Multipartyism, the retraditionalization of local

Introduction 5

saying, were over. The time had arrived for defenseless civilians to attempt to rebuild their shattered lives, ceasefire or no ceasefire.16

Nevertheless, the Naparamas were not an unmitigated good. The “recuperation” of captive civilians in Renamo-held zones to government-controlled territory resulted in the dislocation and forced resettlement of thousands of people.17 And as the movement expanded, a growing number of Naparama initiates began levying local tribute, stealing, looting and setting up protection rackets. Before too long, the anti-bullet vaccine, which had initially been available free of charge, could only be secured at a steep price. Some Naparama units even began to refuse to return recuperados (people who had been “recuperated”) to their homes until their families paid a fee for their release. As António’s army became more extractive, it also became progressively more authoritarian and violent. Naparamas strongarmed people into joining or supporting the movement. They imposed a growing number of highly restrictive taboos and strictures, ostensibly designed to safeguard the vaccine’s protective powers, on both its fighters and the communities they served. And, in some areas, they gained notoriety for killing civilians, especially men, in Renamo zones.18

In the meantime, Renamo set about adjusting its military strategy to beat back the Naparama advance and to recoup lost territory. It also developed its own vaccine to counteract António’s. At the end of 1991, rebel guerrillas in Zambézia killed António. Thereafter, the tensions and fissures within the Naparama army became ever more pronounced. Some Naparama units took to freelance banditry. A few even defected to Renamo.19

In Namapa District, the Naparamas stood accused of a host of abuses and excesses. These included attacking government forces and international relief convoys; perpetrating some of the worst atrocities against civilians in Renamo-controlled territory; extorting food from locals; and fining nonNaparamas who failed to comply with the movement’s dictates. They had even been charged with duly executing the district administration’s orders to coerce smallholders to grow cotton, historically one of Mozambique’s leading export earners and, during the colonial period, a forced crop.20

Taken literally, the claim that the Namapa Naparamas were staging a work stoppage did not make sense. No Naparama forces had ever been on a formal payroll. And all Naparama units had been out of action since Frelimo and Renamo leaders had signed a peace accord in Rome in October 1992. It was now almost two years later. In popular discourse in Mozambique, however, being “on strike” held wider connotations – especially in advance of the country’s first multiparty poll then just a few months away. Widespread uncertainty regarding the electoral outcome and its effects on the country’s fragile peace prevailed. South Africa’s just-concluded transition to black majority under an ANC-led government had shored up hopes that the peace process in Mozambique could likewise be brought to a successful conclusion. Such hopes were, however, shadowed by fears that Mozambique in1994 could turn into a replay of Angola in 1992. In Angola, a similar

6 Introduction

UN-sponsored electoral exercise designed to crown a war-to-peace transition had produced the opposite result. The renewal of armed hostilities between the ruling MPLA (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola) and the South African- and US-backed rebel group, Unita, followed Unita’s rejection of the results, which returned the formerly Marxist MPLA to power. The UN mission in Mozambique had taken great pains to forestall a similar denouement in Mozambique – most notably by greatly expanding the number of peacekeeping troops, by offering substantial financial inducements to Renamo and by taking steps aimed at ensuring that the processes of demobilization and demilitarization were completed before the voting began. But no one could be sure what the next few months would bring. Predictably perhaps, demobilized and cantoned troops, government and private militias, and workers in state-owned companies were seeking to wrest whatever entitlements they thought were their due from the government or from their former employers as a hedge against an indeterminate future. For months the country had been awash in strikes of one kind or another.

In this context, the meaning of the JFS driver’s remark was perfectly transparent. The Naparamas in Namapa were following the example set by several hundred of their counterparts in Zambézia a few weeks previously. There Naparamas had blocked the main road north of the provincial capital for three days and seized twenty-four government vehicles. The protesters, fifty of whom marched on the provincial capital to press their cause, demanded the same treatment as Renamo and government soldiers who had opted against joining the newly formed, unified national army: demobilization and, more importantly, demobilization pay. They also asserted their right to back wages for the military services they had rendered during the war.21

Namapa was our destination that day. We were all ears. The Naparamas had thrown up a roadblock, cutting the road between Nampula and Cabo Delgado to the north, the driver of the jeep informed us. We thanked him for the information and proceeded on our journey to the police checkpoint just outside of the town of Namapa, the district capital. A few dozen vehicles were parked there and stranded motorists were milling about. The Naparamas, we were told, had hauled tree trunks and the chassis of old vehicles across the highway. There was no getting through. They had also assaulted and cleaned out the best-stocked store in town, looted several stalls in the local marketplace and attacked passers-by.22 The “strike” threw a wrench in my research plans. I had hoped to spend a night in Namapa before heading west to conduct interviews on local history in Namirôa and Muanona, the most remote administrative divisions in the district. I had rented a four-by-four for the purpose and had two weeks’ worth of food and petrol in tow. In order to salvage these plans I thought my research assistant, our driver (who came with the vehicle) and I could double back to Alua, the district’s second largest town, which offers alternative access to Namapa’s western localities. But an Alua resident counseled against taking

Introduction 7

such a course of action. Naparamas from all over the district were “on the march” towards the district seat, he warned, and we would be ill-advised to risk running into them en route.

Prudence seemed like the best tack. We decided to head back down the road to the Catholic mission near Alua. There we were offered hospitality for the night. With the arrival of police reinforcements from the provincial capital that evening, the rioters, whose ranks had been swelled by disaffected demobilized Renamo and government troops, fled and the roadblock was lifted.23 By morning calm prevailed and we were able to head into the district’s interior.

In the week and a half that followed we had occasion to speak with both Naparama commanders and the rank and file, as well as others, about the Naparama phenomenon. We learned that the parama vaccine had entered the district by two distinct routes.24 To the west of highway 360, rural residents had heard of the existence of an anti-bullet potion in Mecubúri, the district to Namapa’s west. Some communities had acted on this information by sending groups of boys and young men across the district border to be vaccinated and trained. Elsewhere in the area, locals had invited Naparama commanders and curandeiros into their own communities to organize grassroots militias. Given that the vaccine had developed in Ribáuè District in western Nampula, it was not surprising that it had migrated to Namapa by this route.

More unexpected was the revelation that the district administration had served as a conduit for the vaccine’s implantation in the vicinity of the highway 360 corridor. The district administrator, Manuel Braga, himself a military commander, had headed Lalaua District in western Nampula between 1985 and 1990 when the war raged there and a military administration had been installed. During this period, “Zinco,” an elder from Méti, Lalaua, had concocted the parama vaccine, apparently independently of António, and had created his own militias which also became known for their military prowess.25 In 1990, Braga had been transferred to Namapa where Renamo at the time held the upper hand militarily. Upon sizing up the local security situation, Braga decided to bring Zinco to Namapa. Zinco vaccinated in the area of the district seat, Alua and the communities in between.

It was the Naparama militias under Zinco’s command that had, towards the end of the war, gained reputations as highway robbers. They had also allegedly committed some of the most egregious atrocities against civilians in Renamo-held territory in the southeastern corner of the district.26 These same militia members apparently accounted for the better part of the Naparamas who participated in the August riot. The disproportionate representation of Zinco’s men in the disturbance may well have merely reflected geographic circumstance: this set of Naparamas was simply closer to the district capital. Other Naparamas units were heading to Namapa town or were considering heading in that direction but had changed their plans when they heard that the demonstration had turned violent.