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With the fear of being cursed by the witch doctor behind me the road north, a potholed-ridden one at that, took me to Vilanculos, where, after a short wait, a week with my parents awaited. Between the time alone, and the time with my parents and their close friends, I saw the two contrasting sides to a place that will forever be etched into my memory.
Whilst stunningly beautiful there is a alcohol and drug fuelled underworld to the centre of Vilanculos, one that tars the rest of this otherwise idyllic setting. Venture into the dusty market place, where one can get lost in a maze of stalls selling wares ranging from dried fish, which has a stench that would see a cat turning his nose, and seasonal vegetables, to vibrant lengths of clothe and kitchenware.
But woven into the fabric of the local community is an overwhelming number of drunks, many of whom seem to have a reliance on the use of marijuana too, who make it their business to hound you at every possible chance. What saddened me was the influence these people, with permanent blood-shot eyes and foul breathe, had over the younger generation, often encouraging children as young as ten to follow the same dead-end path as they had chosen.
Alex, an eleven-year-old who had chosen not to be dragged into this seedy life with no end but self-destruction, explained to me the way these vagabonds operated. The younger members of this ever swelling group target tourists with sympathy tales of needing money for books for school, only to spend any good-natured donations on more booze, whilst the rest simply revert to theft, or the surprisingly honest trade of 'errand running', to fund their vices.
Pull into the market in a 4x4, as we often did once my parents and their friends had arrived, and suddenly there is a clutch of the more sober drunks offering to fetch whatever it is you need, for a small price obviously. For many tourists it is the lesser of two evils; rather than be harangued constantly trying to conduct your own business it is easier, and less stressful, to send one of these unemployed rogues to do it for you, as Peet, my parents friend did.
It was impossible to go anywhere with him without hearing shouts of 'Mr Peet, Mr Peet' as an endless line of children chase his truck looking to make some extra money. Not wanting to add to the perpetual cycle of drunkenness Peet only employs the services of children such as Alex, children he knows put the money towards bettering themselves, children who actually buy books for school rather than pickling their brains with it.
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