A title like this doesn’t leave much room for manoeuvre. The word death is pretty final, even if qualified by an adjective like slow. There’s a finality in that title. So why bother writing it, or indeed reading it once written. Well, perhaps because in writing this piece on slow death, one wishes to somehow cheat death… The desire for immortality is great. So onto what I have to say…
And let me qualify the statement above, in case the title wasn’t sufficiently clear. We are talking of road cycling, as a pose to mountain bike, bmx or cycling as a form of transport.
We are talking about Mozambique, as a pose to South Africa or Europe or Australia. We are talking about a slow death, akin to a degeneration until final finality is reached.
Why?
Quite simply cycling in Mozambique has been dying ever since independence. I can only guess that far back, but it seems to me the mass exodus of the Portuguese post independence in 1974 took with them much of the desire and capacity for cycling.
Certainly something remained, but not on previous levels, and as bike parts broke and cyclists got older and left the sport, fewer and fewer young ones took their place. How though do we get from steady decline to slow death? Now, in 2012, Mozambique is a country far removed from it’s pre and immediate post-independence days. The majority of the population, under 20 year olds, have no memory of independence. Their desires and needs revolve around Vodacom and MCel, Coca-Cola and Shoprite, Game and Mandioca, Coconuts and Ice Lounge. The richer aspire to Apples and Mercs. Some entertain delusions of grandeur as rally drivers and tear along the 25th of September in fantasmagoricaly painted neon cars. Most go for a walk on the beach, careful not to get wet in the dirty bay water. Some actually run. Many own a bike and use it to get to work, to carry food and animals.
But road cyclists out to have fun? Or compete? Or train for world level events? Well, you’re hard-pressed to see any of those. The few that flit about, at ungodly hours to avoid the traffic, are either over-the-hill executives or spousing partners, with a new-found desire to be youthful and fit, to nationals who have a distant memory of a glorious Mozambican cycling past and try to maintain it by doing a few kms and then sitting down for a long coffee session at Café Nautilus, commiserating on the state of cycling, on all the errors made by others while doing little to actually improve it. Even they are getting old. Some old farts well into retirement age find a desire to be competitive, and free from family commitments, teach the younger-folk how it’s done.
In all this is a demographic of increasing urbanisation, zero growth in terms of infrastructure (read roads) and a proliferation of crappy Japanese car imports that flood the streets and choke up the city arteries. At the current rate of concentration (called “urbanisation” by some), all (i.e. 99%) of Mozambique’s population will live in a city, own a car and take 2 hours to drive 10km to work, and all this by 2020. In this scenario, where is the space for cyclists? Indeed, are cyclists even relevant in this reality?
While we struggle to secure a space to field races in the busy city streets, even more angered motorists have to wonder if knocking us down would resolve their problem once and for all. I mean, if there are no cyclists, and then they can’t paralyse the city to hold races!
And the few cyclists that do exist cannot even band together to form some sort of consensus and try and defend their interests... They are lost to their own desires and needs, with no sense of future. And the few organisations that should be zealously striving for our protection fear the fear of failure more than actually making a mistake. You have to break a few eggs to make a cake. But in cycling we might as well wear gridiron suits before we're let onto the roads to compete. And more worryingly, politics begins to intrude in the province of sport.
As for new riders, these are seen in mixed light On the one hand we are few, so any extra are welcomed. But they are also seen as a threat, to be beaten down so as not to challenge the hegemony of the few old-timers able to tootle along at a reasonable pace. The average age of cyclists is 35. Compare that to the national average.. under 20, and you can see that there is no growth in cycling, only a lingering, slow death. By 2020, when the cities will be completely choked, the few cyclists that remain will have to go across the border, to Swaziland and South Africa, in order to train and race. Or go spinning in a gym!
Not that these same pressures don’t exist in these neighbouring countries, but at least riders there have staked a claim, defend their interests, and fight to grow their sport. Their races are well organised, draw hundreds if not throusands, and attract their youth, invaluable asset to grow the sport!
We in Mozambique lost the battle even before starting.
My suggestions?
Practically? Buy a mountain bike. Or move to South Africa.
Morally? Well, try and defend cyclist’s interests, push for more space on the roads, encourage new riders, seek better publicity and sponsorship, have prizes that make sense to today’s youth. And above all understand that cycling is greater than our personal aspirations or desires, and therefore requires an almost religious fervour in promoting its interests. Above our own.
The reality? Well, we’ll find out in 2020. Till then, I can only hope you'll all keep on cycling.
Disclaimer – any similarity to actual cyclists is intentional, even if exaggerated for hyperbole. Do not feel offended. Feel, rather, a call to action.
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