Alluring Opportunities: Tourism, Empire, and African Labor in Colonial Mozambique

By Todd Cleveland

Alluring Opportunities examines the lives of African laborers in the tourism industry in the Portuguese colony of Mozambique and the social ascension that many of these workers achieved in spite of demanding conditions. From the origin of the colonial period until its end in 1975, the tourism industry developed on the backs of these laborers and ultimately became an important source of foreign exchange for Portugal.

Todd Cleveland explores the daily experiences of local tourism workers in the genesis and expansion of this vital industry with an analytical utility that transcends Africa's borders by complicating the narrative established and reinforced by an expansive body of literature that stresses the exploitation of indigenous tourism workers. He argues that just as foreign tourists embraced the opportunity to travel to various locations in Mozambique, so too did many Indigenous laborers seize opportunities for employment in the tourism industry in an effort to realize social mobility via both the steady wages that they earned and their daily interactions with sojourning clientele.

Alluring Opportunities reconstructs these workers' lives, highlighting their critical contributions to the local industry, while also prompting a reconsideration of Indigenous labor and social mobility in colonial Africa. As a result, Cleveland reveals new ways of thinking, more broadly, about the ways that tourism shapes processes of empire, interracial interactions, and power relations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cornell University Press
• Release date: Jun 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781501768323

Todd Cleveland

Todd Cleveland is an associate professor of history at the University of Arkansas. His books include these Ohio University Press titles: Sports in Africa, Past and Present (2020), Following the Ball: The Migration of African Soccer Players across the Portuguese Colonial Empire, 1949–1975 (2018), Diamonds in the Rough: Corporate Paternalism and African Professionalism on the Mines of Colonial Angola, 1917–1975 (2015), and Stones of Contention: A History of Africa’s Diamonds (2014).

Book preview

Cover: Alluring Opportunities, TOURISM, EMPIRE, AND AFRICAN LABOR IN COLONIAL MOZAMBIQUE by Todd Cleveland

ALLURING OPPORTUNITIES

TOURISM, EMPIRE, AND AFRICAN LABOR IN COLONIAL MOZAMBIQUE

TODD CLEVELAND

FOREWORD BY ERIC G. E. ZUELOW

CORNELL UNIVERSITY PRESS

Ithaca and London

To Julianna, Lucas, and Byers

CONTENTS

Foreword by Eric G. E. Zuelow

Acknowledgments

Introduction

1. The Promise and Delivery of Tourism in a Colonial Space

2. Europe in Africa

3. Urban Nightlife

4. The Lure of the Game

5. Safari

Epilogue

Notes

Bibliography

Index

FOREWORD

Tourism expanded during the twentieth century to become one of the world’s largest industries and its biggest employer. There were many reasons: improved transportation technology that brought down costs, political efforts to promote leisure travel, an increase in the number of cultural mediators telling people what to see and how to see it, a dramatic increase in the standard of living in many places, and so on. Tourism was born in Europe and exported along the vector of empire. By the postwar years most states around the world recognized that it brought in revenue with comparatively little investment, even as it showcased national identity by celebrating unique cultures, histories, and sites/sights. What was more, tourism fueled the development of infrastructure that could benefit hosts and guests alike. Ultimately, it was good politics, bolstering regimes and turning the foreign visitor into a friend who will return whenever he can.

We know quite a bit about tourists. Most want to escape the everyday, moving from the humdrum of home life into a fantasy in which they want for nothing, enjoying experiences without consequence, and consuming sites/sights that showcase postcard-ready perfection. They want something that looks natural, effortless—real. But of course, attracting and pleasing tourists does require effort on the part of hosts, even if it is desirable to hide the labor as much as possible. Tourists certainly do not want to think about the work that goes into providing their leisure.

Historians have traditionally adopted much the same attitude and long paid scant attention to tourism workers. This is curious, especially when considering the evolution of tourism history as a topic of study. The field largely began as an exploration of working-class British identity even as it ignored tourism workers. It originated from the Marxist concerns of British historians who were inspired by the groundbreaking ideas of E. P. Thompson and Eric Hobsbawm (among others) during the 1960s, 1970s, and early 1980s.¹ Scholars, anxious to learn where and when factory workers first identified as a separate social class, traced how increasing real wages, combined with dreadful living conditions in Britain’s growing cities, prompted workers to seek a new type of break from work: a trip to the seaside. Business owners had long faced work stoppages when their employees opted to observe holidays such as Saint Monday, a practice whereby workers simply took Mondays off. Now they realized that scheduling annual holidays was better for the bottom line because they could plan for it while improving morale at the same time.² Workers were central to the story, but the workers discussed were not employed in the leisure business. Admittedly, tourism history pioneer John K. Walton wrote a now-classic text about the Blackpool landlady,³ but such a focus apparently did not inspire a rush of histories. Some workers were evidently less interesting than others.

