationship between humanity and nature. According to evidence from the case study of Dondo, foreign models increase urban poverty and social spatial segregation, have an impact on the environment and intensify dualistic urbanisation. Findings suggest that the emergent urbanisation in Mozambique needs to be recognised in terms of its inherent cultural, economic, political and ecological levels as the legitimate core, so that the obstacles created by neo-colonial misconceptions can be overcome and social spatial inequality, spatial fragmentation, urban challenges and the degradation of peri-urban resources can be addressed more effectively. Findings highlight that the present day use of self-organised domestic space may have important implications in contributing towards securing livelihoods, shaping a semi-rural and green urban form and reducing human pressure on the natural environment. The fact that daily urban life and livelihood strategies take place in the Outdoor Domestic Space rather than inside any built structure demonstrates that even in cities people can recover the innate human connection with nature or, as the case of Dondo proves, the urban setting can become the new ground where they continue to develop this relationship with natural processes because of the continued need to preserve the natural resource base in order to secure livelihoods. Although cultural knowledge may be deceptive when the vitality underlying its origins and essence is replaced by static conservatism and even backwardness, it has so far apparently satisfactorily preserved the symbiotic relationship between the human habitat and nature. The definition of the Agrocity proposed here simultaneously critiques both capitalist modernism in terms of its predatory actions and obsolescence, and socialism in terms of Frelimo’s post-independence democratic centralism, dictated by both internal and external factors. Ecodevelopment involves an ecosocialist transition that is considered here as a process that is already taking place spontaneously. This is expected to raise awareness among decision-makers and planners, and inspire others who believe, as I do, that cities are more than places for the unequal distribution of wealth, production, poverty, accumulation and waste. Although cities are commonly known as sources of environmental disruption, they also have the ability to function as a driving force in balancing the relationship between human civilisation and nature. References Araújo, M., 1998. ‘Espaço e identidade’, in Carlos Serra (ed.), Identidade, Moçambicanidade, Moçambicanização. Maputo: Livraria Universitária, UEM, pp. 161–71. ———, 1999. ‘Cidade de Maputo. Espaços contrastantes: do urbano ao rural’, Finisterra, 34(67–8), pp. 175–90. ———, 2002, ‘Ruralidades-Urbanidades em Moçambique. Conceitos ou preconceitos?’, Revista da Faculdade de Letras, Geografia I série, 17–18, 2001–2002, pp. 5–11. Baía, A.H.M., 2011. ‘Os Meandros da Urbanização em Moçambique’, GEOUSP – Espaço e Tempo, 29 (Special 2011), pp. 3–30. Berberoglu, B. ed., 2012. Beyond the Global Capitalist Crisis: The World Economy in Transition. Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Boughton, Duncan, Mather, D., Shirley, D., Walker, T., Cungara, T., Payongayong, E., 2006. Change in Rural Household Income Patterns in Mozambique, 1996–2002, and Implications for Agriculture’s Contribution to Poverty Reduction. Report 61E. Maputo: Ministry of Agriculture and Michigan State University. Brenner, N., P. Marcuse and M. Mayer, 2009. ‘Cities for People, not for Profit’, City, Analysis of Urban Trends, Culture, Theory, Policy, Action, 13(2–3), pp. 176–84.

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Casal, A.Y., 1996. As aldeias comunais de Moçambique. Lisboa: Antropologia e Desenvolvimento, Ministério da Ciência e da Tecnologia, Instituto de Investigação Científica Tropical. Costa, A.B. da, 2002. ‘Famílias na Periferia de Maputo: Estratégias de Sobrevivência e Reprodução Social’, Tese de Doutoramento em Estudos Africanos, Instituto Superior de Ciências do Trabalho e da Empresa, Lisboa. [Online], at: https://repositorio-iul.iscte.pt/ … /4/Tese%20completa%202003–01–31.pdf [accessed 8 May 2013]. ———, 2011. ‘Famílias de Maputo: processos de mobilidade e transformações urbana’, Revista Internacional em Língua Portuguesa, Series 3, 23, pp. 177–92. District Administration of Dondo, 2006. Plano Estratégico de Desenvolvimento, Provincia de Sofala. Beira: Governo do Distrito do Dondo. Friedmann, John and M. Douglas, 1975. ‘Agropolitan Development: Towards a New Strategy for Regional Planning in Asia’. Seminar on Industrialization Strategies and the Growth Pole Approach to Regional Planning and Development: The Asian Experience, UNCRD, Nagoya, Japan, 4–13 November, Comparative Urbanization Studies, Los Angeles, CA. Girardet, H., 1996. The Gaia Atlas of Cities: New Directions for Sustainable Urban Living. London: Gaia Books. Guedes, A. d’Alpoim, 1976. ‘The Caniços of Mozambique’, in Paul Oliver (ed.), Shelter in Africa. London: Barrie and Jenkins, pp. 200–209. INE, 2007. Census 2007. Sistema Estatístico Nacional de Moçambique [www.ine.gov.mz]. ———, 2012. Estatísticas do Distrito do Dondo. Maputo: Instituto Nacional de Estatística. IPCC, 2007. Climate Change 2007: Synthesis Report, contribution of Working Groups I, II and III to the Fourth Assessment Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, IPCC/WMO/UNEP. Lovelock, J., 1979. Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. Oxford: Popular Science, Oxford University Press. Mabogunje, A.L., 1994. ‘Urban Research Africa: Overview of Research Priorities in Africa’, in R. Stren, 1994, Urban Research in the Developing World, vol. 2: Africa, Toronto: Centre for Urban and Community Studies, University of Toronto. Newit, M., 1997. A History of Mozambique. London: Hurst & Company. Schultz, P.W., C. Shriver, J.J. Tabanico and A.M. Khazian, 2004. ‘Implicit Connections with Nature’, Journal of Environmental Psychology, 24, pp. 31–42. Sheldon, K.E., 1999. ‘Machambas in the City: Urban Women and Agricultural Work in Mozambique’, Lusotopie, pp. 121–40. United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division, 2014. World Urbanization Prospects: The 2014 Revision, Highlights (ST/ESA/SER.A/352). UN-HABITAT, 2008. Mozambique: Urban Sector Profile. Nairobi: United Nations Human Settlements Programme. ———, 2012. World Urbanization Prospects: The 2011 Revision Population Database. Nairobi: United Nations Population Division. Veríssimo, C., 2010. ‘Dondo Fieldwork Report’. London: Development Planning Unit, UCL, June. Notes 1 Both collective and domestic machambas farms operated in the settlements during the Monomotapa State (AD 1425–1884). 2 Dondo is the capital city of the district with the same name in Sofala Province in the Central Region of Mozambique, and is located on the east bank of the Pungwé River which flows from Beira to the Indian Ocean, a distance of about 30 km. The district of Dondo has a surface area of 2,308 km2 and a population of 161,752 inhabitants, distributed in two administrative areas called Postos Administrativos: Dondo City, which is the Municipality of Dondo and Chinamacondo and Savane, and Mafambisse – which includes Mafambisse Sede and Mutua (District Administration of Dondo, 2006; INE, 2012). 3 Frelimo’s socialist rural development agenda was based on John Friedmann ‘agropolitan approach’ (1975) by, among other aspects, erecting urban villages in remote areas.

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4 This chapter is based on research developed in three neighbourhoods, Mafarinha, Nhamayabwe and Thundane, in Dondo Municipality (close to the port city of Beira), Sofala Province in the Central Region of Mozambique. The Municipality of Dondo has a surface area of 382 km2 and is composed of 10 neighbourhoods which account for 70,436 inhabitants. Most of the Municipality population live in spontaneously built and managed urban, suburban and peri-urban neighbourhoods around the formal ‘cement city’. 5 Dondo’s Municipal Participatory budgeting process was implemented in Mozambique in 1996 by Hemma Tengler and Carlos Roque from the Austrian Cooperation. 6 The Monomotapa period (AD 200–1884). 7 Family cultivation for the household food intake but also for sale in informal markets. In Dondo Municipality, most residents produce domestic machambas as multi-crop food gardens inside their house plot in the inner city and surrounding the house plot in rural areas, while larger machambas are located close by in the fertile Pungwé River valley or more dispersedly into inner land areas towards Thundane. Machambas are not only a vital source of food for the poorest but also formal income earners. 8 The 1–2 September 2010 ‘Maputo Food Riots’.

Chapter 15

The Re-emergence of Urban Renewal in Maputo: The Importance and Scale of the Phenomenon in the Neoliberal Context Sílvia Jorge

Introduction Maputo, the Mozambican capital, is undergoing a period of significant urban transformation, resulting from intervention strategies and practices adopted in the neoliberal context, underpinned by an opening to market economy, economic liberalisation and administrative decentralisation. The socio-spatial duality that has characterised Maputo since its genesis, marked by the so-called ‘cement city’ and ‘reed city’, now assumes new frontiers and territorial contours, in which socio-spatial inequalities still tend to increase (Jenkins and Wilkinson, 2002; Raposo, 2007). The competitive and unequal neoliberal city model (Raposo, 2007, p. 222), sketched since the mid1980s, has consolidated in the new millennium, following the economic growth associated with the discovery and exploitation of economically strategic natural resources, such as gas and coal. The range of agents operating in Maputo multiplied, installed powers and interests diversified, and the weight of capital in urban transformation increased through national and foreign investments in infrastructure and in the real estate sectors. Marked by different types of intervention (Raposo et al., 2012), the transformation is particularly intense in the urbanised centre, the areas adjacent to it – herein designed as peri-central areas – and the area close to the city’s northern limit (Jorge and Melo, 2014). Beyond self-production, which is prevalent, and the demarcation and attribution of plots, associated or not with regularisation processes, the territory is the object of urban upgrading interventions, through the implementation or improvement of basic infrastructures and public spaces, and the construction of major road projects, facilities and gated communities. An increasingly significant part of these interventions is based on the urban renewal paradigm: the tabula rasa of pre-existent urban fabric and the relocation, forced or induced, of local residents to more peripheral areas, thus generating processes of fragmentation, gentrification, exclusion and socio-spatial segregation (Vivet, 2010; Jorge and Melo, 2014). Some of these interventions are isolated, such as in urban upgrading actions where demolition is limited to buildings that, as an example, hinder street enlargement; but most have subjacent a radical space transformation perspective. Following a global trend (Orueta and Fainstein, 2008), the recent re-emergence of urban renewal in Maputo reflects the strengthening of the dominant logic of investment in the renovation and recapitalisation of strategic areas that are economically profitable from a real estate market point of view. In the urbanised centre, old single-family houses are gradually being replaced by taller buildings. Along the new major roads’ infrastructure, many houses are being demolished, either to allow the construction of the former or to open space for real estate. However, it is in the peri-central self-produced areas that urban renewal is more expressive. These areas, particularly those located along the coast and the city’s main access roads, concentrate massive urban renewal plans and projects, according to current territory management tools and legal frameworks. Simultaneously, an intensive parallel real estate market has developed, which is characterised by smaller-scale interventions with a greater effective impact on the territory. On the one hand, through a territorialised approach, this chapter analyses the urban renewal interventions in Maputo, its particularities and evolution in the neoliberal context, as well as the legal tools and plans that support them and the specificity of peri-central self-produced areas. On the other hand, through a deep analysis of two paradigmatic case studies – Maxaquene A and Polana Caniço – this chapter reflects on the

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impact and the gap between the planned and effective transformation of the territory, taking into account the relations between market logic and subjacent everyday practices, adding to the dynamics established between the various agents involved in these processes. Urban Renewal in Maputo: Characteristics and Evolution The urban renewal paradigm is not exclusive of the current context. The first expansion plan for Lourenço Marques1 (1887) was proposed during the colonial period and it idealised a modern city distinct of pre-existent spaces. Inside the planned city, masonry construction became obligatory, and wooden, iron and zinc buildings were provisionally tolerated in specific areas. Urban growth and, mainly, the promotion of an exclusionary real estate market drew and consolidated a dual city, composed by planned and self-produced areas around the urbanised centre. These last areas, devoid of basic infrastructures, were seen by the municipal authorities as undisciplined extensions of provisional character that were necessary to eradicate (Forjaz, 2006, pp. 14–15), an intervention that was proposed by the General Urban Plan for Lourenço Marques of 1952. Mendes (1985, pp. 99–103) refers to the ‘bulldozer force’ exerted in this period on some strategically located peri-central self-produced areas and the expulsion of local residents to more peripheral areas, an approach criticised in 1963 by Pancho Guedes in his manifesto, the ‘Manual de Vogal Sem Mestre’ (see Morais, 2006, pp. 150–52). Further to clarifying the underlying dominant interests, Pancho Guedes revealed a new look and attitude in relation to self-produced areas, defending their upgrading, taking into consideration the improvement of living and habitability conditions of their residents. This alternative approach, focused on the implementation of basic infrastructure and support facilities, was later incorporated into the Lourenço Marques Master Plan of 1969, at the peak of the Armed Struggle for National Liberation. According to Forjaz (2006, p. 15), the so-called ‘reed city’, which was considered the epicentre of revolutionary ideals, concentrated four-fifths of the city’s population. A strategic intervention became necessary in an attempt to appease the minds and assure local allies. After independence (1975), urban upgrading was reaffirmed as a preferential approach through its integration into various general plans: the Structure Plan of 1979 (not published), the Maputo’s City Structure Plan of 1985, the Structural Plan of 1999 and the Urban Structure Plan for the Municipality of Maputo of 2008. Even though this approach has been central to these plans, it has only been implemented in some paradigmatic cases, of which the following stand out: the actions developed by the Cabinet of Urbanisation and Housing of the Region of Lourenço Marques on peri-central self-produced areas in the last years of the colonial period (DINAPOT/MICOA, 2006); the re-planning of Maxaquene and Polana Caniço developed by the National Directorate of Housing, funded by the United Nations, in the first years of independence (Saevfors, 1986); and, more recently, the infrastructure works on Mafalala (2004–2005) coordinated by a nongovernmental organisation, with World Bank funding, and the upgrading project to Chamanculo,2 coordinated by the Municipal Council, with funding from Cities Alliance, the Brazilian and Italian governments, the World Bank, and the Municipal Council (Jorge and Melo, 2014). In the first years of independence, the measures adopted on behalf of greater equity, namely the nationalisation of land and housing stock, as well as the massive departure of colonists, greatly slowed down the land market and real estate speculation. Urban renewal was temporarily abandoned, returning with more force than ever in the more recent neoliberal context. Similarly to what happens in Europe and the United States (Orueta and Fainstein, 2008, pp. 760–61), this type of intervention has re-emerged in association with major projects: be it either buildings with symbolic value, gated communities, major infrastructures or intervention plans, spanning vast areas and different occupation uses. Symbolic buildings are concentrated in the urbanised centre, along the main avenues and particularly in the downtown area, where the most important companies are headquartered, such as Maxaquene Towers, Pott Building and Maputo Business Towers, all private investments. Gated communities, destined for the upper classes, now proliferate along the coast and main access roads, often implying the demolition of pre-existent urban fabric, the relocation of several families and/or the occupation of environmentally sensitive areas. Major infrastructures cover a larger territorial extension, affecting both the most central areas and the most peripheral. Some of them, such as Zimpeto Stadium, were built in unoccupied areas, but others, specifically Maputo’s main ring road, the bridge Maputo/KaTembe and Julius Nyerere Avenue’s reconstruction3 – the first two financed by the China Exim

