As we turn to leave, he warns us to drive carefully as there are big holes along the road.
“You mean potholes? Did you have a lot of rain?” Eugenio queries.
“No,” smirks the black uniformed customs officer. “It’s Frelimo bandits. They’ve been a bit trigger happy of late.”
“Frelimo?” I ask, as we drive out.
“The Front for the Liberation of Mozambique. I read about them in the newspaper. They’re black freedom fighters. Some people have called them guerrillas.”
“ But, a gorilla is a big black monkey, isn’t it? What’s that got to do with anything?”
Eugenio nearly has an accident, he’s laughing so much.
“Perche’ stai ridendo di me? Why’re you laughing at me?” I look at him, stony-faced.
“I’m not, tesoro. I’m just thinking how apt your comment is. They probably do look like big black gorillas with guns, but that’s not something we’ll say in public.”
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