- The light of the Promised Land delays. We cannot conserve food. Dig up us only some eucalyptus to support our swallowing.
- Our respectable Chinese friends installed the cables electrics. They finished the work, the Orphans stole everything. The celestial illumination finished.
- Is to be independent the something?! Independent Slaves the something is?! Are we slave, owners of our destiny… how the dogs.
The information disseminated the anthology of the cholera. Jingola without light, without money for piles, didn't have access to the waves of Hertz. The time was glued; it was drained in the constant attention of selling obsequious. The cholera pant for the borrowed attention. The surface rights catapulted generous. The princely minority information applauded the close season against the exiles. At the end of the day the hunger in society with the death collects the debt, he makes the swinging of the slaughter. The mortal numbers of the epidemics, of the hungers, stopped impressing. They leave reasons for the superb to get happy. Many rivers to reign, a lot of water, a lot of people to die of cholera, because he doesn't have water. They are deepened dig them of the power but, we have formulas for stopping.
Near the bank of urgency of the hospital, the abandoned people for the independence await for their sick relatives. They sleep demented, dependent of the ground, in cardboards. They produce chips, remains of food, faces, urine. It is that they rebuilt the hospital, they forgot about the external sanitarians. The administrator loosens:
- He already told them for us to leave of here. I think that they are deaf, or they simulate. Everyday in this… I am already tired. I don't know that people are this, the more we spoke to them, and they do worse. Our population is not prepared to live in society. Nor with an army of safeties I get to impose myself.
Streets with conducts of water broken out, they lie disloyal competition to the reservoirs of water installed in the sky. If they finished the puddles, filthy lakes, streets muddy, festering, the children would be unhappy, without these infantile gardens. Isolates, in this very concentrated field.
It rains, the palliative bridges tumble and start again. The crossing of the business is agile. When it passes for the great sewer, I will be more or less to middle of the road to Tule, there for Viana sides.
Some desperate zungueiras move the lightness of the empty basins.
- Oh my sister!.. That will be of us. The lakes where he leaves the cacusso… the fish, they are polluted with the cholera. We will starve!
- It is lie of them, they want to steal us the business.
They disguise the sadness with flows of natural laughter’s, without approval. Suddenly they are dislodged, they go mad she, intersect. The awake escape of new directions. The tenacious of the conspicuous law of the Politburo approaches. The surpluses of their cloths crawl for the ground. In the confusion the children are thrown in any way for the backs. The basins and the slippers seem to flee them of the hands and of the feet. A cloud of mixed dust with garbage rises. He seems a hurricane or an earth tremor. Fiscal and police bring the appearance of the triumphal flock… the persecution.
They used a surprising stratagem. They discoursed, they ran to a lake of the rain. They stopped when the water went up them over the knees. They were… as if they awaited the baptism in the river Jordan. The children to the backs, the basins in the heads, looked smiling, challenging. They were in an excellent refuge. The fiscal system and the police gave up, without courage for the adventure. They feared baptism of impure water.
Image: Angola in pictures