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Bank and the third by the Municipal Council and the World Bank – imply the demolition of many dwellings and the relocation of thousands of families, with strong social, environmental and territorial impacts. The still ongoing construction of the bridge Maputo/KaTembe has alone, by March 2014, resulted in the resettlement of over 5,000 families.4 Finally, the urban plans based on the renewal of existing urban fabric converge to peri-central self-produced areas, some of them also affected by new major infrastructures, as is the case in the neighbourhoods of Maxaquene and Polana Caniço. The urban renewal interventions are located in areas that tend to offer higher financial returns. The aforementioned projects and plans are fundamental to reshaping and refocusing the real estate market, taking into account the interests and necessities of the most important companies and the upper classes. On the one hand, their elaboration and implementation implies the existence of an alliance between the public and private sectors. According to some authors, including Brenner and Theodore (2004), the state’s role in the neoliberal context simultaneously promotes major projects, new decentralised forms of governance and market-oriented development, facilitating great private investment. On the other hand, these projects are associated with new financing means: through agreements between local or central governments and international financing agencies (such as the World Bank), other countries (such as China), nongovernmental organisations (NGOs) or real estate promoters, whose counterparts rarely are publicly displayed. According to Orueta and Fainstein (2008, p. 761), the major urban renewal projects to be implemented require the support or, leastways, the indifference not only of the political class, but also of civil society. The technical and political dominant discourse which presents urban renewal as the great promoter of urban and economic development in favour of the city and its residents hides the real goals and consequences of these approaches and contributes to their general inevitability and acceptance, without questioning the subjacent capitalist logic. At the same time, from 2000 (a year marked by major floods) onwards, the perception of the peri-central self-produced areas as ‘natural risk zones’ helped legitimate the relocation of families, financed by the Municipal Council, to peripheral areas, vacating some well-located land for real estate investment (Raposo, 2007, p. 239). Although the classification of these spaces does not always translate on the immediate implementation of renewal plans, due to few public resources and the fear of social and political consequences (Raposo, 2007, p. 232 and pp. 238–9), the fact that public funds are applied primarily for the benefit of the upper classes and dominant interests is, nevertheless, obscured. The policies, legal tools and plans that support these urban renewal interventions, presented and analysed in the next point, also play an important role in current processes and dynamics. Once again, following the global trend, the urban planning and legislation tends to respond to the dominant interests, in other words, according to Maricato (2002, p. 124), the plano-discurso (plan-discourse) plays an ideological role and helps to conceal the true interests of urban investment. In Maputo’s case, even though the land continues to be owned by the state, in a compromise between the traditional and formal jurisdiction, the new legal apparatus proves to be ambiguous in relation to the rights of use and exploitation of land, thus opening space to urban renewal interventions. Legal Tools and Plans The new Land Law (Law 19/97, 1 October) highlights the importance of encouraging the use and exploitation of land, so as to contribute to economic development (preamble). According to the Land Law Regulation (Decree 66/98, 8 December), it is simultaneously necessary to facilitate access to land by national and international investors and to recognise the rights acquired by occupation (preamble). However, these two objectives can reveal incompatibilities in the case of areas that are already occupied and yet strategically located from a real estate market’s perspective, as is the case of the peri-central self-produced areas. Land rights are acquired and secured by a title of use and exploitation of land (DUAT). Notwithstanding, from a legal viewpoint its absence is not detrimental to the occupation rights acquired by local communities and national individuals, that have, in good-faith, occupied a plot of land for more than 10 years, a situation that holds throughout much of Maputo’s territory. Nevertheless, local communities can lose any rights to land if the occupied area is considered a ‘partial or total protection zone’ – for future infrastructure expansion, existing systems’ expansion and maintenance (Nation Land Policy, Resolution 10/95, 17 October) – or, simply,

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reserved for other purposes (article 9 of the Land Law Regulation). Furthermore, the extraordinary access to land by the state through expropriation is also foreseen (article 30 of Urban Land Regulation, Decree 60/2006, 26 December) – in order to implement relevant projects of ‘public interest’ – with right to just compensation. Once the state tends to promote and benefit from great private investment, the notions of ‘public use’ or ‘public interest’ can assume, in line with Habermas (2011), different readings and interpretations, following the dominant interests, regardless of occupation rights. The current Land Law previews the granting of DUAT titles in the areas covered by urbanisation plans (article 23). However, the Urban Land Regulation goes further and presents urbanisation as a prerequisite for the granting of DUAT titles, which requires areas destined for support facilities and public services (article 21), and determines the existence of an urban plan and the fulfilment of its rules by the occupants (article 29). This same regulation considers three different levels of urbanisation (basic, intermediate and complete) and these are all very far from the reality of most self-produced areas, namely the peri-centrals. The basic level implies the demarcation of plots (for housing and other uses), the definition of streets and their arborisation, automobile and pedestrian access to each resident, as well as water supply in quantity and quality compatible with existing uses (no. 2, article 22 of Urban Land Regulation). In the self-produced areas, especially in those that form an organic tissue (as is the case of some peri-central areas), it is only the plots that are located along the main access roads that will mainly have the possibility to fulfil the basic requirements for urbanisation. Similarly, in urban renewal plans, the occupiers of the self-produced areas will hardly be able to comply with the new rules and directives, which are principally oriented at the real estate market destined for the upper classes. Even though the Urban Land Regulation foresees the participation of local communities and collective public and private organisations throughout the whole process of preparation, execution, amendment and revision of the plans (articles 9 and 10), the actual level of public participation remains to be known. Also worthy of note is that the territorial planning legislation was only promulgated in 2007 (Territorial Planning Law, Decree 19/2007, 18 July) and that, despite the rapid growth of urban population, no urbanisation or detailed plan was ever published from independence (1975) until that date. Consequently, extensive areas were occupied outside of any approved plan and even plots that were at the time demarcated by local authorities still have no legal statute (Mosse and Matusse, 2008, p. 8). After the publication of this legislation, different plans have been prepared for the city of Maputo, such as the ‘Urban Structure Plan for the Municipality of Maputo’. This plan was prepared as part of a municipal programme financed by the World Bank – the PROMAPUTO (2008–2016) – and was approved by the municipal assembly in 2008. Coordinated by José Forjaz, it reflects a critical point of view about the territorial reality by presenting, as priorities, the upgrading of the so-called ‘informal neighbourhoods’, the promotion of social housing and the diversification of urban functions and activities, thus avoiding suburbanisation and spatial segregation, aiming for the reduction of social-spatial inequalities (Maputo’s Municipal Council, 2008a, p. 7). The upgrading interventions are intended not as singular actions but as a permanent and constant campaign to improve living conditions for the most vulnerable city residents, respecting the citizens’ rights to place and permanence. In that light, displacement actions can only be considered in exceptional cases and they must always happen voluntary and be duly compensated (Maputo’s Municipal Council, 2008a, p. 15). In the case of ‘unplanned areas’ that are subject to partial urbanisation plans, this plan proposes urban land regularisation, provision of infrastructure, implementation of support facilities and the provision of green areas for leisure and recreation. However, it also notes that the reconstruction of Julius Nyerere Avenue and the new development areas in Costa do Sol, Zimpeto and the city’s bullring could potentially become new structuring poles of urban life, while enumerating various projects and public-private partnerships (that had already been awarded or were undergoing evaluation, tender or preparation phases) (Maputo’s Municipal Council, 2008b, pp. 117–18). As happens in the current legal framework, the Urban Structure Plan for the Municipality of Maputo presents some ambiguities and contradictions. On the one hand, it proposes the urban upgrading of self-produced areas and, at the same time, the permanence of its residents; on the other hand, it integrates various real estate projects whose implementation implicates the renewal of existing urban fabric. The various partial urbanisation plans that followed in the wake of the Urban Structure Plan reveal different approaches that depend on the localisation of the areas to be intervened and the dominant interests involved. As mentioned by Jorge and Melo (2014), partial urbanisation plans of the areas close to the city’s northern limit – Zimpeto, Magoanine A, B and C, Albazine, Ferroviário, 3 de Fevereiro, Mahotas and Laulane – which

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are of later occupation and still relatively uncompromised, have captured a diversity of interventions. These include the implementation or upgrading of infrastructures, sometimes demanding the demolition of preexisting spaces (such as the reconstruction of national road N1 and, more recently, Maputo’s main ring road), as well as the Municipal Council’s initiative of extensive land regularisation. In peri-central self-produced areas, where very few dwellers own a DUAT title, urban upgrading is limited to Mafalala and Chamanculo C – although the latter may have a broader character – and urban renewal assumes a greater weight in terms of covered area – Maxaquene A, Polana Caniço, Xipamanine and the city’s bullring. The following section analyses specifically the cases of Maxaquene A and Polana Caniço, where urban transformation based on renewal is currently stronger and more intensive. Maxaquene A and Polana Caniço Both Maxaquene A and Polana Caniço have in common a privileged location, close to the centre and the main access roads of the city, which contributes towards the strong real estate pressure that is being exerted by private investors, especially after the major floods of 2000. This natural disaster left, in both cases, several families without a home, which in the case of Polana Caniço was aggravated by the destruction of Julius Nyerere Avenue. Some self-produced neighbourhoods, the most peri-central, were classified by the Municipal Council as ‘natural risk zones’, deemed to be urbanised, and as areas in need of urgent ‘urban improvement’, in that way defending their urban renewal (Raposo and Jorge, 2013, p. 37). Most of the displaced families were resettled near the city’s northern limit, in some of the neighbourhoods that currently are a target of regularisation. Maxaquene A is covered by an urban renewal plan that was interestingly born of a local experience of urban upgrading. In this experience, two NGOs – Engineers without Borders of Cataluña and the Mozambican Association for Concerted Development – agreed to come together to work in this neighbourhood in 2007, in conjunction with the respective secretary,5 for the construction of drainage valleys and latrines. Two years later, in 2009, these same NGOs proposed to the Municipal Council the elaboration of an urban plan, later defined as the Partial Urbanisation Plan, with the objective of replicating these upgrading interventions, giving particular emphasis to the upgrading of public space, and to the start of a regularisation process. The elaboration of the plan entailed the involvement of other partners, namely: the state government, through the Ministry of Environmental Coordination; the Local District (KaMaxaquene); the Centre for Studies and Habitat Development of the Faculty of Architecture and Physical Planning of the University Eduardo Mondlane, which was responsible for the plan’s elaboration (together with Engineers without Borders of Cataluña); and the NGO Water and Sanitation for the Urban Poor. During the official partnership presentation, which took place in Maxaquene A, with the presence of the local community, the president of the Municipal Council stressed the importance of improving the quality of life and habitability for local residents. At the occasion, the renewal of the existing urban fabric was described as and limited to a number of small-scale actions, such as the widening of streets. However, in the first official presentation of the plan, an event which was only open to the partners and municipal technicians, the president of the Municipal Council criticised this approach, imposing a radical change of the plan towards total urban renewal. While pointing out the strategic location of Maxaquene A and the interest shown by various private investors in this area, he declared that local residents would be economically compensated and would be able to build a house in another location or, in turn, return to their homeland. Strongly contradicting the intervention approach presented at public hearings, the technical team that was responsible for the plan’s elaboration decided to follow the municipal directives and propose a tabula rasa of the existing urban fabric, as well as the construction of high buildings for housing, offices, commercial spaces and some collective facilities. This intention was unanimously accepted by the various partners and approved by the municipal assembly in 2012, in this way excluding the voice and participation of local residents. In 2013, the plan’s funding NGO – Engineers without Borders of Cataluña – now in partnership with another local NGO – Kuwuka – developed awareness and empowerment workshops focusing on the rights and duties of local residents, with the objective of raising awareness of the real intentions contained in the plan.

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In the case of Polana Caniço, which consists of two neighbourhoods – Polana Caniço A and B – the Municipal Council declared its interest in revitalising this area in 2011, claiming ‘the harmonious development of those plots of municipal land’. A foreign urban development company, that lacked previous experience in Mozambique or in similar urban contexts, was selected to elaborate the partial urbanisation and detailed plans’ previews, which have not yet been completed.6 As opposed to the case of Maxaquene A, the Municipal Council assumed the lead from the beginning of the process, specifically through its Economic Activities Department, in partnership with private investors. Furthermore, this process also involves the central government, through the Institute of Management and Participation of the state that partially funds the project, the Local District (KaMaxaquene) and the Local Authorities (secretary and some heads of quarter). Through the Centre for Studies and Habitat Development, academia is also involved in this project, having drafted the reference terms of the intervention. Similarly to what happened in Maxaquene A, local residents are being turned away from the process of the plan’s elaboration, often only gaining knowledge of the plan’s intentions through the media or local authorities, normally as a fait accompli in which they can no longer interfere. Both in Maxaquene A and in Polana Caniço it is expected that private investors bear the costs of the relocation of local residents, whose only return is a financial compensation (that depends on their existent plot’s area, as well as on the characteristics and dimension of the house) and/or a plot in a more peripheral neighbourhood. Unlike what is provided by law, local residents have the right neither to the use and exploitation of land nor to participate in the public discussion of the plan. The compensation, dictated by economic interests of real estate investors, will not reflect the extent of the real losses, seen as the value of cultural and social relations, as well as of the traditions built over decades which cannot be evaluated. Taking into account Maxaquene A’s case, it is expected that the high urbanisation costs involved in the foreseen interventions and the volatility of the real estate market will tend to delay the implementation of the plans (Jorge and Melo, 2014). However, these plans make any upgrading intervention impossible or unviable, putting at stake the improvement of living conditions and habitability of the local populations. Apart from these plans, these neighbourhoods have also been subject to major road infrastructure interventions by the initiative of the Municipal Council: in Maxaquene A, the recent reconstruction of Milagre Mabote Avenue (2010–2011), which is already complete, was financed by the Belgian Cooperation (Figure 15.1); and, in Polana Caniço, the reconstruction of Julius Nyerere Avenue (2012–), in progress, is financed by the World Bank, within the framework of PROMAPUTO. Both interventions have implicated the widening of pre-existing roads, some demolitions and, consequently, the resettlement of many families to more peripheral neighbourhoods, all actions that were supported by the Municipal Council. The reconstruction of both these avenues announces, in a way, the urban transformation expected from the plans but also promotes a parallel and speculative market, which in some situations circumvents the law and, in others, takes advantage of it. Even though the land is owned by the state and, according to the law, cannot be sold, mortgaged or disposed of, it is commercialised, on a daily basis, in a highly competitive parallel market of exchanges and transactions often involving clientelistic practices (Kihato and Royston, 2013). In the late 1990s, Araújo (1999, pp. 178–9) referred to the complex transformation that some of the neighbourhoods closest to the city centre were undergoing, in which a number of the local residents were forced to move to peripheral areas in order to make way for new residents, who, with much greater economic power, were able to build their houses without any support plan. This case was particularly flagrant in Polana Caniço A (Figure 15.2), which is located in the vicinity of one of the noblest neighbourhoods in the city, Sommerschield. Authors such as Raposo and Jorge (2013) and Jorge and Melo (2014), have recently noted the increase of similar processes in the current context – mainly along the areas adjacent to new road structures – to the construction of houses and gated communities, as in Polana Caniço, but also to the construction of warehouses, car dealerships and commercial areas, as in Maxaquene A and surrounding neighbourhoods. Private investors, sometimes resorting to intermediaries, individually negotiate one or more plots with local residents, who accept changing their plot for another that is often times more peripheral, and/or receiving financial compensation. After the negotiation, the transition is communicated to local leaders to validate it through the delivery of a document with the plot’s identification and its new user’s name. The latter thus begins the regularisation process in the Municipal Council, which does not impede immediate plot occupation, in some cases with the consent of municipal inspectors (Jorge and Melo, 2014). The growing dynamics of the real estate market are reflected in the increase in demand growth and value of the plots. As shown by Jorge and Melo (2014), a plot in Polana Caniço with approximately 160 m2, transacted

Figure 15.1 Milagre Mabote Avenue after its reconstruction (Maxaquene A) Source: Author, 2013

Figure 15.2 Demolitions in Polana Caniço A as a result of the parallel market Source: Author, 2013

