I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and suddenly remind that I was dreaming about Africa: dreaming colours, smiles, emotions and the smell of the ground. What happened to a man if he lives few hours per day on the other side of the world? And then someone shows me a picture about Mozambique in a magazine and while eating dinner I remind the Beira's airport and that guy there working with luggages and speaking five languages, and that sensation of freedom that is possible to feel when you ride a car sitting in the back part, with the wind on your face.

I think about my Africa of the past, about Africa in my present and about my Africa of the future.