Instead, the developing field of tourism history moved in other directions. Various scholars explored the creation of tourist sites, the evolution of tourism mediators such as guidebooks, the role of tourism in shaping identities, and state efforts to use tourism, among other subjects. Most scholarship dealt with Europe and the United States. Tourism workers and most of the rest of the world were largely skipped over.

Today things are changing. In the previous two books in this series, Stephen L. Harp and Blake C. Scott offer some of the first sustained treatment of tourism labor. According to Harp, North African laborers built the French Riviera as we know it today and they were treated appallingly as they did so. Workers were condemned to shanty towns called bidonvilles, largely because landlords refused to rent to them. Perhaps that fact mattered only symbolically, however: salaries were low enough that they could not have afforded to rent a flat anyway. The term bidonville originated in North Africa and denoted rapidly constructed container towns in which poverty-stricken agricultural workers lived while trying to make a living. The word’s use is telling: a reflection of imperialist ideas celebrating French superiority and condemning the backwardness, disease, and dirt of colonies inhabited by Black Africans. Locals in coastal towns such as Nice responded by demanding the removal of these temporary communities, alleging crime and poor sanitation. Racist politicians added their weight, forcing the workers to move frequently in order to build new bidonvilles in new locations before the cycle repeated itself.⁴

Writing about the Caribbean, Blake C. Scott tells a story that is little brighter: Black- and Brown-skinned workers condemned to low-paid service work in fancy hotels. While these workers were deemed suitable for serving drinks, carrying bags, or turning down beds, they were not permitted on the premises where they worked unless they were in uniform. Eventually the racial and class tensions overflowed, making the Hotel Tivoli a target for gunfire, rocks, and Molotov cocktails.⁵

The Tivoli was not the only hotel to attract protesters and unrest, especially in colonial settings where these institutions reflected chauvinistic sentiments. Serving as contact zones between hosts and guests, locals and powerful outsiders, they furnished … subalterns the very means of speaking back by exchanging gossip about guests, or mischievously violating their privacy. Of course, speaking back sometimes meant more direct confrontation: alleged thefts, gambling, physical confrontations, and strikes.⁶ It is probably little wonder that the Hotel Shepheard in Egypt fell victim to anticolonial protests in 1952 or that Fidel Castro famously set up his first headquarters, Free Havana, in the Hilton Hotel after the 1959 Cuban Revolution.⁷ The inequality showcased by putting host beside guest was inescapable, a focal point and fault-line for … identity, status, and social relations.⁸ As Scott aptly summarizes, Inside, guests wined and dined enjoying modern comforts, while sharply uniformed and dark-skinned locals catered to their travel desires. From the outside looking in, this exclusive system was a sign of what was wrong with the colonial world. As bastions of privilege, yet dependent on racialized and exploited labor, hotels evolved into battlegrounds between the colonial past and an undecided future.⁹

Although Todd Cleveland’s account—the first sustained exploration of African tourism labor, based on more than sixty oral histories as well as printed sources—certainly confirms the existence of racism in Mozambique, Alluring Opportunities complicates matters. There is no glossing over the reality that, as described in chapter 1, the colonial state instituted strict control of Indigenous residents and were therefore free to harness their labor while making significant profits. Black tourism workers were paid less than whites for doing the same job and had to enter by separate entrances. They could not enjoy the hotels or clubs where they worked as guests. Relationships with white employers and guests were far from equal. And yet, Cleveland reports in the introduction, Irrespective of the demeaning treatment that many of these workers endured, the social ascension that many of them nonetheless experienced problematizes analyses that reductively emphasize their victimization. Tourism workers earned more than those in other lines of work, enough that they could afford to save money and build homes. The added pay meant that they could gain status within their community, developing otherwise unattainable skills that promised further upward mobility after independence. As Rodrigues Pelembe, a hotel housekeeper in the 1970s, put it: There was a difference between me and others in my neighborhood because I could afford what others could not. Although my salary was not much, I could count on tips. And, I was actually able to build myself a house. I could also buy clothing for my mother—scarves and fabrics. So, again, there was a noticeable difference between my mother’s grooming habits and appearance and those of other guys’ mothers (in the introduction). Cleveland’s other interviewees often recount similar stories.