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in 2009 for 5,000.00 dollars, might have quadrupled its value in just two years. The difference between the price at purchase and the plot’s current value may be higher after regularisation with the DUAT title, and its occupation with a luxurious construction is likely, given the proximity to Sommerschield. However, beyond this valorisation and the pressure exerted by private investors and their intermediaries, the state’s role, the relation and interaction between all agents involved, the experience and knowledge of each resident about the urban renewal processes, as well as the resistance capacity of the local community, also determine and influence everyday practices and their territorial impact. Even though the municipal authorities do not have the capacity to control this renewal process, the same only occurs due to the consent of municipal politicians and technicians, both in the regularisation phase, by assigning the DUAT title to upper classes (a title which was denied to former residents), as in the construction phase, sometimes in disagreement with the plan (Maxaquene A) or without planning support (Polana Caniço). Cumulatively, the urban renewal plans and the transformations proposed therein, even if ultimately they are not implemented, do reaffirm the intention of the Municipal Council to make a blank slate of the existent urban fabric and the alliance between public and private sectors. The urban renewal processes associated with major road infrastructure interventions (reconstruction of the avenues Milagre Mabote and Julius Nyerere), led by the Municipal Council, reveal that the compensation attributed by the Municipal Council to the affected families is substantially lower than the one offered by private investors. When the state intervenes, local residents are required to leave and accept whichever compensation values are offered, seeing their rights of choice or negotiation being removed. This perception, coupled with a lack of knowledge about their rights and the legitimacy of their occupation, leads many local residents to accept the investor’s proposal, in fear of the state’s intervention. For some local residents, particularly for the most disadvantaged, the amounts involved in the transaction of the plots represent an opportunity to improve their lives. Depending of the transition’s value, they can buy a plot in another neighbourhood (increasingly more peripheral), build a new house and, in some cases, even buy a car. For other local residents, especially those who, for example, have lived longer in the neighbourhood, who know their rights and have strong neighbourly relations and/or work in the city’s centre, the valorisation of their plot is not enough for them to want to leave the neighbourhood, and therefore they resist urban renewal. However, the increased power of the market, the strong valorisation of peri-central areas, the support, encouragement or indifference of the state regarding these processes and the existent great social inequality, either determine a weak resistance capacity of local residents, resilience or even the acceptance of market rules and, in most cases, their exploitation in favour of private interests (Raposo and Jorge, 2013, p. 46). Conclusion Following the global trend, urban renewal re-emerges in Maputo in the neoliberal context, supported by the demolition of pre-existent urban fabric and the relocation of local residents, tendentiously to more peripheral areas. This approach is present in different intervention types, with different scales and purposes. The demolition in upgrading interventions is isolated and normally made for the benefit of the community, but it assumes a bigger scale in the construction of new major roads’ infrastructure, in some partial urbanisation plans and in interventions resulting of the parallel real estate market, taking into account the dominant interests. Urban renewal is particularly intensive and expressive in the strategically located peri-central selfproduced areas, close to the city centre and main access roads, as in the case of Maxaquene A and Polana Caniço, herein objects of a deeper analysis. The current legal framework is ambiguous and contradictory and it opens a broad range of possible interpretations about the occupation, use and exploitation of the peri-central self-produced areas. The land remains the state’s property and Land Law recognises the rights acquired by local communities’ occupations, that have happened in good faith and for at least 10 continuous years, even if without possession of the DUAT title. However, it also presents some exceptions, providing four possible scenarios for self-produced areas: (1) the acquisition of a DUAT title; (2) the absence of a title, without prejudice to the rights acquired by occupation; (3) the absence of a title and any land rights, if the occupation is not considered of good faith and/ or has not happened for more than 10 years; and (4) expropriation, if the area is located in a ‘partial or total

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protection zone’, or if it is the recipient of a project considered of ‘public interest’. Simultaneously, Urban Land Regulation present urbanisation as a prerequisite for the granting of a DUAT title and determines the existence of an urban plan and the fulfilment of its rules by the occupants. The publication of urban planning legislation has triggered the emergence of new urban plans that admit the participation of local communities and collective organisations throughout the whole process of their preparation, execution, amendment and revision. Even though the Urban Structure Plan for the Municipality of Maputo presents an alternative intervention for self-produced areas, defending their upgrading and the permanence of local residents, it also enumerates a set of projects and plans that imply large scale urban renewal. The type of intervention subjacent to the different partial urbanisation plans depends on the location and existing real estate interests for a specific area. The peri-central self-produced areas, excepting some upgrading interventions, concentrate the renewal plans whose implementation tends to drag on over time (for example Maxaquene A). Based on the analysis of these case studies it is possible to identify a gap and, at the same time, a concordance between the legal text, the planning tools and the effective transformation of the territory. On the one hand, the land, a ‘public good’, is converted into private gains and the limits of occupation rights may result from the close relationship between the political system and real estate markets, involving clientelistic practices. A significant part of the city’s population, specifically of the peri-central areas, may not have security of land occupation or even access to land, because it is sold at speculative and inaccessible prices, completely contradicting the principles enunciated in the Land Law. On the other hand, some transformations, namely the reconstruction of relevant major roads’ infrastructure, as well as the renewal plans, have a legal framework of support from which they take advantage of its loopholes and ambiguities. Driven primarily by developers and private investors, the urban renewal interventions have the endorsement and agreement of the state and local leaders, but also of international organisations (namely the World Bank), some NGOs and, at times, the academia, who frequently assumes an ambiguous and contradictory role. The reaction of local residents differs according to the available information about the process, their economic capacity and housing conditions, type of negotiation, and, especially, the immediate benefits in their lives, their lifestyle (either more urban or more rural) and period of residence in a determined place (Raposo and Jorge, 2013, p. 44). The resistance and counter-action capacities depend on a sense of the collective, the organisational capacity and the residents’ allies, as well as on the dynamic and power of economic groups and the role of the state, especially with regards to land security. However, the right to the city and access to its benefits tend to be exclusive to the upper classes and the holders of power of purchase and influence. Acknowledgement The author wishes to acknowledge the support of Margarida Ramos in the English revision of this chapter. References Araújo, M., 1999. Cidade de Maputo, Espaços Contrastantes: do urbano ao rural. Finisterra. 34 (67–8), pp. 175–90. Brenner, N. and Theodore, N., 2004. Spaces of Neoliberalism: Urban Restructuring in North America and Western Europe. Oxford: Blackwell. DINAPOT/MICOA, 2006. GUHARLM, Experiência de gestão de terras metropolitanas no Grande Maputo no período anterior à Independência Nacional. Maputo: Direcção Nacional de Planeamento e Ordenamento Territorial (DINAPOT), Ministério para a Coordenação da Acção Ambiental (MICOA). Forjaz, J. (ed.), 2006. Moçambique, Melhoramento dos Assentamentos Informais, Análise da Situação and Proposta de Estratégias de Intervenção. Maputo: Direcção Nacional de Planeamento e Ordenamento Territorial (DINAPOT), Ministério para a Coordenação da Acção Ambiental (MICOA). [Accessed 27 February 2014].

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Habermas, J., 2011 [1st ed. 1961]. The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Cambridge: MIT Press. Jenkins, P. and Wilkinson, P., 2002. Assessing the Growing Impact of the Global Economy on Urban Development in Southern African Cities: Case Studies in Maputo and Cape Town. Cities. 19(1), pp. 33–47. Jorge, S. and Melo, V., 2014. Processos e Dinâmicas de Intervenção no Espaço Peri-Urbano: o Caso de Maputo. Cadernos de Estudos Africanos. 27, pp. 55–77. Kihato, C. and Royston, L., 2013. Rethinking Emerging Land Markets in Rapidly Growing Southern African Cities. Urban Forum. 24(1), pp. 1–9. Maputo’s Municipal Council, 2008a. Plano de Estrutura Urbana do Município de Maputo: Introdução. Maputo: Maputo’s Municipal Council. ———, 2008b. Plano de Estrutura Urbana do Município de Maputo: Análise da Situação Actual. Maputo: Maputo’s Municipal Council. Maricato, E., 2002. As ideias fora do lugar e o lugar fora das ideias. In Arantes, O., Vainer, C. and Maricato, E. (eds), A Cidade do Pensamento Único. Petrópolis: Editora Vozes. Mendes, M., 1985. Maputo antes da independência: geografia de uma cidade colonial. Lisboa: Instituto de Investigação Científica Tropical. Morais, J., 2006. A Intemporalidade do ‘Manual de Vogal Sem Mestre’ para caniço de Lourenço Marques, de Pancho Guedes. Pós, Revista do Programa de Pós-Graduação em Arquitectura e Urbanismo da FAUUSP. 19, pp. 144–57. http://revistas.usp.br/posfau/article/download/43468/47090 [Accessed 19 February 2014]. Mosse, M. and Matusse, S., 2008. Gestão do Solo Urbano e Corrupção em Moçambique, as práticas corruptivas nas cidades de Maputo e da Matola. Maputo: Centro de Integridade Pública. Mozambique, 1995. Política Nacional de Terras e as respectivas Estratégias de Implementação. Resolution 10/95, 17 October. Maputo: Diário da República. ———, 1997. Lei de Terras. Decree 19/1997, 1 October. Maputo: Diário da República. ———, 1998. Regulamento da Lei de Terras. Decree 66/98, 8 December. Maputo: Diário da República. ———, 2006. Regulamento do Solo Urbano. Decree 60/2006, 26 December. Maputo: Diário da República. ———, 2007. Lei de Ordenamento do Território. Decree 19/2007, 18 July. Maputo: Diário da República. Orueta, F. and Fainstein, S., 2008. The New Mega-Projects: Genesis and Impacts. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research. 32(4), pp. 759–67. http://cuimpb.cat/politiquesurbanes/docs/Num_31_ ijur_829.pdf [Accessed 19 February 2014]. Raposo, I., 2007. Instrumentos e práticas de planeamento e gestão dos bairros peri-urbanos de Luanda e Maputo. In Oppenheimer, J. and Raposo, I. (eds), Subúrbios de Luanda e Maputo. Lisboa: Edições Colibri. Raposo, I. and Jorge, S., 2013. Public Participation in the Urban Planning of Maputo and Lisbon Suburban Neighborhoods: Virtues and Ambiguities. Cescontexto: Rethinking Urban Inclusion. 2, pp. 33–48. Raposo, I., Jorge, S., Viegas, S. and Melo, V., 2012. Luanda e Maputo: inflexões suburbanísticas da cidade socialista à cidade-metrópole neoliberal. Urbe, Revista Brasileira de Gestão Urbana. 4(2), pp. 189–205. http://www2.pucpr.br/reol/index.php/urbe?dd1=7395&dd99=view [Accessed 17 February 2014]. Saevfors, I., 1986. Maxaquene: A Comprehensive Account of the First Urban Upgrading Experience in the New Mozambique. Maputo: UNESCO. Vivet, J., 2010. Déplacements forces et citadinités: Les deslocados de guerra à Maputo. Paris: Universite de Paris Ouest Nanterre La Defense. PhD Thesis École Doctorale Milieux Cultures et Sociétés du Passé, Universite de Paris Ouest Nanterre La Defense. Notes 1 Before independence (1975), Maputo was known as Lourenço Marques. 2 Ongoing at the time of writing. 3 Apart from these major infrastructures, with ongoing construction, a surface metro is planned to link Maputo, Matola, Boane and Marracuene, whose construction is expected to start in December 2014 and conclude in 2016. 4 According to local news published on 10 March 2014 in Correio da Manhã, no. 4279.

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5 Each neighbourhood in Maputo is headed by a secretary of the FRELIMO (the country’s biggest political party) and is divided into quarters, each with a respective leader. According to the Municipal Regulation of 2011, the secretary and the quarters’ leaders are elected by the Municipal Council and not by the local community, as happened in the previous regulation. 6 At the time of writing.

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Chapter 16

Naming the Urban in Twentieth-Century Mozambique: Towards Spatial Histories of Aspiration and Violence1 Tiago Castela and Maria Paula Meneses

Introduction: Urban Naming in the Formation of Political Orders This chapter explores how the naming of urban spaces contributes in the formation of colonial and postcolonial political orders, imposing prospective imaginations of urbanity, as well as selectively memorialising and forgetting the past. In particular, the chapter examines the naming and renaming of streets, reference points and neighbourhoods by the state apparatus in a large Mozambican city like the present capital Maputo. Through this study of urban naming, we discuss how successive political projects were emplaced in Maputo, during the modern Portuguese colonial presence – from the late nineteenth century onwards, from the monarchy to the republic – and after political independence in 1975. Knowing the history of the creation and revision of urban names contributes to an understanding of the genealogy of moral mappings in postcolonial contexts. The chapter focuses on the role of urban naming in the formation of postcolonial state planning, foregrounding the ways in which state naming practices in 1976 produced a revised official geography that evokes plural projects of the political. We will interrogate how this plurality is productive of urban subjectivities. Critical studies of modernity in the social sciences have long shown how the naming practices of state apparatuses are crucial in the articulation of political orders: anthropologist James Scott has recalled the recent imposition of permanent surnames in European states and their colonies (1998, p. 64), while geographer Allan Pred showed how the naming of urban spaces in nineteenth-century Europe was integral to the formation of a liberal urbanity spatially segregated according to class, a project continuously challenged by workers’ quotidian geographies in cities like Stockholm, Sweden (1990). More recently, geographer James Freeman has provided a critical perspective on present-day popular geographies in a postcolonial city like Managua, Nicaragua (2010). Furthermore, the postcolonial politics of memory and aspiration has been valuably studied by urban historians like Abidin Kusno in Indonesia (2004) and James Duminy in South Africa (2014), by literature scholar Amos Mushati in Zimbabwe (2013), and by scholar Aquino de Bragança, historian Jacques Depelchin, and political scientist Anne Pitcher in Mozambique itself (Bragança and Depelchin, 1986; Pitcher, 2006). However, the roles of the urban naming practices in the planning of colonial cities spatially separated according to the racial/ethnic divide are not well known. Furthermore, we have yet to study how the memorial and aspirational logic of colonial naming practices persists after political independence. This study of urban naming in Mozambique aims at contributing to a spatial history that recalls how both urban aspirations and the selective memorialisation of the past, including episodes of violence, are elements of urban planning integral to the construction of new orders of the political. ‘Lourenço Marques is Dead’: Urban Naming as Revolutionary Pedagogy in Postcolonial Mozambique Seven months after the declaration of independence, the first president Samora Machel declared the following at the start of a speech on 3 February 1976 before the citizens gathered in a large roundabout, then still called the Airport Roundabout, on the outskirts of the Mozambican capital; a speech announcing the imminent nationalisation of rental housing:2 ‘Shall we say Lourenço Marques? The population of Lourenço Marques? How shall we say then? Viva the population of the province of Maputo! Viva the population of the province of Maputo! Viva the population

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Independence had been declared on 25 June 1975, after 11 years of war against Portuguese occupation, undertaken by FRELIMO, the Mozambican Liberation Front, of which Samora Machel had been president since 1970.4 The Mozambican capital’s name was officially changed to Maputo through Decree-Law 10/76 of 13 March, stating that the change had been effective from 3 February onwards.5 KaMpfumo, the historical name of the territory of the Mpfumo polity, had also been considered as a name for the city as a whole during the preceding years,6 even before the declaration of independence and during the Transitional Government created after the Lusaka Agreement of 7 September 1974.7 In an interview carried out in the early 1990s, the then administrator of the reformed protestant Christian Swiss Mission,8 Mozambican pastor Valente Matsinhe, stated: ‘the deceased Macave [i.e. Gabriel Makavi], who was a poet said, shortly before independence, during the Transition Government, for him and for many, they thought the capital would be called capital Mpfumu, “ka Mpfumu”, for them it was the territory of Mpfumu. Note that, we could not imagine that it could be called Maputo, because Maputo was on the other side of the bay’. (Martins, 1995, p. 64; our translation)9

