Zulu

On the beach in Lobito there is bar that has been there forever. It’s called “Zulu”. I remember it from the first time I came to Angola, in 2002, just after the end of the civil war. The only “place” left on a once famous and beautiful beach, the Zulu is somewhat of an institution. Surprisingly fancy, with wooden chairs and tables, when all you can find everywhere else is plastic, waiters in uniforms, all but cheap (but then again, what’s cheap in Angola?). It used to be the gathering spot for aid workers craving a burger or a ceasar salad, a game of beach volley and a chat, after weeks or months in “the bush”. Right now the public is a bit more mixed: from the group of young “daddy’s sons” with their gold chains and baseball caps, to “new rich” families, Portuguese entrepreneurs, Chinese engineers, sometimes a local Angolan celebrity. People sit and work on their laptops, sip fresh drinks, make sure they see and get seen and I can’t help but notice how universal certain human behavioral patterns are.