Mozambique, like other European colonies held by various states, was ruled by the Portuguese based on principles that placed whites above all others. Yet it was not possible to rule the colony without making use of African labor, and this was especially true with the development of tourism during the twentieth century. As described in chapter 1, Lisbon had little choice but to tolerate this form of interracial interaction. Tourism generated complicated contacts between tourists, migrant workers, locals, and resident settler populations. In theory, there was a codified set of racial policies that governed such engagements, but tourism created important exceptions to these conventions. Black tourism workers report being treated differently from their day-to-day experience outside of the industry, while tourism created a space where Blacks and whites interacted in highly unconventional ways that deviated from prevailing colonial standards. Tourism workers benefited from this, enjoying contact with outsiders that lacked the usual uneasiness of other areas of life. These communications held other benefits for African workers as well. Many used the opportunity of interacting with outsiders to gain language skills which benefitted them when they assisted visitors, while facilitating further upward mobility.

The relative appeal of tourism work drew migrant workers to the business when they were often quite young, many in their early teens, and they often stuck with it for much of their working lives. Given the alternative—working in South African mines, for example—this is probably not surprising. Pelembe is a case in point. He left school and started working when he was very young in order to escape poverty. There was little choice. Miners like his father were earning less and less money doing dangerous work while being frequently mistreated. By contrast, tourism offered comparatively agreeable working conditions and salaries were at least stable. What is more, employment opportunities were increasing in number, climbing from around a thousand jobs in the 1940s to almost three thousand by the early 1960s. The benefits evidently bred a certain equanimity. Even with the various negatives, and in stark contrast to some of the previously mentioned cases, which took place in other colonial or postcolonial settings, there was never any labor unrest among tourism workers in Mozambique.

Following the independence struggle and the withdrawal of Portugal from the country in 1975, the new government deemphasized tourism for a time, yet, as described in the epilogue, the knowledge and skillsets of workers in the tourist sector persisted. Africans who developed particular skillsets during the colonial period through tourism work were ultimately able to capitalize on them to secure important positions in the industry following independence. When the tourism industry reemerged, these individuals were able to help promote the industry, to manage businesses, and to attain more prominent roles in the institutions where they worked. In some cases, they were even able to pass their talents on to future generations, as did Fernando Cunica, who moved seamlessly into postcolonial life as a chef before passing the family trade along to his son. Life during the colonial period was not easy, he told Cleveland, but If I was not a professional, my children would have died of hunger. Now, Cunica hoped that transmitted culinary skills would provide his son with opportunities abroad to further hone his craft.

The story of tourism labor in Africa is terribly important for our growing understanding of tourism history, but Cleveland’s book is important for other reasons as well. It adds a great deal to our knowledge of empire tourism generally and African tourism in particular. As with tourism labor, the history of tourism outside Europe and the United States is only beginning to develop; African tourism history is in its early stages and it remains uneven in its geographic coverage and subject matter.¹⁰ Presently, we have a solid outline of the story in Egypt, which stretches back as far as the Greek and Roman period.¹¹ Beyond that, the current storyline begins in the later nineteenth century and is often associated with safari tourism, in which white men attempted to demonstrate their masculinity by killing big-game animals.¹²

There is undoubtedly much more to learn, a great deal of it almost certainly intertwined with the story of European imperialism. Indeed, empire tourism is an important feature of colonial administration in many places and a significant number of indigenes were ultimately keen to utilize it for their own ends as well.¹³ A handful of earlier scholars give us tantalizing examples. Ismail Pasha, the Khedive of Egypt from 1863 to 1879, was anxious to work with Thomas Cook and Son, as well as with the British administrators in his country, to develop tourism as it promised a valuable revenue stream.¹⁴ During the early twentieth century, Indians were the first to make use of package tours operated on the sub-continent by Thomas Cook and Son in order to see their country for themselves. More than this, South Asians of various political inclinations published guidebooks as a way of subtly communicating how best to understand their country and its diverse cultures, traditions, and landscapes. This knowledge was employed to serve a range of political agendas.¹⁵ In the aftermath of World War II, regimes such as those in the Belgian Congo hoped to use tourism to repair tarnished reputations and to reenergize the colonial enterprise in the face of decolonization pressures. Tourism served as fruitful propaganda.¹⁶ Cleveland’s account offers a much more comprehensive case study. In Mozambique, tourism generated money, functioned as propaganda, fueled the creation of infrastructure, and inspired environmental conservation efforts. According to authorities anxious to cast their regime in a glowing light, as described in the epigraphs to chapter 1, the industry promised a place where all races and religions live together in perfect harmony and where visitors could experience natural beauties, stay in first rate accommodations, and become a friend who will return whenever he can. That violent revolutionary struggle erupted shortly after these statements were uttered should not distract us from the diverse potential that the colonial regime evidently imagined leisure travel to offer, a potential that motivated nearly a century of development effort.