Indeed, the new official name of the capital evoked the Maputo river, the southernmost watercourse of the future Mozambique polity, partly marking the border with the Republic of South Africa, as well as the historical name of the Maputo polity, both located outside the city proper and south of the present-day Maputo bay (Liesegang, 1969). The notion recalled by Matsinhe had been sufficiently widespread for Portuguese journalist João Carreira Bom to name the city ‘Can Phumo’ twice in a report written during the week before independence and published in the weekly magazine of the Lisbon newspaper O Século, without mentioning the name Maputo.10 Nevertheless, with independence the project of an united Mozambican national territory expressed through the ubiquitous FRELIMO motto ‘do Rovuma ao Maputo’ (i.e. ‘from the Rovuma to the Maputo’) seems to have been preferred over a reference to the ancient polity of Mpfumo, which had emerged long before the European occupation of the present-day municipality and of southern Mozambique in the late nineteenth century. As Mozambican scholar José Cabaço notes, during the independence war ‘the expression “from the Rovuma to the Maputo” entered the FRELIMO lexicon to designate national unity’ (2007, p. 406; our translation).11 In the FRELIMO motto, the name Maputo was supposed to denote the southernmost river and the border with the Republic of South Africa, not the Maputo polity. Simultaneously the quotidian name Xilunguíne was neglected by the emerging postcolonial state apparatus. Xilunguíne, referring in the XiRonga and in the XiChangana languages to ‘the place of the customs of the white’, had notably been used during the independence war by Portuguese historian of Mozambique Alexandre Lobato in the title of his Biografia da Cidade (Biography of the City) (1970). This was a designation used by many urbanites in popular geographies of Lourenço Marques, excluding those of European origin or descent that concentrated then in the southeastern section of the urban area. North American historian Jeanne Penvenne argues that the name Xilunguíne had been used from the 1870s onwards (1995, p. 28), initially by ‘Portuguese sertanejos (backwoods hunter-traders), African and Asian traders, hunters, and transport workers’ (1995, p. 29). This idea is supported by Mozambican urban planner of Scottish provenance Paul Jenkins: Xilunguíne was the term that the indigenous Ronga people used to refer to the “city” – the place of strangers. This referred above all to the “cement city” as they early on had established places of their “own” in cultural terms (within strict socio-economic and political parameters) within the co-called [sic] surrounding “caniço” [“wicker”] areas. (2009)

Before addressing the full extent of the changes introduced by Decree-Law 10/76 as the inaugural official document of urban naming as revolutionary pedagogy in postcolonial Mozambique, it is pertinent to address

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briefly the more recent scholarly and official discourse regarding the names KaMpfumo and Xilunguíne, in order to better understand how those names may have been understood by the emerging state apparatus in the mid-1970s. For while the Portuguese name Lourenço Marques was explicitly rejected by FRELIMO, both KaMpfumo and Xilunguíne were implicitly dismissed at the time. The emplacement of Portuguese names on occupied territories had been understood from the beginning by both the colonial state apparatus and by many urbanites as an integral part of the colonial project. In the case of the sidewalk in front of the main façade of the city hall at the time of independence, the motto ‘Here is Portugal’ had been materially inscribed on the pavement in large letters. In contrast, the name KaMpfumo had been widely deployed by early twentieth-century local newspapers like O Africano (The African) as a form of open protest against the cultural and economic oppression of colonialism.12 This explains why the name Lourenço Marques was swiftly and explicitly rejected in early 1976. However, the implicit dismissal at the same time of names such as KaMpfumo and Xilunguíne involved other orders of justification. Arguably the idea of choosing KaMpfumo, even though it was circulated among several privileged nationalist actors, was seen by the FRELIMO leadership as a dangerous encouragement of what Silva has termed ‘Tsonga identity’ (1996, p. 302) and of ‘regionalism’, at a time when it was crucial to create the capital as the symbolic endpoint of a long struggle that had started by a crossing of the Rovuma river border and that ended 13 years later in southernmost Mozambique, by the margins of the Maputo river; a struggle for a national and independent Mozambican identity. In addition, many Mpfumo had participated as ‘traditional chiefs’ in the colonial state apparatus (Martins, 1995, p. 47); it must be noted that President Machel characterised the ‘vestiges of feudal classes’ as part of the ‘exploitative classes’.13 An example of the techniques deployed to diffuse the idea of Maputo as an endpoint of a long struggle in 1975 is provided by a photograph taken by Alfredo Cunha illustrating the above-mentioned report by Carreira Bom. The photograph shows a vitrine by a Lourenço Marques sidewalk, containing a framed photograph of Eduardo Mondlane, the first president of FRELIMO, in front of a large ‘map-as-logo’ of Mozambique, to paraphrase Anderson ([1983] 2006, p. 175).14 The map shows the country’s territory as an island, lacking a representation of neighbouring states and of regional borders, as well as a distinction between ocean and continent. The only visual elements apart from the shape of the territory are small round marks indicating the location of district capitals, and two words in capital letters: ‘ROVUMA’ above the map and ‘MAPUTO’ below it. As for Xilunguíne, it may be inferred that opting for a name representing subalternity was unimaginable for a FRELIMO leadership intent on fully decolonising Lourenço Marques, which included precisely fostering the emergence of a properly Mozambican city. Why evoke the idea of a segregated domain of ‘white’ forms of living, notably taking into account that Mozambique as an imagined nation was conceived as an anti-racial project? Thus, declaring the new name of the city in front of the citizens gathered at the Airport Roundabout in the summer of 1976 was not merely a pedagogical rejection of the colonial name of the capital and of the ways in which European occupation had emplaced its project of colonialism in the African continent, it was also an equally pedagogical choice of a revolutionary Mozambican nationality, one that dismissed a ‘feudal’ past and celebrated the possibility of creating a new anti-racial urban subjectivity. By the 2000s, accounts by built environment researchers of the history of Maputo showed to what extent this revolutionary pedagogy had failed to erase the valuation of both precolonial history and of a memory of the Mozambican experience of colonialism. Such accounts invoked references either to KaMpfumo as an original name or to an urban inequality implied in the term Xilunguíne, while avoiding a thorough and explicit discussion of the projects of the political enmeshed with this toponymic trinity. Indeed, the animated discussions on the history of Mozambique that took place in the years immediately after 1975 have been somewhat neglected by many scholars, an example of the modes of forgetting of the politics of early independence. For example, Italian architectural researcher Luigi Corvaja starts his architectural history of the city published in 2003 by recalling the arrival of the first Europeans to ‘Mpfumo … in the legends of the Ronga tradition’ (p. 13; our translation); in a note the author states, ‘Mpfumo was the son of Nhlaryti, the mythical founder of the dynasties of chiefs or régulos that came from Swaziland with their peoples and settled in the lands of the bay, later called of “the Lagoon”’ (2003, p. 15; our translation). In contrast, Jenkins evokes the name Xilunguíne in order to argue that ‘the city centre of Maputo … seems doomed to return to be a

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new Xilunguine in the light of weak political will and local forms of governance, dominated by international speculative funding and limited cultural valorisation of the endogenous’ (2009). More recently, the name KaMpfumo has been officially recuperated, while Xilunguíne seems to be largely absent from quotidian geographies: KaMpfumo is since 2010 the official name of the southeastern section of Maputo. However, the name seems to remain contentious, at least amidst Mozambican writers. For example, in the 2012 collection of statements published by the Minerva publishing house titled A Minha Maputo é … (My Maputo is …), Juvenal Bucuane titled his piece ‘Ka Mpfumo’, while another author lamented in the name of the city itself that ‘they say soon I will be called Kampfumo, they might know. It is the men [sic] that impose laws and I have seen several laws’ (Noronha, 2012, p. 93; our translation). But Decree-Law 10/76 did not just change the name of the capital of Mozambique. It also changed the names of 13 other cities and towns in the country, like Porto Amélia (present-day Pemba) or João Belo (present-day Xai-Xai). The preamble of the decree justified this change claiming: the designations of numerous cities and towns in our country reflect still today, in a manner offensive for the Mozambican people, the colonial domination that the latter was subjected to. The colonial system by imposing those designations, not only manifested the greatest disrespect for the Mozambican culture and personality, but also endeavoured to celebrate sinister figures of the Portuguese fascist regime. It is thus crucial to immediately eliminate those names that … represent an insult to the dignity of our people.15

A week later, at the opening of the 8th session of the Central Committee of FRELIMO, President Machel presented an argument that went beyond the justification of the erasure of the names imposed by the colonial state apparatus, stating, ‘the name Maputo will designate a truly Mozambican city, within a society free from racism, from regionalism and from prejudices’ (Machel, 1976, p. 8; our translation). Six months later, the Ministry of State in the Presidency informed the press about the changed names of squares, avenues, gardens and parks, schools, hospitals and markets in the city of Maputo. By now, state naming practices were not only articulated with ‘the values and traditions of the new Mozambican society’, part of another global political project, but had become explicitly associated both with a discourse of ‘popular participation’ and with an ongoing process of revolutionary pedagogy for the government of urban subjects: ‘we should prepare a more profound study so that the change in place names is not an emotional act but instead a revolutionary action, mobilising and educating the new generations’.16 After all, by mid-1976, the state apparatus had engaged in the drastic rupture with the rationality of spatial production of colonial Mozambique that the nationalisation of rental housing constituted. The recently created Administração do Parque Imobiliário do Estado (APIE, Administration of the State’s Real Estate Property) managed ‘in the cities of Maputo and Matola, in Machava and its environs, about 40 thousand units, of which 17 thousand are located in the so-called concrete city’.17 Furthermore, the postcolonial state apparatus rearticulated the concept of ‘aided self-help’,18 a policy that had been imagined as the main state intervention in peripheral spatial production in the last colonial development plan (Presidência do Conselho, 1974), by associating such a development concept with an ethics of rurality. As President Machel defended in a visit to the northeastern province of Cabo Delgado in August 1976, ‘the countryside should invade the city’.19 Both nationalisation and the experiments in aided self-help were emergency spatial interventions that were integral to the project of actual political autonomy that would condition the debate on a postcolonial urban planning during the following decade in Mozambique; and the experience of such interventions would shape the formation of a situated school of urban theory that we will examine elsewhere. We argue that the state naming practices of the mid-1970s must be understood in relation to this broader developmental rationality initiated with independence. With hindsight, such rationality ultimately entailed the reconstitution of the unequal division of the city, since it included the assumption that rural development would erode ‘marginal’ urban growth, and included neglect for the popular geographies of the city, since urban dwellers were purportedly tainted by an intrinsically colonial urban subjectivity. On 25 June 1976 names imposed by the Portuguese colonial state apparatus like Heroes of the Occupation Square or Discoveries Square were replaced with names like Mozambican Heroes Square or Workers Square. References to Portuguese monarchs like Dom Luís I Avenue or Dom Manuel I Avenue were replaced by references to FRELIMO leaders, to political leaders of other politically independent states in the African

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continent like Kenneth Kaunda or Patrice Lumumba, to European philosophers like Karl Marx, or to other revolutionary leaders like Ho Chi Minh. This new official geography evoked plural projects of the political by emplacing in the city references to the socialist project, to African nationalism, to global self-determination struggles and to the situated history of the Mozambican independence war, while maintaining the names of Portuguese physicians like Egas Moniz, poets like Tomás Ribeiro or even military men such as Comandante João Belo. However, as before independence, the lived experience of urbanity recorded through a popular geography of the city seems to have been neglected. Furthermore, the masculinised character of state naming practices remained unchallenged. On 14 March 1973, elected alderwoman Maria Dias, a railroad worker, had intervened during the discussions regarding new street names in then Lourenço Marques: ‘I wanted to suggest that we should also remember women, for the street names, because there are women that joined their husbands, gave their life for the city, and came here when this was bush. There are the first primary teachers that were here, sisters of charity that took care of neglected children, and I think that they also deserve that the city recalls them’.20

Immediately after independence, among the few women recalled as individuals was Josina Machel, the late spouse of President Machel; otherwise, two women’s organisations were referenced: FRELIMO’s Destacamento Feminino, a women’s guerrilla unit; and the Organização da Mulher Moçambicana (OMM, Organisation of the Mozambican Woman), a women’s organisation within FRELIMO.21 A Spatial History of the Political: Urban Naming in the Early Portuguese Occupation and in PresentDay Maputo During the 1980s, the celebration of a revolutionary rupture with a purportedly static colonial arrangement of urban names remained in the emerging scholarship in Mozambique. Mozambican cartographer Fernando Pililão stated in a review of the naming practices of the postcolonial state apparatus: the designation of certain localities, both cities and towns … had the purpose of evoking important figures of the period of Portuguese domination in Mozambique, thus ignoring the true names that reflected the historical and cultural facts of the people, which truly existed but were marginalised, and so the Mozambican Government had to change those names in defence of the historical and cultural rights of the country. (1989, p. 10; our translation)

The history of postcolonial urban naming remained mostly unexamined as an integral part of urban planning practices. In a valuable text on postcolonial Maputo, Portuguese geographer Maria Clara Mendes included no reference to urban naming amidst the spatial ‘political interventions’ she reviews; an annex merely listed the correspondence between old and new urban names (1985). While in everyday naming practices the successive designations of thoroughfares like Avenue Samora Machel – initially called Aguiar and later renamed Dom Luiz – were often effortlessly made present, only by the late 1990s could we find an explicit reference by a transportation historian to urban naming as an historical process, briefly describing the 1976 decision as a moment of ‘great changes’ akin to the one that followed the overthrow of the Portuguese monarchy on 5 October 1910, while noting that change was ongoing during the whole of the twentieth century (Vieira, 1997, p. 137). Let us briefly recall that earlier moment of construction of a new order of the political: after 1910 the republican project for Portuguese empire was emplaced in the avenues and squares of then Lourenço Marques, drastically revising their official designations by partially erasing the names of Portuguese kings – like the recently murdered Dom Carlos – or popular references to urban landmarks like the Caminho de Ferro (the railway), the Fonte (the fountain) or the Ponta Vermelha area. The new urban names selected by the state apparatus celebrated the new political order in distant Portugal, evoking leaders of Lisbon’s victorious republican movement, like physician Miguel Bombarda and the first President Manuel de Arriaga, the date of the proclamation of the new

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republic at the town hall of the imperial capital, or the name of the new political order itself: República. In addition, the very recent violent occupation of southern Mozambique itself was also commemorated, introducing the names of Portuguese men who had led the occupation campaigns – absent from the official geography of the city during its early years: officer Mouzinho de Albuquerque, who had captured king Ngungunyane in 1895; or António Enes, who as High Commissioner in Mozambique had organised the military campaign led by Albuquerque. Thus, the urban naming practices of the new regime articulated the republican political order with the military subjection of Mozambique, allowing but a few references to the pre-revolutionary past or to popular geographies of the city. Among these the Irmãos Albasini square is notable, as it celebrated two brothers that were most influential in the early nationalist movement in Mozambique (Penvenne, 1995, p. 65). It is pertinent to note that this was also a period of concern amidst settlers of European origin in Lourenço Marques regarding the materiality of the built environment of the future. In consequence of a campaign launched by the Lourenço Marques Guardian newspaper in 1910, permits for building in wood and zinc in the city proper were disallowed from April 1912 onwards (Lima, 1968, p. 64). Henceforth, the central city would be built in cement, initially imported from Germany (Lima, 1968, p. 58). To conclude this section, we would like to ask to what extent the early popular geographies of the city were erased in everyday spatial practice after the overthrow of the monarchy in Portugal? After all, it must be recalled that many citizens of present-day Maputo know few of the official names of the central avenues; instead, in quotidian exchanges notable buildings often serve to give directions. Furthermore, in the neighbourhoods outside the central city where the overwhelming majority of citizens reside, few street names are used: instead, citizens can for example evoke the name of their neighbourhood and the number of their block. How were popular geographies diversely practised during the Portuguese occupation of southern Mozambique from the late nineteenth century to 1975? Although further research is necessary, it is pertinent to suggest that understanding the relations between official urban naming and the everyday practice of popular geographies is crucial for the exploration of a broad conception of urban government. Conclusion: Aspirations and the Memory of Violence This chapter started by arguing that while studies of modernity have shown how the naming practices of state apparatuses are crucial in the articulation of political orders, the roles of naming practices in colonial cities spatially separated according to the racial/ethnic divide are not well known; notably, the chapter recalled that the literature has yet to study how the simultaneously memorial and aspirational logic of colonial naming practices persists after political independence. We argue that elements of the logic of colonial practices persisted in the following ways: through the foregrounding of the memory of predominantly male, military violence, albeit liberating, evidently in relation to the evocation of leaders of African nationalism and of the internationalist movement; and through the maintenance of the distinction of the central city and the surrounding neighbourhoods in urban naming practices. In particular, it is remarkable how persistent popular geographies, attentive for example to the names of notable residents as a means of ordering the everyday experience of the city, have been neglected in the naming practices of the state apparatus, both before and after independence. We would like to add that we consider that this chapter can contribute to the debate on a new model of the city and of new modes of planning. As we mentioned, it would be very pertinent to recall the contributions of the group of urban planners that formed a Maputo school of urban theory in the late 1970s and in the early 1980s. As will be addressed in a future text, recalling this school would help the planning field to be more attentive to the crucial question of government, and ultimately to the question of the democratisation of urban government, and the democratisation of urban planning. References Anderson, B. ([1983] 2006). Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London, Verso.

