Trying to write this without resorting to almost ingrained clichés will be difficult. This is not about leaving “Africa” and arriving in “Europe” in winter. It is about my subjective experience as one person living for two intense months in Maputo, at the beginning of a period of self-imposed homelessness.

I wanted to capture the sensory experience – the emptiness of the city on a Sunday – the stifling heat, entering the terminal of the airport, its openness and not-too-cold airconditioning, and realizing that I had “left” Mozambique. The air I would breathe from then on would be airport air. The last rays of sun I would feel would be through massive glass windows. Leaving is always anticlimactic. Unknowingly you often leave before even having stepped on a plane, or crammed the trunk of the car.

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