On the face of it, tourism is innocent fun. Beneath that veneer, however, it is an exercise of power. It certainly was a venue for the sort of Orientalist knowledge Edward Said described almost fifty years ago.¹⁷ Cleveland’s excellent study makes clear that it is more than that: it was also an economic engine, a political and diplomatic tool, a source of interactions between myriad groups, and a means of social and economic advancement for people whose opportunities were otherwise limited. All these outcomes undoubtedly have downstream implications that should generate further study. By revealing these diverse realities, Cleveland has done tourism historians, Africanists, and scholars of empire a great service. His is an important book.

Eric G. E. Zuelow

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

One of my favorite endeavors as I near the completion of the protracted book publication process is perusing the folder in which I have placed every one of the hundreds, or even thousands, of emails I have sent and received related to the project so that I do not inadvertently leave anyone out of this very section. The earliest emails, which inherently date back many years, are usually uninformed queries sent to colleagues seeking suggestions for relevant source materials or requests to interlibrary loan staff to kindly order materials not owned by the University of Arkansas. Later, exchanges with research assistants, prospective publishers, and funding agencies are more common, while the most recent emails are almost always correspondence with someone involved in the production process at the press. Inevitably, I come across exchanges with individuals about whom I had completely forgotten, which generates varying degrees of guilt depending on the significance of their contribution to the book. But what I most enjoy is the relentless reminder of how wonderful it was to meet and interact with such a wide variety of people over the course of the research, writing, and publication processes. Many of these exchanges bring back fond memories of, for example, moments spent in the field, whether working or socializing with family, friends, or individuals I met during the research process, such as informants or assistants. These exchanges also remind me of the generosity that these people displayed in an attempt to assist me with my work; writing a book is a truly collaborative undertaking. In the ensuing paragraphs, I strive to express my sincerest gratitude to every one of these individuals and genuinely apologize if my methods, as outlined here, were insufficient to identify everyone who merits this recognition.

As I commenced this book and attempted to gain my footing in what was a new area of study for me, Fernando Arenas, Andrea Arrington, Marcos Vinicius Santos Dias Coelho, Karen Fung, Allen Isaacman, Adam Kaul, Libby Lunstrum, Ken Orosz, Kathleen Sheldon, Trevor Simmons, Wendy Urban-Mead, Julie Weiskopf, and Doug Wheeler patiently answered my earliest questions about tourism studies and drew my attention to useful source materials. Rachel Dwyer, a member of the staff of the African Studies Library at Boston University, deserves special mention for locating, organizing, scanning, and sending to me a considerable amount of extremely important material as I was struggling to make sense of my findings during these early stages of the project. Subsequently, Glenda Dannenfelser helped me work my way through these items. Finally, Gill Berchowitz read an early version of my book proposal and, as always, provided useful feedback, while Clark Jeffs generously sent along old brochures targeting American big-game hunters that his company, Safari Outfitters, based in Cody, Wyoming, circulated featuring hunting safari trips to Mozambique during the colonial period.

As I transitioned to Portugal to begin the archival and, to a lesser extent, oral research, I was assisted by the various staff members at the Biblioteca Nacional, the Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, and the Sociedade de Geografia de Lisboa. Sara Moreira and Luís Gameiro, from the Cinemateca Portuguesa–Museu do Cinema, deserve special mention for their unrelenting support as I learned how to navigate what was for me a new repository. Alice Barreiro and Isabel Coelho, from the Arquivo Histórico do Ministério dos Negócios Estrangeiros, similarly merit this degree of praise, and for exactly the same reasons. It was at this archive that I met Pierre Edwards, a resident of Pretoria, South Africa, who was there conducting his own research. I would later stay with Pierre at his house and benefit from the various interviews he arranged for me. His considerable generosity and hospitality—especially toward someone he barely knew—were incommensurate with the minimal Portuguese-English translation that I provided for him at the archive. While in Portugal, Cláudia Castelo, Bárbara Direito, Moira Forjaz, Amélia Frazão Moreira, and Sofia Sampaio also provided valuable assistance, as did Pedro and Isabel Botte. And, as always, I benefited from the studied insights into Portugal’s colonial past that my good friends Jorge Varanda and Nuno Domingos provided every time I inquired.