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Bragança, A.D. and Depelchin, J. (1986). From the Idealization of FRELIMO to the Understanding of the Recent History of Mozambique. African Journal of Political Economy, 1, 162–80. Cabaço, J. (2007). Moçambique: Identidades, Colonialismo e Libertação [Mozambique: Identities, Colonialism and Liberation]. PhD Thesis, University of São Paulo. Corvaja, L. (2003). Maputo: Desenho e Arquitectura [Maputo: Design and Architecture]. Maputo, Edições FAPF. Duminy, J. (2014). Street Renaming, Symbolic Capital, and Resistance in Durban, South Africa. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 32, 310–28. Freeman, J. (2010). From the Little Tree, Half a Block toward the Lake: Popular Geography and Symbolic Discontent in Post-Sandinista Managua. Antipode, 42, 336–73. Jenkins, P. (2009). Xilunguine, Lourenço Marques, Maputo: Structure and Agency in Urban Form – Past, Present and Future. In: Bakker, K.A. (ed.) African Perspectives 2009 – The African City Centre: [Re] sourced, University of Pretoria. Kusno, A. (2004). Whither Nationalist Urbanism? Public Life in Governor Sutiyoso’s Jakarta. Urban Studies, 41, 2377–94. Liesegang, G. (1969). Dingane’s Attack on Lourenco Marques in 1833. Journal of African History, 10, 565–79. Lima, A.P.D. (1968). Casas que Fizeram Lourenço Marques [Houses that Made Lourenço Marques]. Lisbon, Centro de Estudos Históricos Ultramarinos. Lobato, A. (1970). Lourenço Marques, Xilunguíne: Biografia da Cidade [Lourenço Marques, Xilunguíne: Biography of the City]. Lisbon, Agência Geral do Ultramar. Machel, S. (1976). Discurso do Presidente Samora Machel no Acto de Abertura da 8ª Sessão do Comité Central da Frelimo [Speech of President Samora Machel in the Opening Act of the 8th Session of the Central Committee of Frelimo]. In: Departamento de Informação e Propaganda da Frelimo (ed.) Documentos da 8ª Sessão do Comité Central da Frelimo: Maputo, 11 a 27 de Fevereiro de 1976 [Documents of the 8th Session of the Central Committee of Frelimo: Maputo, February 11 to 27, 1976]. Maputo, Departamento de Informação e Propaganda da FRELIMO. Martins, O. (1995). ‘Va ka mpfumu’, Lourenço Marques e Maputo: Uma Inter-relação Problemática [‘Va ka mpfumu’, Lourenço Marques and Maputo: A Problematic Interrelationship]. Dissertation, Universidade Eduardo Mondlane. Mendes, M.C. (1985). Maputo antes da Independência: Geografia de uma Cidade Colonial [Maputo before Independence: Geography of a Colonial City]. Lisbon, Instituto de Investigação Científica Tropical. Meneses, M.P. and Martins, B.S. (2013). No Olho do Furação? A África Austral no Contexto da Guerra Fria (Década de 1970) [In the Eye of the Hurricane? Southern Africa in the Context of the Cold War (the 1970s Decade)]. In: Meneses, M.P. and Martins, B.S. (eds) As Guerras de Libertação e os Sonhos Coloniais: Alianças Secretas, Mapas Imaginados [The Liberation Wars and the Colonial Dreams: Secret Alliances, Imagined Maps]. Coimbra, Almedina. Mushati, A. (2013). Street Naming as Author(iz)ing the Collective Memory of the Nation: Masvingo’s Mucheke Suburb in Zimbabwe. International Journal of Asian Social Science, 3, 69–91. Noronha, T. (2012). Myself. In: Gonçalves, V. (ed.) A minha Maputo é … [My Maputo is …]. Maputo, Edições Minerva. Penvenne, J. (1995). African Workers and Colonial Racism: Mozambican Struggles and Strategies in Lourenço Marques, 1877–1962. Portsmouth, NH, Heinemann. Pililão, F. (1989). Moçambique: Evolução da Toponímia e da Divisão Territorial, 1974–1987 [Mozambique: Evolution of Toponymy and of Territorial Division, 1974–1987]. Maputo, Universidade Eduardo Mondlane. Pitcher, A.M. (2006). Forgetting from Above and Memory from Below: Strategies of Legitimation and Struggle in Postsocialist Mozambique. Africa, 76, 88–112. Pred, A. (1990). Footing about the City, or Getting Around the Streets and Ideological Domination: Lost Wor(l)ds of Spatial Orientation and Popular Geography. In: Lost Words and Lost Worlds: Modernity and the Language of Everyday Life in the Late Nineteenth-Century Stockholm. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Presidência Do Conselho (1974). IV Plano de Fomento 1974–1979: Tomo III, Moçambique [Fourth Development Plan 1974–1979, Volume 3: Mozambique]. Lisbon, Imprensa Nacional Casa da Moeda.

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Scott, J. (1998). Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed. New Haven, CT, Yale University Press. Silva, T.C.E. (1996). Protestant Churches and the Formation of Political Consciousness in Southern Mozambique (1930–1974): The Case of the Swiss Mission. PhD Thesis, University of Bradford. ——— (1998). Identity and Political Consciousness in Southern Mozambique, 1930–1974: Two Presbyterian Biographies Contextualized. Journal of Southern African Studies, 24, 223–36. Sitoe, B. (1996). Dicionário Changana-Português [Changana-Portuguese Dictionary]. Maputo, Instituto Nacional do Desenvolvimento da Educação. Vieira, S. (1997). Os Eléctricos de Lourenço Marques [The Trams of Lourenço Marques]. Maputo, Salomão Vieira. Notes 1 This chapter draws from the results of a research project titled Urban Aspirations in Colonial/Postcolonial Mozambique: Governing the Unequal Division of Cities, 1945–2010. This research project was undertaken at the Centre for Social Studies of the University of Coimbra, Portugal for FCT, the Portuguese state Fundação para a Ciência e a Tecnologia (Foundation for Science and Technology), in collaboration with researchers at the University of the Witwatersrand of Johannesburg, South Africa and at University Eduardo Mondlane of Maputo, Mozambique. The project reference code attributed by FCT is ‘EXPL/ATP-EUR/1552/2012’. The project aims to examine the history of the government of the unequal division of cities in Mozambique, from the end of the Second World War to the present. The objective is to understand the ways in which the government of the purported ‘peripheries’ of cities was suffused with aspirations, not only of officials and professionals working in state planning, but also of the unequal citizens of urban neighbourhoods such as Chamanculo in Maputo, where most black urbanites resided in the late colonial period. This project explores a broad conception of situated urban government, as a field encompassing the planning practices of the state apparatus and the ways in which citizens govern their own lives amidst spatial divisions. Research addresses three aspects of urban government: firstly, the effects of colonial professional knowledge, foregrounding how Portuguese planners valued the so-called ‘indigenous’ periphery as a space that contrasted culturally with the European city; secondly, the formation of professional and lay-persons’ discourses of the urban between Mozambique and South Africa today; and thirdly, the naming, renaming, claiming and reclaiming of urban spaces in relation to successive political orders – which is the topic of this chapter. This aspect is key to understand both the urban visions of the state vis-à-vis everyday naming practices and how colonial governmental reason was rearticulated after the national political independence of Mozambique in 1975. 2 3 February was henceforth the Day of the Mozambican Heroes in Mozambique. 3 ‘Dia dos Heróis Moçambicanos: Presidente Samora Anuncia Importantes Medidas Revolucionárias’ [‘Day of the Mozambican Heroes: President Samora Announces Important Revolutionary Measures’] Tempo. 15 February 1976. Our translation; emphasis added. 4 FRELIMO was created in June 1962 in Dar es Salaam, then the capital of Tanganyika, a former British colony politically independent since December 1961. In September 1964 FRELIMO started the independence war in northern Mozambique, along the border with Tanzania (the union of Tanganyika and Zanzibar created that year), partly marked by the Rovuma river. With the national political independence of Mozambique in 1975, FRELIMO came to be the country’s single party, formally becoming the Frelimo party in 1977; and episodes of violence erupted in the country against the regimes dominated by settlers of European descent in neighbouring Rhodesia and in South Africa (Meneses and Martins, 2013). In 1976, a new wave of armed violence was started by the RENAMO (i.e. Mozambican National Resistance) guerrilla forces, sustained by the abovementioned neighbouring regimes. A peace agreement was signed in 1992, and the first multiparty elections – one of the key conditions of the agreement – were held in 1994. The Frelimo party has remained in government. 5 Decree-Law 10/76, 13 March, 1976. 6 ‘Ka’ is a locative particle in both the XiChangana (Sitoe, 1996, p. 306) and the XiRonga languages. Thus, ‘KaMpfumo’ means ‘in the territory of the Mpfumo’. The latter is both the name of a polity and a Ronga surname; in addition, it may mean ‘explosion’ in XiChangana (Sitoe, 1996, p. 122). The history of the Mpfumo polity has been addressed by scholars in Mozambique (Liesegang 1969; Martins 1995). 7 It must be noted that other kinds of emplacements of the colonial project started being challenged during the Transitional Government. For example, the 1940 monument to Mouzinho de Albuquerque that stood in front of Lourenço Marques’ town hall was removed.

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8 The role of institutions like the Swiss Mission was crucial for the construction of Mozambican nationalism, as Mozambican historian Teresa Cruz e Silva has noted, and thus the perspectives of pastors like Makavi and Matsinhe were certainly influential at the time of political independence (1996; 1998). In particular, Silva argues that the ‘emergent national consciousness was “imagined” within the boundaries of colonial Mozambique. It built on earlier identities which were re-imagined to fit in with the nationalist cause’ (1998, p. 229). 9 Gabriel Makavi, who was born in 1897 and died in 1982, resided in Lourenço Marques from 1950 onwards, and was a pastor at the Swiss Mission until retirement in 1966. He published his only poetry book in the XiChangana language in 1980, titled Muambi Wa Vubumabumeri. ‘Faleceu o Poeta Makavi’ [‘Poet Makavi Died’]. Notícias. 13 October 1982. 10 ‘Moçambique: Independência Nacional’ [‘Mozambique: National Independence’]. O Século Ilustrado. 28 June 1975. 11 In Portugal, the name used to identify the independence war today is Guerra Colonial (i.e. Colonial War), replacing the colonial term Guerra do Ultramar (i.e. Overseas War). In contrast, in Mozambique the phrase luta de libertação (i.e. liberation struggle) is often deployed, evoking a broad political project that encompasses the self-determination both of the state and of subjects. 12 O Africano. 25 December 1908. 13 Interview with Samora Machel. Tempo. 26 December 1976. Our translation. 14 As Benedict Anderson notes, the ‘logo-map penetrated deep into the popular imagination, forming a powerful emblem for the anticolonial nationalisms being born’ (Anderson, [1983] 2006, p. 175). 15 Decree-Law 10/76, 13 March, 1976. 16 ‘Alteração à Toponímia de Maputo: Comunicado do Ministério de Estado na Presidência’ [‘Changes in Place Names in Maputo: Information of the Ministry of State in the Presidency’]. Notícias. 3 August 1976. Our translation; emphasis added. 17 ‘APIE: Baixar Rendas e Melhorar Trabalho’ [‘APIE: Lowering Rents and Improving Work’]. Notícias. 22 July 1976. Our translation. 18 ‘Autoconstrução Assistida: Combate à Marginalidade Urbana’ [‘Aided Self-Help: Combat against Urban Marginality’]. Notícias. 1 July 1976. 19 ‘Visita Presidencial a Cabo Delgado: Samora Machel Explica Vantagens da Planificação’ [‘Presidential Visit to Cabo Delgado: Samora Machel Explains the Advantages of Planning’]. Notícias. 6 August 1976. 20 ‘Novas Denominações Toponímicas na Zona Oeste do Bairro das Cronistas (na Sessão Realizada em 14 de Março de 1973)’ [‘New Place Names in the Western Zone of the Cronistas’ Neighborhood (in the Session Undertaken on 14 March, 1973)’]. Boletim Municipal 12. 30 June 1973. Our translation. 21 Later, the name of Emília Daússe was also recalled. Daússe was another member of FRELIMO who had died during the independence war.

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Chapter 17

Prepaid Electricity in Maputo, Mozambique: Challenges for African Urban Planning Idalina Baptista

Introduction Infrastructure has been an integral part of planning’s modernizing ideal (Boyer, 1983; Kaika and Swyngedouw, 2000; Graham and Marvin, 2001). This relationship has been particularly contentious in the fragmented landscapes of colonial and postcolonial cities (Kooy and Bakker, 2008). In sub-Saharan Africa alone, land use planning regulations and urban projects actively shaped the dual urban form of many colonial cities, whereby segregation along racial lines dictated the provision of infrastructure and access to utility services. Postcolonial planning has moved seemingly little in the direction of redressing these imbalances, as shown by the enduring infrastructure deficit or policymakers’ unwillingness to acknowledge the pervasiveness of ‘slum urbanism’ (Pieterse, 2011). The expansion of prepaid utility services in sub-Saharan Africa offers an opportunity to examine the intersections between infrastructure and urban planning in postcolonial contexts. Within the progressive and inclusive ideals of urban planning developed post-Second World War, it became standard practice to roll-out utilities with recourse to post-payment, whereby clients pay for the utility after having consumed it. This standard practice presupposed a specific relationship between the state (i.e. the service provider) and citizens (i.e. service consumers). On the one hand, the state was responsible for providing universal and good quality utility services in appropriately planned urban areas. On the other hand, citizens would fulfil their obligation to pay promptly and to refrain from utility theft or infrastructure tampering (Guy et al., 2001). It is reasonably fair to say that post-payment remained the standard practice even when commodification and privatization of the water and electricity sectors expanded from the late 1970s onwards. The deployment of prepaid utilities turns this logic somewhat on its head, for it requires that consumers acquire an amount of the utility before using it. Where electricity blackouts or water supply cuts are common, as in many African countries, prepayment holds the promise of future consumption, but not the certainty of utility security. Moreover, where household incomes are meagre, prepayment implies a form of disciplined consumption among the urban poor, which has been lauded by some but heavily criticized by others (Baptista, 2013). While these aspects of prepayment are deeply entangled with underlying assumptions about urban planning, there has been little reflection about how prepayment is reframing the role of infrastructures in ordering space and socializing individuals into a specific political-spatial order. If technology is invested with a particular sociality and politics about who its users are and how they are governed (Akrich, 1992), then the implementation of prepayment has the potential to reframe the subjectivities, the underlying logic, and the techniques of government imbued in urban planning. Understanding the processes through which such reframing may be happening due to prepaid utilities offers insight into the postcolonial urban condition in subSaharan Africa, especially in relation to the interactions between urban poverty, infrastructure and planning. This chapter examines the challenges that prepayment poses to postcolonial urban planning in sub-Saharan Africa by examining how the universalization of prepaid electricity reflects the nature of urbanization in Maputo, Mozambique. The largest city and the political-economic hub of Mozambique, Maputo’s urban and infrastructural development followed a trajectory similar to that of other African cities. Urbanization unfolded along racial lines since colonial times with startling infrastructural differences between the European ‘city’ and the Indigenous ‘suburbs’. Prepaid electricity was first introduced in the Maputo area in 1995 as a means to recover unpaid consumption due to prolonged debt or energy theft. The success of the initiative led the state-owned electricity company EDM, Electricidade de Moçambique, to

