It’s almost midnight. Exhaustion colonizes my body. My back aches. My neck, chained by a sharp, constant pain, complains of the excessive use to which, in the name of salary, I subjected it during the day – it limits my movements; it’s on strike. My knees creak like rusty hinges. To settle the matapa and rice I just ate in my stomach, I drink a glass of warm water. Despite the visible weariness, a smile escapes my lips; I dined on one of my favorite dishes. Even when the monthly budget is almost depleted, the queen always manages to excel in the kitchen. As for that, I have nothing to complain about.
I leave the room. I cross the bedroom door. It’s time to rest. Soon, the alarm will sound. As I put my lunchbox in the refrigerator, I conclude: in the name of salary, everything is inverted; I live at work, I only come home to visit. I work from Sunday to Sunday, without the right to vacation or time off. The routine doesn’t change, it gets heavier every day. I am a camel lost in the arid lands; a camel in continuous march, in search of a non-existent oasis. I sacrifice myself daily in the name of the salary. What will I do? Work dignifies man. Here is one of the unforgettable lessons I learned from my father. What a big liar that old man was. Today I realize the opposite: work damages man. Am I lying? Just look at my back cemented with pain and my swollen neck.
In this purely capitalist world, everything happens according to the level of fluency of each person in the monetary language. For example, I had to bribe the HR manager to renew my contract for another year at the company where I work. Everything is screwed! In a century we will be buying oxygen on credit, as the rapper Fusível already said, and it’s obvious.
I wrap myself in blankets. It’s June. The cold prevails in every corner of Maputo. I hug the lady. I call her name twice in a row, but she doesn’t answer; she’s lost in a deep sleep. She doesn’t move. The only sign that she’s still alive are the faint snores that come from her nasal passages. I remove my hand from her body. I don’t intend to wake her. The way she’s lost in sleep, she must be dreaming of a Junior in her arms. We’ve been trying to bring a baby into the world for years. Last week, we went to the specialist to analyze our fertility. However, the tests we have to undergo cost a fortune. That’s another reason for me to double my efforts at the company to guarantee my meager salary. It must be painful for my wife, as soon as she’s on vacation from college, to spend every day alone. Also, I’m already tired of the pressure from my uncles asking, whenever we get together for family gatherings, when will a Junior arrive? When will a Junior arrive? When will a Junior arrive? It’s as if when Junior arrives they’ll help us with some percentage of their salaries.
I lie on my back, my eyes on the waves of the rooftop. My wife is still snoring. I remember the brief conversation we had at noon, when I was having lunch at work:
“Honey, how’s work going?” she asked.
“The same old crap! But, for the sake of the salary, I’m putting up with these Chinese.”
“Hang in there, honey,” she said. In the background, I could hear shouts coming from the TV, the journalist’s voice narrating the facts: […] the employees of this security company say that they haven’t received a single cent of their salaries for four months […] And, at this point, I had to interrupt the call because the warehouse manager came into the break room with a new order:
“The truck from Melcadolia has arrived… unload now, you guys!”
And, for the sake of the salary, there we were, camels yoked together in this modernized contraption, unloading the heavy merchandise from the truck. It was during this exercise that I hurt my neck and exhaustion took over my body.
Keeping my eyes fixed on the roof, I count the waves. There are five on each sheet. Fifty waves across the entire roof of the room. My father often said that counting the waves on the sheets makes sleep come faster. So, little by little, I drift off to sleep, knowing that in less than five hours, the alarm will sound and it will be another day to hear the Chinese man rudely respond to customers dissatisfied with the products: no gallantia here, no galantia. And the employees, or rather, his tireless and programmed camels, will be scolding us: you don’t like money… you only like money. But you know, whoever doesn’t get paid, doesn’t earn a salary at the end of the month. Doesn’t earn anything!
In the blink of an eye, I close my eyes, and everything is darkness.
Author Biography
FERNANDO ABSALÃO CHAÚQUE was born in Maputo in 1996. He holds a degree in English Language Teaching from the Pedagogical University of Maputo and is a teacher by profession; author of the books “Âncora no Ventre do Tempo” (2021), winner of the Alcance Editores Literary Prize, 2019 edition; “Quando os céus desabam” (Massinha e edições, 2025); and co-author of the following works: “Barca Oblonga” (Fundza publisher, 2022), “Mazamera Sefreu” (Kulera publisher, 2023) and “Atravessando a pele” (Oitenta Noventa, 2023). He also contributed to the books “Os olhos Deslumbrados” (FFLC, 2021); “Um natal experimental e outros contos” (Gala-gala edições, 2021).