My next stop was in South Africa, which I visited twice in order to interview individuals who had traveled to Mozambique as tourists during the colonial period. While Pierre Edwards arranged the initial visit, the subsequent visit was part of a longer trip, driving with my family from Cape Town to Durban and on to Eswatini, before flying from Johannesburg to Mozambique. As part of this journey, Natanya van der Lingen kindly made arrangements with her mother, Margie van der Lingen, to spread the word around her retirement community in Durban that I would be on-site one day in early June 2017 and that I was eager to speak with anyone who had traveled to colonial Mozambique as a tourist. Indeed, Margie constructed and then posted flyers announcing my visit all over the lobby. In what ended up being a marathon day, I conducted fourteen separate interviews with individuals and couples—surely, my most productive and enjoyable day over the entire course of the research process. I cannot thank these informants enough for sharing their experiences with me and, in the case of Gordon and June Alison and Dave and Jean Denley, also sharing photographs from their travels.

On arrival in Mozambique, it was wonderful to reconnect with Eléusio Viegas Filipe, with whom I had attended graduate school at the University of Minnesota, and to spend quality time with both his immediate and extended families. Eléusio and, at times, Eusébio Xerinda helped me to locate and interview Mozambicans who had been employed in the tourism sector during the colonial period. Again, I will remain forever grateful to those informants who were willing to share their experiences, which, at times, were demeaning or even humiliating. Meanwhile, Jane Flood can only be described as manna. From the time we met, she never stopped trying to help me with my book. Initially, she provided useful source materials while also introducing me to scores of people, including former employees in the industry whom I later interviewed. She even arranged for babysitters so that my wife and I could periodically enjoy an evening out in Maputo, and eventually organized a team to translate and transcribe my recorded interviews. In particular, Angela Angie Macaamo remains among the most superb babysitters and transcribers with whom I’ve ever had the pleasure of interacting. While in Mozambique, David Ankers, Sidney Bliss, Euclides Gonçalves, John Marrone, António Botelho de Melo, Domingos Muala, Marlino Mubai, Paulo Negrão, and Bita Rodrigues also provided valuable assistance.

Going forward, I deemed a return trip to Portugal to attend the annual Amigos da Gorongosa luncheon worthwhile. The current director of the park, Vasco Galante, had encouraged me to make this journey in order to meet and interview some of the individuals who were in charge of various aspects of the park during the colonial period. In fact, since the day I first contacted Vasco, he has been indispensable to this book. Quite simply, the chapter on Gorongosa would not have been possible without his relentless assistance. The very first day we exchanged emails, he sent me over a dozen individual emails that included source materials, videos, park personnel lists, and similar information. Going forward, he has helpfully and quickly responded every single time I have reached out to him with one query or another. As such, it was wonderful to finally dine with him in Lisbon and meet so many folks who all share an interest in Gorongosa’s well-being. Among these individuals, Albano Cortez, Fernando Gil, Celestino Gonçalves, and José Canelas de Sousa have all been remarkably helpful.

As the research phase of the book wound down and the writing began, I received key input and assistance from Christian von Alvensleben, Reimar von Alvensleben, Rolf Baldus, Chase Barney, Jacob S. Dlamini, Gaby Hale, David Hardy, Lilly Havstad, Alex Marino, Amanda Rector, João Sarmento, Werner Schmitz, Tancredo Tivane, and Elaine Wood. Moreover, as the manuscript neared competition, Maggie Bridges, Fiona Claire Capstick, Richard Curtis, Jorge Ribeiro Lume, and Lynne Tinley all made key contributions. Meanwhile, the editor of the series in which this book appears, Eric G. E. Zuelow, as well as the acquisitions editors, Emily Andrew and Bethany Wasik, all of whose faith in this project was unwavering, waited patiently for me to finish, while also providing important suggestions that have undoubtedly strengthened this book. I am also grateful to the various anonymous reviewers, as well as to the Editorial Board at Cornell University Press, for providing feedback that has significantly enhanced the final product.

Special mention is also warranted for a handful of other individuals, as their contributions were never limited to a particular stage or moment during this long process. First, I’d like to thank my sister, Kim Cleveland, who read and provided feedback on everything from my initial research, funding, and book proposals to the latest drafts of the series of chapters that compose the book. Staff members in the Department of History at the University of Arkansas, including Melinda Adams, Andrea Breckenridge, Stephanie Caley, Brenda Foster, and Jeanne Short, have also provided a dizzying range of support as the book evolved from idea to finished product. Similarly, the Interlibrary Loan staff members at Mullins Library at the University of Arkansas have procured materials from across the globe—and in record time—over the years that this book has taken. Bob Shacochis also merits special mention, as he generously shared with me transcripts of his interviews with various individuals related to Gorongosa National Park, some of whom had passed away before I began my research. And I would be remiss if I failed to extend a