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universalize prepayment in Maputo and the whole country. By 2013, prepayment was the standard way of consuming electricity in Maputo, where most households were connected to the grid. EDM drove this process largely without the involvement of the Maputo City Council and unconnected to a clear form of planned urban development. Instead, the company responded to growing electricity demand by individual households striving to improve their livelihoods and access a specific modern way of life in the context of much uncertainty and urban poverty. As a result, the electrification of Maputo and widespread use of prepayment mirror the nature of the urban condition and of the urbanization processes on-going in Mozambique in postcolonial times. Methodologically, this chapter is based on fieldwork conducted in 2013 involving 30 households in the peri-urban areas of Maputo, observation at prepayment vending shops, semi-structured interviews with key-informants and archival research. Findings from the Maputo case suggest prepayment reframes core aspects of the urban planning ideal in two ways. First, prepayment constitutes the acceptance of poverty as the defining characteristic of the urban condition in sub-Saharan Africa, thus challenging planning’s progressive and inclusive ideals. Second, prepayment contributes to reframe what constitutes the acceptable standard of service underpinning planning’s ideal, allowing citizens to access the livelihoods to which they aspire without significant improvement of the city’s overall urban condition. As a result, prepayment contributes to decouple the provision of a utility service from the spatial order promised by urban planning, as it facilitates access to utilities even when planning remains ineffectual. If progressive and inclusive ideals of planning are to shape the future of African urbanism, then the theory and practice of urban planning should reconcile itself with the trend towards the adoption of prepayment in the rolling-out of electricity in sub-Saharan Africa. This pragmatic stance does not have to turn a blind-eye to the inequality and unevenness of urban infrastructure development in African cities. Instead, it can reflect on how electrification through prepayment responds to the specificities of African cities and the aspirations of its urban dwellers. The chapter is organized in three sections. The first section engages with ongoing discussions about the role of infrastructure and urban planning in shaping urbanization in African cities, including an incursion into debates about utility prepayment. The second section provides a historical overview of Maputo’s dual urbanization and its electrification since colonial times, identifying extant dimensions of the city’s urban condition. The third section examines the ways in which prepayment reframes core aspects of the planning ideal through the acceptance of poverty and a reconsideration of standard levels of service. The chapter concludes with remarks on how prepayment challenges the future of African urban planning. African Urban Planning Challenges: Urbanization, Infrastructures and Prepayment As policymakers and international investors swing the pendulum of the ‘Africa talk’ (Ferguson, 2006) from a continent in ‘crisis’ to the ‘rebirth’ of Africa, the ‘awakened giant’,1 the prospect of transforming the urban condition in African cities hinges upon the challenges of infrastructure provision. According to recent estimates, addressing the infrastructure needs of sub-Saharan Africa requires an annual investment of about US$93 billion, two-thirds of which for capital investments alone (Foster and Briceño-Garmendia, 2010). The energy sector figures prominently in the calculations, with about 40 per cent of the overall investment needs. Whether such investments will result in universal and ubiquitous utility access by the majority of African urban dwellers or whether utilities will remain fragmented and serve mostly wealthier or extractive enclaves remains to be seen. In fact, some urban scholars have been questioning whether the optimism poured into new urban plans for African cities amounts to little more than ‘urban fantasies’ (Watson, 2013), where the poor continue to be excluded from access to premium spaces and utilities. The sense of déjà vu is ever present. Many authors have discussed extensively how colonial powers used urban planning to order, control and discipline the ‘primitive’ ‘Other’, both discursively and materially (Mitchell, 1988; Scott, 1998; Gandy, 2008). As Kooy and Bakker (2008) note, colonial governments often used networked infrastructures to reinforce relations of rule and social differentiation through processes of segregation and exclusion. The promise of universal and integrated provision of basic utility services seldom materialized beyond the spaces dedicated to the colonizers and the ruling elites (Coutard, 2008; McFarlane and Rutherford, 2008). Postcolonial urban

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planning and infrastructure provision has deviated seemingly little from this colonial ethos of effacing the ‘spatial pathologies’ (Kamete and Lindell, 2010; Kamete, 2013) and providing for ‘splintered’ utility networks (Gandy, 2006; McFarlane, 2008). Yet, urban planning remains beset by the repercussions of its unfulfilled promises in the postcolonial moment (Silva, 2012). Nowhere is it more visible than in the infrastructure ‘crisis’ of sub-Saharan Africa (Chitonge, 2014). Because utilities are seen as fundamental aspects of planned urbanization, their absence is readily associated with unplanned growth and a lack of modernity – their shortage or state of disrepair revealing how the African city is not quite yet modern (Baptista, 2012).2 While scholars have scrutinized thoroughly the problems of planning’s promises (Gunder and Hillier, 2009; Abram and Weszkalnys, 2011), it continues to command the hearts and minds of practitioners and policymakers the world over. As Pieterse (2010; 2011) suggested, the failure to acknowledge ‘slum urbanism’ as the reality of African cities has contributed to a policy vacuum where unregulated urban growth and uneven development have thrived. This is why many scholars have been arguing for a decentred approach to theorizing the dynamic nature of African urbanization and urban life in ways that acknowledge its richness and multiple specificities beyond developmentalist or dystopian accounts (Simone, 2004a; Simone and Abouhani, 2005; Harrison, 2006; Robinson, 2006; Watson, 2009; Myers, 2011; Parnell and Robinson, 2012; Pieterse and Simone, 2013; Parnell and Pieterse, 2014). In tandem with this view, African planning schools are now seeking to educate a new cadre of professionals attuned to pro-poor approaches that tackle the complex nature of urbanization across the African continent (Watson and Odendaal, 2012). However, for many progressive-minded planners, it remains difficult to acknowledge the historical failure and impracticality of universal and affordable utility services in sub-Saharan Africa, including their underlying unsustainable nature (Swilling, 2013). It seems equally difficult to reconsider what is the ‘acceptable’ standard of service for the ‘good city’ in face of entrenched views of inclusiveness and rights to the city (Holston and Appadurai, 1996; Parnell and Pieterse, 2010). This normative stance seemingly overlooks that perceptions of what is an ‘acceptable’ standard depends on how people value and appropriate the utility materially, socially and culturally (Winther, 2008; Strauss et al., 2013), including the sense of comfort and status derived from its use (Shove, 2003). In the case of electricity, this socially constructed view is of greater relevance, because ‘people do not consume energy per se, but rather the things energy makes possible, such as light, clean clothes, travel, refrigeration and so on’ (Wilhite, 2005, p. 2). For that reason, understanding the wider relevance of utilities to urban livelihoods requires that we examine how access, supply and consumption are intertwined with a set of meanings, social relations and technologies in specific institutional contexts and through localized practices. A case in point is the rollout of prepaid utility services gaining traction across the global South, especially in sub-Saharan Africa. In the case of electricity, an eclectic group of specialists related with energy provision see this turn to prepayment as instrumental in reducing energy poverty in contexts of weak governments, scant infrastructure planning, unclear land tenure and persistent poverty (Estache et al., 2002; Tewari and Shah, 2003; Casarin and Nicollier, 2008). They argue that prepayment facilitates the expansion of access to utilities in low-income areas, empowers customers (especially the poor) and generates revenue to service providers without which it would be difficult to introduce much needed infrastructure improvements. Urban scholars have criticized this favourable outlook of prepayment and its associated narrative of empowerment, pointing to how prepayment of electricity and water services seemingly benefits service providers alone (McDonald and Ruiters, 2005; Schnitzler, 2008; McDonald, 2009). They highlight how prepayment is particularly forceful with the poor, imposing a discipline and calculability of consumption that is both unwanted and unjust. They are critical of how prepayment allows the state to exert structural violence from a distance through self-disconnections. I have argued elsewhere (Baptista, 2013) that both readings of prepayment of utility services may be overly focused on the technology’s economic aspects, while missing an opportunity to reflect on how prepayment facilitates forms of sociability and social ordering that are also political, familial and technological. While prepayment does discipline consumption, it also enables the autonomy and reliability desired by many poor households to whom unpredictability is the hallmark of all forms of social relations (e.g. employment, tenure security, police, healthcare, environmental risk) (cf. Collins et al., 2009). Prepayment of utility services facilitates their inclusion, albeit fragile and temporary, in the ‘modern’ urban life they conceive for themselves.

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In sum, if we are to take up the challenge of acknowledging ‘slum urbanism’ and its infrastructural deficits as underlying conditions of sub-Saharan African cities, then investigating the connections between prepaid utilities and the aspirations for urbanity in poorly resourced urban environments offers insights into how urban planning can rework some of its impractical normative ideals. Case Study: Maputo, Mozambique Maputo’s Dual City The specificities of the urban condition in Maputo, as in many other African countries, date back to the colonial period. Over time, an intricate combination of property and land laws, building codes and labour laws excluded Africans from enjoying full land rights, occupying property in the city centre, and circulating freely about the city of Lourenço Marques, Maputo’s colonial designation. The Portuguese first excluded Africans from legally owning property in Mozambique in 1869 by establishing a legal separation between the Europeans, who would be governed by civil law, and the non-European (Africans, Asians, Arabs), who would be governed by customary law.3 This meant that non-Europeans were allowed the collective use of land as regulated by traditional chiefs, but not land ownership, a privilege reserved to Europeans only. However, following the Berlin Conference (1884–1885) and the British Ultimatum (1890), the Portuguese sought to retain control over land use as a means of keeping effective occupation of Mozambican territories (Direito, 2013). In practice, the colonial administration showed little ability to control indiscriminate overtaking of the best lands by Europeans and the pushing out of Africans into marginal lands (Rita-Ferreira, 1968; Zamparoni, 1998; Direito, 2013). This practice continued even after the creation of land reserves for the ‘indigenous’ population in 1918,4 reinforced by building codes that prohibited the use of flammable materials in the city centre, such as the reed used in traditional huts (Rita-Ferreira, 1968). Mobility of Africans was also restricted, especially between rural and urban areas, as the Portuguese tried to boost economic productivity through forced labour and taxation (O’Laughlin, 2000; Domingos, 2013). Later on, and until the end of colonialism in 1975, individual ID cards or passbooks were used also to restrict the movement of Africans to the districts where they lived or worked (O’Laughlin, 2000; Domingos, 2013). As a result of these policies, Lourenço Marques developed as a dual city with stark physical, infrastructural and racial differences: on the one hand, the ‘city of cement’ (cidade de cimento), the ‘city’ planned and built to European standards; and, on the other hand, the ‘suburbs’ (caniço), where the vast majority of Africans resided in makeshift dwellings in unplanned areas surrounding the ‘city’ (Jenkins, 2000; 2013). This spatial segregation began taking shape in the 1920s, as colonial settlers unofficially subdivided their properties in the ‘suburbs’ to rent out to African labourers, with no tenure security (Jenkins, 2013). This trend further intensified in the 1940s and 1950s with the location of processing and manufacturing industries in the area and the corresponding population boom.5 Over time, this lucrative private land market proliferated unrestrained, as the colonial authorities remained unwilling to regulate urban development and provide basic utility services to the ‘suburbs’. Municipal authorities made only timid attempts at addressing the infrastructure gap in the ‘suburbs’ through plans for the provision of affordable housing for African assimilados6 on the outskirts of the ‘city’ (Rita-Ferreira, 1968). The planning initiatives undertaken by the authorities until independence retained a ‘blueprint’ approach to what the city ‘ought to be’, constrained by modernist views of spatial order, on the one hand, and the unwillingness to recognize the permanent occupation of the ‘suburbs’, on the other hand (Jenkins, 2013). After independence, the government determined the nationalization of all the housing abandoned by the settler population and its allocation to Mozambican families. This housing was privatized and sold below market value later in 1992, stimulating a market dynamics that remained largely outside state control (Jenkins, 2013). Over time, government-led interventions upgraded physical and infrastructural conditions in some settlements in the ‘suburbs’, usually rolled-out with the support of international agencies (e.g. UN, World Bank, Cities Alliance). However, the bulk of the ‘upgrading’ has been done by urban dwellers themselves, in what they see as a long-term process of home-making for their families, with little intervention by the Maputo City Council or the central government (Bénard da Costa and Biza, 2012).

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Post-independence urban planning and land laws remained equally oblivious and accepting of the planning and infrastructural differences between the ‘city’ and the ‘suburbs’. Officially, land became the property of the Mozambican state, with individuals allowed land use rights only, but no exchange, renting or mortgage rights.7 In large cities like Maputo, City Councils were made responsible for granting land use titles, but the process is so complex and bureaucratic that most land continues to be transacted privately and allocated unofficially by local representatives of the central government, a practice that reinforces existing spatial inequalities (Raimundo and Raimundo, 2012). The latest developments in terms of land and planning laws – the 2006 Urban Land Regulation – further entrenched representations of ‘the good city’ and the ‘promises’ of planning that are deeply unconnected to the urban condition of Maputo and the challenges the city faces at the infrastructural level. As an example, individuals can acquire land use titles only for plots that have been previously planned and developed with infrastructures and amenities (i.e. roads, electricity, water, sewage, storm water drainage, telecommunications and green areas). The modernist gesture entailed in this latest legal instalment further distances planning, conceptually if not practically, from having any significant impact on shaping the future of Mozambican cities. Instead, it reinforces the ‘non-planning’ strategies (Kamete and Lindell, 2010) and the ‘inverse governmentality’ (Nielsen, 2011) that characterizes contemporary urban production in Maputo. Nowadays, about 90 per cent of the population lives in the ‘suburbs’ of Maputo, with socio-spatial distinctions occurring now more along income than racial lines (Andersen, 2012). While residents of the ‘suburbs’ perceive a difference in terms of physical order when compared to the ‘city’, they feel no less urban dwellers themselves (Bénard da Costa and Biza, 2012). Being able to access utility services such as electricity is an integral part of that urban way of life and the on-going commitment to improving livelihood conditions. Maputo’s Difficult Electrification The grid rollout and supply of electricity to Lourenço Marques/Maputo has been an enduring problem, irrespective of the spatial fragmentation along racial or income lines. Financial constraints and profit-driven concessions troubled the provision of electricity from the outset. Until 1898, kerosene lamps and some gas lighting lit the streets of the small urban core of Lourenço Marques, but street lights would remain off on full moon nights, or in smaller streets, due to budgetary savings imposed by the colonial administration (Dava and Tamele, 2011). After 1898, the city’s urban core was serviced with electricity generated by steam engines and, from 1903 onwards, by a thermal power station (Dava and Tamele, 2011). The colonial administration granted the electricity service concession to a succession of foreign private companies until 1947, but these exploited the network for profit and delivered a deficient service (Agência Geral do Ultramar, 1958). As a result, the colonial administration returned electricity services to the hands of the public sector (Dava and Tamele, 2011).8 Despite efforts to improve generation, with the construction of a new thermal power station, and the improvement of ‘the disastrous state of repair of the distribution grid’ (Agência Geral do Ultramar, 1958, pp. 86–7), the municipal utility company struggled financially to supply the growing demand driven by the industry and the population boom alluded to earlier (Dava and Tamele, 2011). The service remained unreliable, leading to the proliferation of smaller private electricity operators during the 1950s (Arthur, 2009). Throughout this time the population of the ‘suburbs’ continued to struggle to access and consume electricity, resorting mostly to firewood, charcoal, candles, and kerosene lamps as energy sources for cooking and lighting (Rita-Ferreira, 1968; Mavhunga, 2013). Plans for tapping into the vast hydropower potential of Mozambique began developing in the 1960s, with a view to generating revenues from energy export to South Africa and meeting a secure electricity supply to the south of Mozambique and Lourenço Marques in particular (Isaacman and Sneddon, 2003; Patrício, 2010). This plan only came to fruition shortly after independence, when Maputo started being serviced by the Hydroelectric of Cahora Bassa (HCB), a private company jointly owned by the Portuguese and the Mozambican governments, and the country’s largest power generation plant to date.9 However, most of the electricity produce at HCB was destined for export to South Africa (and still is today), with only a small part retained for internal consumption, most of which in Maputo itself.10 After independence, the Mozambican government opted for merging the existing municipal electricity companies into a single state-owned company, EDM. The government saw in the utility company a strong

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political-economic contribution to the development of national sovereignty and identity. In spite of the strong political backing, which included a policy of tariff subsidies, EDM faced many difficulties in the intervening period, with substantial shortages of equipment, diminished technical and operational capacity, and theft of cabling and electricity (Dava and Tamele, 2011). Moreover, sabotage of roads and transmission lines by guerrillas during the Mozambican Civil War cut HCB electricity supply between 1981 and 1997. This contributed to constant power outages and fuel shortages in Maputo (UNDP and the World Bank, 1987; Arthur, 2009) and forced EDM to buy electricity from South Africa at higher prices than HCB electricity. This situation was economically demanding for EDM, thus triggering the deployment of prepayment as examined below. EDM has continued to play a fundamental role in the electrification of Mozambique through the upgrade of the colonial grid and the expansion of the grid to peri-urban and rural areas. Many commentators point to the technical unsustainability of this expansion, noting how the government uses energy infrastructure to mobilize popular allegiance. Yet, the grid expansion into the ‘suburbs’ of Maputo has followed demand from urban dwellers themselves, as they go about improving their home spaces. This happened with little involvement of the City Council and its planning department: even though half of Maputo’s urban areas are categorized as unplanned (Jenkins, 2012, p. 108), there is near universal access to electricity. Currently, there are only occasional reports of blackouts in Maputo, but this situation may be about to change. With growing demand, there is not enough electricity to go around. HCB is currently operating near capacity, and while the share retained for internal consumption increased significantly lately, it only covers about 88 per cent of the energy needs of Mozambique (EDM, 2010). EDM is attempting to diversify sources of energy production, but it is financially constrained to generate more electricity on its own. There is an ongoing anxiety about the country’s energy sovereignty and, despite donors’ concerns with future debt sustainability, the Mozambican government set out an ambitious plan for energy generation and transmission mega-projects worth over US$9 billion.11 In this context, EDM developed an overarching view of electricity as a scarce and expensive resource that must be managed wisely – and certainly not to be consumed freely without charge. In a country where over half the population lives under the poverty line (van den Boom, 2011), this is a difficult mission to achieve, with potential political consequences. Prepayment and the Challenges to Urban Planning Ideals The Acceptance of Poverty Urban poverty – how to define and measure it, its causes and consequences – is a topic of extensive debate in urban and development circles (Mitlin and Satterthwaite, 2013). Following these, I draw here on a broad view of poverty as the condition of lacking the resources to meet human needs. As such, prepayment constitutes an acceptance of poverty in two interrelated ways: infrastructure-related poverty and income-related poverty. In simple terms, infrastructure poverty relates to the poor state of repair of the electricity network system in Maputo, the scarcity of energy available for distribution and the limited financial capacity to invest in system upgrading and new generation plants. As noted at the end of the previous section, this has created a culture within EDM that puts a high price on energy security. EDM staff conceives energy security in a complex way – in economic, physical and symbolic terms: it involves a constant preoccupation with the minimization of operational costs, the reduction of technical losses and a determination to curtail energy waste and theft by the ‘uneducated’ or ‘uncivil’ consumers.12 The deployment of prepaid electricity in Mozambique in 1995 reflects these conceptions along with the acknowledgement of widespread income poverty. In the post-civil war context of high-inflation and economic hardship, the Mozambican population had very limited capacity to pay for utilities like water and electricity. Energy theft was thus the way of accessing better livelihoods for many poor households.13 EDM’s relatively long and inefficient billing cycle created intense conflicts with clients due to incorrect consumption estimates and disconnections following prolonged debt, not just of individual households but also of public services and institutions. These conflicts often ended with retaliation against EDM workers, but could also emerge as

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a result of EDM workers seeking continued undue compensation from clients to turn a blind-eye on energy theft. This situation made it difficult for the company to generate the revenue necessary to match the cost of electricity acquired from South Africa. Prepayment became a reasonable technical solution for this cash-flow problem and a more politically palatable option than imposing higher electricity tariffs on a largely poor population in the post-civil war context. To policymakers, it was seemingly socially acceptable to demand from citizens that they pay for electricity consumed, to recover outstanding electricity debts, and to curtail electricity theft.14 Prepayment was first introduced with a pilot project of 500 households with prolonged debt in Matola, a neighbour urban area of Maputo. The new prepaid system was so successful in recovering debt that EDM decided to generalize prepayment as the default payment method for all households and small businesses in Maputo and the country as a whole.15 This has been a slow but steady process, dependent on securing investments from the government, international aid agencies and foreign development banks, not only for the replacement of old conventional meters by prepaid ones, but also for improving the obsolete physical infrastructure of the grid and expanding it to Maputo’s ‘suburbs’. According to statistics provided by EDM, the adoption of prepayment in Maputo increased from 65 to 90 per cent of clients between 2008 and 2013, with a corresponding increase in the number of connections from 68 to 97 per cent of the population in the same period.16 However, the number of connections must be read carefully, for even though a household may have an electricity connection, it may not be able to sustain its regular use and/or continue to resort to fuel mixing (Atanassov et al., 2012). This is particularly the case in the ‘suburbs’ of Maputo, where nearly half of the households are classified as poor or very poor (Andersen, 2012). While there is much discussion in the literature about the unwanted and unjust discipline imposed by prepayment on the urban poor, the prepaid system seems to be widely accepted by the population of the ‘suburbs’ and ‘city’ of Maputo (Baptista, 2013). When their households were serviced by conventional meters, many urban dwellers lived with the permanent uncertainty of having to pay for unexpected sums of electricity consumption. The relationships with EDM were strained due to the use of billing estimates. Many people likened the company to a ‘thief’ – charging for more electricity than what had been possibly consumed. The introduction of prepayment was not desired by many households at first. With time, urban dwellers came to appreciate the sense of autonomy and control over spending and consumption that prepayment afforded them. People no longer had to deal with EDM to know how much they would be paying for electricity. They could also avoid debt, a much welcomed feat among poor urban dwellers. Households often buy electricity on a daily basis according to what they manage to eke out of everyday income-generating activities. This gives them a sense of empowerment, even if consumption is disciplined and judicious (see next). This is not surprising if, as Collins et al. (2009) note, being able to manage uncertainty and avoid debt is a much valued aspect of the livelihood of the urban poor. Reframing ‘Acceptable’ Service As noted earlier, the electrification of Maputo’s ‘suburbs’ came mainly as a response to demand by individual households striving to improve their livelihoods and access a specific modern way of life in the context of much uncertainty and urban poverty. The history of each household will certainly vary, but there are a few common traits. Often times, it took a household several years to save enough money to install an electrical connection in the home and then to pay EDM for the installation fee. Saving involved different members of the household, as well as family, friends and borrowing groups (cf. Bénard da Costa and Biza, 2012). If the household was located in an area where EDM had little coverage, then it was common for three or four families to pool resources together to pay for a new electrical pole to be installed close to their plots. Urban dwellers seemed to expect little from Maputo City Council or the central government, except in certain (almost performative) junctions when local representatives of the state apparatus had to provide proof of residency, as required by EDM. In practice, this meant that households were actively engaged in the expansion of the electricity grid in Maputo. Hence, the ‘acceptable’ standard of service envisioned by the ideal of urban planning, whereby a city (or a developer) lays down the utility network in advance of urban expansion, has not been an expectation of Maputo’s urban dwellers. Because they see electricity as an inevitable and essential requirement of

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modern life, urban dwellers find themselves in the situation of having to address the shortcomings of both the state apparatus and the electricity provider. By relying on solidarity networks and individual endeavour, urban dwellers are the infrastructure (following Simone 2004b) that made possible the electrification of Maputo. Moreover, prepayment has played a crucial role in reframing the ‘acceptable’ standard of service by facilitating convenient and familiar practices of consumption among Maputo’s households. The meter technology, visually displaying outstanding electricity units, facilitates a practical understanding of which appliances consume what electricity and how long it will be until the household runs out. For households with an unstable source of income, the possibility of buying small increments of electricity credit fits conveniently with the familiar routines for acquiring essential goods like bread or charcoal on a daily basis. Prepayment enables people to exercise a form of ‘disciplined autonomy’ in their consumption of electricity, as members of the household selectively manage how they want to use the electricity they can afford. For instance, some households may often forsake having a refrigerator or the lights on, if that means they can spend more time watching TV. What people use electricity for is as much a reflection of their basic needs and disposable income, as it is of their social aspirations for a better, more dignified livelihood. As noted earlier, prepayment provides Maputo’s urban dwellers this sense of empowerment not despite but because they are painfully aware of their condition as urban poor in the context of pervasive uncertainty and inequality. In sum, prepayment reframes urban planning’s ‘acceptable’ standards of service in Maputo by embedding poverty in different socio-technical dimensions of the city’s electricity network and everyday energy consumption practices. Prepayment enables urban dwellers to access a livelihood they desire without significant improvement of the city’s overall urban condition. Conclusion This chapter examined the case study of prepaid electricity in Maputo, Mozambique as an opportunity to reflect on the challenges of infrastructure provision and urban planning in postcolonial African cities. The chapter provided a brief overview of the history of urbanization and electrification in Maputo and highlighted the disconnection between urban development, infrastructure provision and urban planning that remains today. Moreover, it illustrated how the universal deployment of prepayment in Maputo came to mirror the pervasive poverty of the networked system itself and the population in general. The chapter further examined how prepayment fits conveniently with familiar everyday practices of consumption, especially among poor households, thus contributing to reframing what urban dwellers perceive as ‘acceptable’ standards of utility service. Overall, the case of the universalization of prepaid electricity in Maputo highlights how this technology acknowledges ‘slum urbanism’ as the city’s underlying urban condition. Coming to terms with the work prepayment is doing, as a technology, in shaping urbanization in cities like Maputo does not intend to gloss over the challenging urban conditions of African urban dwellers. Nor does it dismiss the role that planning can play in addressing those conditions. In fact, if prepayment seems to allow the urban poor to access a desired livelihood, it does very little to address the structural inequality that forces them into the ‘disciplined autonomy’ they feel so empowered by. Instead, examining the work prepayment is doing in cities and for citizens in sub-Saharan Africa allows us to shed light on the ambiguous relationship that infrastructure and urban planning are playing in the postcolonial moment. Acknowledgements This chapter is based on fieldwork research funded by a grant from the John Fell Fund, University of Oxford, UK. This fieldwork was possible due to the generosity of several people: the residents of different neighbourhoods of Maputo, who agreed to share their everyday electricity practices using a prepaid meter; the staff at Mozambique’s electricity company, EDM, Electricidade de Moçambique, who provided valuable insight into the daily operations of prepayment, especially Amilton Alissone; Pedro Coimbra, for helping navigate local institutions; Luís Lage and Paul Jenkins, members of the Home Space project team, for sharing

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12 This is how EDM represents some of its clients. Unfortunately, there is no space here to discuss the politics of this representation. 13 In 1995, nearly 16 per cent of the electricity available for consumption was accounted as non-technical losses (i.e. pilfered electricity) (UNDP and the World Bank, 1996, p. 34). 14 It is helpful here to make a connection to the views on citizenship and the construction of a modern homem novo (the new man) created by the Socialist government after independence and how this representation of the Mozambican citizen evolved over time (Macamo, 2003; Sumich, 2008). 15 To be precise, EDM’s policy is to extend the use of prepaid meters to all low-voltage small clients. This includes all households, small businesses and services, and farmers. For technical reasons, low-voltage large clients (e.g. hospitals, schools or supermarkets) will continue to be serviced with a post-paid meter. 16 The number of connections must be read with some caution, because EDM uses population data from the national census and an estimate of 4.5 people per household to calculate how many people are served by an electricity connection. The number of prepaid connections is more reliable, because it accounts for how many of EDM’s clients are on a prepaid meter.

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Index Acto Colonial 45 administrative de-concentration 130, 134, 135 African city 13, 15, 57, 161, 166, 227 African Dubai 89 African generation 80, 87 African liberation movements 81 African Union 127 Agência Geral das Colónias 30, 45, 63, 64, 70 agrocity 183, 186, 197–9 Aldeias Comunais 161, 183 Architectural Association 13, 21, 47 Asian traders 114, 216 assimilation 2, 13, 29, 31, 97 Athens Charter 80, 82, 85, 91, 95, 97 Bairros indígenas 12, 14, 25–6 Bairros operários 11, 26 Bairros populares 12, 14, 25–6 Baixa Pombalina 61, 163 Bantu communities 183 Berlin Conference 1, 2, 7–9, 23, 30, 43, 44, 112, 122, 144, 228 betón brut 84, 86 Boers of the Transvaal 102 bottom-up 156, 164 Brazil builds 13 brise-soleils 84, 86 British Ultimatum 43–4, 228 Building Code 26, 128, 131, 134, 138, 144, 146, 148 building standards 127, 130 Cacimbo 87 Cahora Bassa 229 Caminhos de ferro de Benguela 31 Caniço 161–6, 168, 172, 187, 228 cartographic missions 112 cartography 23, 57, 111–13 Cartography Commission 23, 112, 122 CCTA – Comission pour la Coopération Technique en Afrique 23, 25 Cement city 173, 183–4, 187, 202, 203, 216 cemeteries 10, 14 CIAM (Congrès International d’Architecture Moderne) 2, 4, 8, 11, 80, 89, 127 Cimento (cidade de cimento) 161–5, 168, 187, 228 cities, neighbourhoods, and other places Addis Ababa 23, 25 Bafatá 13 Bairro dos Pescadores 85

Beira 11, 15, 22–5, 148, 188, 192, 201 Belas 166–7 Benguela 26, 30–31, 33–4, 45–6, 50–52, 55, 153 Benguela Velha 50 Bijagós 144 Bissau 11, 13, 15, 25, 27, 29, 34–9, 128, 144 Bolama 13, 34–5, 39, 41, 144 Cabinda 55, 156, 158 Caconda 24–7 Canberra 29, 33–5 Catembe 163 Catumbela 50, 55 Cazenga 14, 56, 145, 168 Chongoroi 153–4 Cidade da Praia (Praia) 21, 147, 149 Costa do Sol 48–9, 60, 62, 76, 206 Dondo 183–9, 192–7, 200, 201 Durban 103 Foz do Cuanza 70 Funda 70 Futungo de Belas 84 Gabela 25, 50, 60 Gaza 111–16, 122, 195–6 Huambo 9, 14, 22, 26, 29–34, 37, 39, 44–6, 55 Ilha de Luanda 26 Inhambane 14, 27, 55, 102, 105, 112, 114, 122, 195, 196 Laranjeiras (village) 116, 117, 118 Largo Maianga 87 Largo Mutamba 86 Lobito 24, 26, 31, 50–51, 53, 55–6 Lourenço Marques 11, 14, 21, 24, 26–7, 43–4, 48–9, 55–6, 101–8, 112, 162–3, 187, 204, 215–17, 219–20, 222–3, 228–9, 236 Luanda 8, 10–11, 13–14, 21, 23–4, 26, 33, 44, 46–7, 51, 53, 55–74, 79–82, 84–9, 91, 93–9, 127, 130, 145, 149, 161, 166–70 Luanda Sul 166–8 Macau 12, 25, 90 Machava 27, 174, 218 Malange 47, 51, 55 Manguguana 117 Manjacaze 111–17, 119, 122 Maputo 11, 14, 21, 24, 27, 44, 49, 55, 115, 127, 129, 138, 141, 148–9, 161–2, 164–80, 187–90, 192, 195–6, 202, 203–8, 210–12, 215–20, 222–3, 225–33, 236 Marçal 82, 168

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Matola 55, 106, 163, 174, 188, 212, 218, 231 Maxaquene 104, 203–5, 207–11 Mbanza Congo 7 Mindelo 21, 27 Moçamedes 14, 26 Mocuba 46, 55 Nacala 11, 53, 55–6 Namibe 14, 26, 31 Nampula 11, 53, 56, 148, 188, 195–6 Natal Province 103, 122 New Delhi 35, 36, 53 Nova Lisboa 11, 14, 22, 26, 29, 33, 44–5, 48, 55–6 Novo Redondo 55 Nyasaland 49 Pemba 53, 148, 218 Polana Caniço 203–5, 207–10 Ponta Vermelha 104, 106, 219 Portas do mar 70, 82 Porto Amboim 50, 55 Porto Amélia 55–6, 218 Prenda 56, 83–5, 91, 93–9 Pretoria 25, 101, 103–4, 162 Quelimane 23, 46, 55, 148 Ribeira Grande 21, 147 Sá da Bandeira 27, 56 Sambizanga 26, 145 São Paulo 14, 26, 82 São Tomé 21, 24 Silva Porto 11 Sofala 183, 189, 195–6, 201 Uíge 24, 26, 153, 155, 156 Vila de Tete 49 Vila Pery 14, 55–6 Zambezi 26, 44, 49, 102 City Beautiful 10, 29, 33, 48 civilizing mission 3, 111, 113, 115, 116 climate change 127, 185–7, 191 Cold War 53, 55, 127, 183 collective housing 79, 83, 85–7, 91, 97 Colonato 27 Colonial Act 10, 81, 147 colonial boundaries 1, 4, 15 colonial empires 1, 7–12, 15, 16, 127 colonial grid 174, 230 colonial planning cultures 1, 4, 8, 16, 144 colonial planning laws 127 Colonial Planning Office 33, 37–8, 41 Colonial Urban Policy 8, 11, 12, 14–15 Colonial Urbanization Office 2, 9, 12, 14, 23, 28, 47–8, 50–53, 55, 81, 127, 144 colonial war 52, 81, 94, 223 colonialism 3, 10, 29, 39, 45, 111, 113, 115–17, 119–20, 177, 183–4, 217, 228 Congress of National Architecture 11 Constitution 22, 45, 130, 134–5, 138, 141, 144–9 continuity 2, 7, 93, 130, 138, 153, 177

countries Angola 1–4, 8, 10–14, 21–7, 29–31, 33–4, 41, 43–6, 48, 50–57, 63–4, 73, 79–82, 85, 89–90, 93–4, 99, 122, 128–34, 136, 138–9, 141–2, 144–6, 149, 151–3, 159, 166, 168, 183 Brazil 13, 26, 34, 56, 76–7, 90, 152 Cape Verde 1, 3, 12–13, 21–2, 25, 27, 37, 90, 128–30, 134–9, 141–2, 144–5, 147, 149, 183 Guinea (Guiné) 12–13, 21, 23–5, 29–30, 34–7, 41, 90 Guinea-Bissau 1, 3, 12–13, 15, 22, 24–5, 90, 128, 141, 144, 147, 183 India 12, 25–6, 47, 53, 55, 90, 102,114 Mozambique 10–11, 13–15, 21–7, 30–31, 43–4, 46, 48–9, 53–4, 90, 101–2, 104, 111–13, 115–16, 118, 122–3, 128–30, 134, 138–42, 144–6, 148–9, 161–2, 171–2, 174–7, 180–81, 183–91, 199, 200, 208, 211, 215–20, 222–3, 225–6, 228–30, 232, 236 Portugal (Mainland) 2, 29, 79, 94 Rhodesia 23, 25, 49, 222 São Tomé and Príncipe 1, 3, 9, 12, 15, 21–2, 24–5, 27, 128–9, 141 South Africa 9, 14, 23, 25, 44, 49, 90, 102–3, 107, 119, 122, 129, 152, 162, 167, 173, 183, 215–16, 222, 229–31 Swaziland 49, 104, 217 Timor 12, 25, 90 cross-ventilation 84, 86–7 Cuca 86 DDT 24 decentralization 30, 127, 129–30, 135, 138, 142, 145 decolonizing 217 democratic centralism 183, 200 densification 174–5, 177, 184 dictatorship 2, 29, 43, 45, 79 donor institutions 127 downtown 47, 48, 50, 86, 104–7, 114, 166, 204 drainage of the swamp 105 dual city 3, 161, 165, 204, 228 Dubai (African Dubai; Dubai like) 86, 89, 166, 169 EDM, Electricidade de Moçambique 225–6, 229–31 Estado Novo 2, 4, 8, 10, 29, 33, 36–9, 43, 45, 54–5, 79, 81–2, 93–4, 144, 183 ethnically mixed 14 European city 13, 15, 167, 188, 222, 225 evaluation (of plans) 128, 132, 134, 136–7, 140, 142, 152 exhibition 10–11, 13, 23, 46, 51, 64, 69, 72, 80 First Portuguese Republic 2, 29, 30 First World War 9–10, 24, 26, 35 FNLA 145 fragmentation 3, 199, 203, 229 FRELIMO 138, 148, 161, 183, 199, 201, 213 French school of urbanism 2 Functional City 93, 151, 159

Index Gabinete de Urbanização Colonial 24, 55, 72–3, 81, 144 Garden City 2, 4, 8, 10–11, 13, 24, 29, 32, 45, 47–8, 51, 62, 127 Gaza Kingdom 3, 112, 116, 122 global economy 3, 184 globalization 184–5 globalization of economic relations 127 good governance 127 Great Zimbabwe Kingdom 186 Homeland (Portugal) 127, 163 human settlements 22, 47, 127, 132, 171, 199 informal 7, 15, 49, 52, 53, 93, 95, 131, 144, 153, 156, 161, 163–5, 172–7, 184–5, 187–9, 196, 199, 202, 206 informality 156, 172 International Monetary Fund 184 intra-urban racial segregation 1, 7, 8, 9, 11, 13, 15, 16, 23 Italian fascist regime 11 Kinaxixe 82, 86 Land Law 12, 14–15, 24, 144, 148, 205–6, 210–11, 228–9, 236 land rights 14–16, 134, 205, 210, 228 land use plans 129, 131–3, 135–7, 139–41 local self-government 8, 127–32, 134–5, 138–9, 141–2, 145–7, 149 Lunda empire 7 Lusaka Agreement 130, 216 machambas (urban farms) 191, 195–6, 201 malaria 9–10, 22–4, 103–6, 186 Mapa cor-de-rosa 43 marriage policy 26 Marshall Plan 23 Marxism-Leninism 183 Master Plan 10, 23, 56, 71, 82, 84–5, 95, 128, 131–3, 136–7, 139–40, 156, 163, 204 Master Planning 151, 156 medium-sized cities 3, 188–9, 198 metropolis 2, 4, 8–9, 15, 45–6, 53, 79–80, 84, 106, 149 metropolises 4, 15, 149 metropolitan area 132, 142, 149, 164, 174–5 Modern Movement 79, 80–82, 86–7, 89 Modern period 21, 79 Modulor system 84 monitoring 128, 136, 140, 153 Monomotapa 183, 186, 201 mosquitos 103 Mozambique Company 24 MPLA 145 multifamily buildings 174 multi-party political system 130 multi-racial 9, 14

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municipality / municipalities 8, 10, 13, 21, 25, 26, 34, 53, 55–6, 101, 104–7, 111, 115, 128–42,144, 146, 148–9, 153, 163, 176, 185, 189,192, 201, 204, 206, 211, 216, 231 musseque 151, 166–7 naming 215, 218–20, 222 Native land acts 14 Native quarters 14–15 Nazi 9, 11 Neighbourhood Unit 82–3, 85, 87, 91, 93, 95, 97 neoclassical 35, 47 neo-colonial 53, 198–9 neoliberal (neoliberalism) 177, 184, 203–5, 210 NEPAD 129 New Urbanism 20, 127 Niassa Company 24 oppression 183, 187, 199, 217 Overseas Urbanization Office 12–13, 21, 24–5, 47, 53, 55 PAIGC 13, 144, 147 partial plans 82 participatory budgeting 185, 202 peri-urban 163, 166, 172, 183, 186, 188, 198, 200, 226, 230 PIDE 80, 90 pilotis 86, 93, 97 planners, architects, politicians and others Agache, Alfred 13, 23, 76, 77 Aguiar, João António / João Aguiar / Plano Aguiar 22, 25, 33, 46–52, 55, 67, 72, 90, 93, 162–3 Almeida, Leopoldo de 11, 22 Araújo, António José / Plano Araújo 44, 48, 49, 106, 162–3 Auzelle, Robert 81, 95, 97 Azevedo, Mário de 56, 163 Baker, Herbert 35 Bardet, Gaston 81 Batalha, Fernando 46, 50 Batista, César Moreira 25 Brée, Álvaro de 11 Caetano, Marcelo 15, 47, 81, 90 Campos, Fernando Schiappa de 47 Carvalho, Lobo de 82 Carvalho, Simões de 24, 53, 55–7, 82, 84–5, 90–91, 93–9, 159 Castilho, Augusto de 103 Cavaca, Rogério 22, 23, 25, 55, 64 Costa, Faria da 77, 90 Costa, Freitas e 11 Costa, Gomes da 112–13 Costa, Pereira da 86 Costa, Vasco Vieira da 24, 46, 57, 69, 82, 87–8, 90, 93 Cruz, Luís Taquelim da 28, 91, 95 Cunha, José Pinto da 56, 95, 97

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Cunha, Paulo 11, 37 Cunha, Silva 25 Drew, Jane 13, 47, 55 Feio, Barata 11 Forrestier 23 Fry, E. Maxwell 13, 25, 47, 55 Galvão, Henrique 33, 45–6, 55 Garcia, Frederico Ressano 29 Griffin, Walter Burley 29, 33, 35 Groër, Étienne de 10, 11, 13, 23, 57–8, 60–62, 65–8, 70–71, 74, 82 Guardiola, José António dos Santos 37–9, 41 Guedes, Pancho 24, 204 Howard, Ebenezer 32, 45, 47, 58, 62, 82 Koenigsberger, Otto 13, 21 Kultermann, Udo 55, 81, 90 Lapa, Manuel 11 Le Corbusier 47, 55, 57, 80–82, 84–5, 89–90, 93, 96–8, 159 Lino, Raúl 11 Lugard, Frederick D. 21 Lutyens, Edwin 35 MacGregor, William 21 Machado, Carlos Roma 29–32, 45 Machado, Joaquim José 104–5 Machado, Mariano 30 Machel, Samora 215, 216, 219, 223 Manson, Patrick 22 Matos, Norton de 21, 30, 33, 45 Moreira, Adriano 94 Ngungunhane 112–14 Oliveira, Mário de 23, 25–6, 46 Pacheco, Duarte 58, 77 Pereira, Fernando Augusto 95 Possolo, Luís 21, 47, 94 Quinhones, José Guedes 29, 34–6, 41 Ramalhete, José Bernardino 53 Ramos, Carlos 11, 80 Regaleira, Vasco 11, 33, 37, 46 Roçadas, Alves 30 Rodrigues, Francisco Castro 24, 53, 56, 80 Ross, Ronald 9, 22 Salazar 15, 39, 45, 55, 80, 90, 163, 187 Sampaio, Paulo de Melo 53, 56 Sáragga, António Seabra 47 Schacherl, F. 11 Silva, Cristino da 11, 80, 90 Silva, David Moreira da 10, 23, 46–7, 57, 60–61, 65–8, 70–71, 74, 82 Sommerchield 163 Spínola, António de 13, 21 Veloso, Teixeira 22 Zilhão, Galhardo 11, 37 planning cultures 1, 2, 4, 7–8, 16, 21, 144 planning laws 127–8, 131, 147, 158–9, 229 planning system 3, 127–32, 134–42, 145–7, 149, 152 Plano Aguiar 162–3

Plano Araújo 162–3 Plano de Fomento (I) 13 Plano de Fomento (II) 13, 25, 123 Plano de Urbanização da Cidade de Luanda 46–7, 57, 67–8, 70 Plano Intercalar de Fomento 13 Portuguese colonialism 39, 111, 116–17, 183 post-independence period 2, 4, 93, 138, 141, 148, 174 post-modern urbanism 199 post-modernist 198 post-payment 225 pre-colonial period 7, 145 prepaid electricity 3, 225, 230, 232 private condominiums 174 PROMAPUTO 161, 164, 206 public health 8, 9, 13–14, 37, 101, 103, 105–8 public hygiene policies 104, 108 public works 35, 41, 58, 77, 90, 101, 104, 105–7, 114 racial mix 13, 15, 26 racial segregation 2, 7, 8–9, 11, 13–16, 23, 26, 53, 94, 106 radial layouts 29 regions Azores 7, 20 Madeira 7, 20, 60 North Africa 7 South America 20 Sub-Saharan Africa 1, 2, 4, 7–9, 13, 15–16, 21, 23, 25, 134, 144, 225–8, 232 renaming 3, 215, 222 RENAMO 183, 187, 222 Republic of Transvaal 102, 103 reservas fundiárias 152, 153 rupture 2, 4, 7, 11, 127, 144, 138, 176, 185, 196, 218, 219 rural exodus 94, 151, 183 Salazar regime 39, 80 sanitarian approach 8 sanitary and public health plans 107 sanitary corridor 13 sanitary problems 108 sanitation plans 101, 104 satellite town 69–70, 74, 82, 156 Second World War 2, 8, 10–11, 13, 22, 24, 37, 43, 52, 80, 89, 93, 127, 222, 225 self-determination 81, 219, 223 shantytown 94 single-party regime 127, 130, 134, 138, 141 sleeping disease 21–3 slum urbanism 227–8, 232 social differentiation 115, 198, 226 Socialism 177, 183–5, 200 socio-spatial duality 203 socio-spatial segregation 203 Soviet bloc 145, 149, 184 Soviet Union 127 Spatial Development Initiatives (SDI) 129

Index Spatial Development Plans 129, 131–2, 137, 141 spatial planning system 127–42, 145–7, 149 Spatial Sector Plans 129, 140 spatial segregation 26, 167, 186–7, 199, 206, 228 Special Spatial Plans 129, 131–2, 136–7, 139, 141, 146 Statute of the Natives 8, 11–12, 24 Structural Adjustment Programs 184 Structural Plan for Maputo 164 Structural Plan for the Metropolitan Area of Maputo 164, 174–5 sustainable urban development 127 swamp 22, 31, 37, 101, 103–7, 186 team 10, 96 top-down 156, 199 transnational flow of planning ideas 1, 4, 10, 13, 15 tropical diseases 9–10, 22 tropical medicine 9–10, 16, 21–3

ultimatum 43–4, 228 UN Economic Commission for Africa 23 UNITA 145, 149 unitary states 128–9, 141 Unité d’Habitation 96 Unité de Marseille 88 urban fantasies 228 urban governance 138, 149 urban naming 215–16, 219–20 urban renewal 203–7, 210–11 urban transition 127 urbanity 31, 171, 175, 179, 183, 196, 215, 219, 228 utility services 225–9 Western modernity 87 World Bank 164, 184, 204–6, 208, 211, 228, 230 zoning system 39

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