INDIAN OCEAN CULTURES
The photographic campaign I carried out in Mozambique in 1996 was done with Francisco Leal, who recorded the sound. We were preparing materials for the Indian Ocean Cultures exhibition, promoted by the National Commission for the Discoveries. In the case of the photos, they were also intended for publications accompanying that project, such as the exhibition catalog and issue no. 34 of Oceanos magazine. Opened at the National Museum of Ancient Art on May 17, 1998, it marked the 500th anniversary of Vasco da Gama’s voyage to India.
We gathered images and sounds that aimed to bring visitors into these places in the present day, to witness the social and cultural diversity that defines these territories along Africa’s eastern coast.
A STARTING POINT OR MERELY AN ARRIVAL POINT
There are places that attract and fascinate us. We can easily explain why, sometimes for seemingly trivial reasons—due to the allure of the exotic, the awareness of finding ourselves, for brief moments, in remote and inaccessible places, where distinct forms of coexistence challenge us. And because, as outsiders, we feel that these places and people are forgotten, perhaps even lost in time. In our time.
But perhaps it’s much more than that. I confess I feel influenced by the concerns my father shared about the human condition’s vicissitudes. I won’t even attempt to explain what I think and feel about this—because I confess I am unable to do so here.
Moving on.
Over time, Ibo has faced successive conflicts and crises that affected its inhabitants, but each time, they managed to overcome them and remain in place. In the past, as now, that has been and continues to be the case. All these tensions seem to bring a capacity for resilience far beyond what we know, understand, or could imagine.
Here, as along the entire Swahili coast, Islam is the dominant religion. Catholicism still persists, but at that time, only a few elderly faithfuls remained. Traces of Hindu presence can also be found—such as a small local cemetery—though no practicing Hindus remain.
This page contains images and sounds from the late 20th century, focused on prayer on the small island of Ibo. One moment comes from the Central Mosque, and the other, a few days later, from a mass without a priest that Francisco Leal and I attended at the Church of São João Baptista.
In some cases, the material was collected in a context of closeness and even a certain intimacy with the people who collaborated with us, as happened in the Central Mosque of Ibo.
AT THE CENTRAL MOSQUE OF IBO
The Central Mosque of Ibo was built in the late 19th century, specifically in 1886. It is the main prayer space for Muslims on this island in the Quirimbas Archipelago, located in Cabo Delgado Province, about 200 km from Mozambique’s border with Tanzania.
Inhabited by Bantu peoples from the African interior, it welcomed Arab traders from the 6th century onwards, who settled there. Trade along Africa’s eastern coast to Oman and the Persian Gulf passed through what is now northern Mozambique, as well as Tanzania, Kenya, and southern Somalia.
With the rhythm of tides and monsoons, dhows crossed and anchored in these regions, contributing decisively to the formation of a cultural continuity that became rooted through a common language—Swahili—despite some local variants like Kimwani, spoken here.
Dhows still sail a little further north along the Tanzanian coast. Around here, smaller boats now ensure local connections. In August 1996, Francisco Leal recorded the soundscape of one such boat sailing into Ibo.
PRAYER AT THE IBO MOSQUE
I witnessed two silent prayers. The first took place outside, with a woman who gave me her consent to observe. She remained undisturbed, as if I weren’t there. The second was with a man inside, in a room with a small slit to the outside. In both cases, my presence did not seem to bother them.
Later, we attended a prayer in this same mosque that Francisco Leal fully recorded, from which I include a short excerpt here:
When the prayers ended, it was time to leave. The silence inside contrasted with the lively commotion outside as the space quickly filled with people. Men and women exited through separate doors, barely crossing paths. A contagious joy filled the air.
MASS AT THE CHURCH OF SÃO JOÃO BAPTISTA
During the colonial period, Ibo was once the capital of Cabo Delgado District until 1929, when the capital was moved to Porto Amélia (now Pemba), a few dozen kilometers to the south. The island’s urban layout still visibly reflects its colonial architectural heritage. The Church of São João Baptista is one such example—belonging to a time long past.
The absence of a resident parish priest does not mean mass isn’t held at the Church of São João Baptista. Nor is there anyone in nearby areas to come and spread God’s word—only in Pemba. Therefore, the mass we attended, like all others there, was without a priest. But even without clergy nearby, the faith persists among those who refuse to be forgotten.
There are few devotees. Some children were present. Christian faith there has seen better days. João Baptista was the oldest resident of the island at the end of the 20th century. He was the guardian of Ibo’s memories. He had been baptized with the same name as the saint after whom both the church and fortress are named. If he is still alive, he would be around 84 years old today.
He used to open the church doors to the few remaining faithful. Until, some years after our visit, someone entered the church uninvited. It was attacked by a fanatical group from Madagascar who destroyed its entire interior. They destroyed the altar and sacred art, including a wood-carved piece documented in our photographs.
I don’t know if they still pray in that church after the attack. And after 25 years since my visit, I wonder if any of the older Catholic practitioners who welcomed us are still alive. Or whether the children who were with them still share the same faith and continue opening the church’s doors nearly three decades later.
When we left Pemba by land toward Ibo, we were told that security conditions at that moment allowed it—though it hadn’t been the case recently due to frequent RENAMO incursions near the provincial capital.
Years later, Cabo Delgado and the entire coastal region remain in a state of permanent insecurity, with frequent massacres by militias forcing the population to flee their homes—many heading not only to Pemba but also to Ibo Island, which in 2024 hosts around 8,000 displaced people.
When we spend a few days in a region—especially one so far removed from centers of power, and regularly subjected to crisis and conflict—we are often far from truly understanding the people we encounter: their aspirations, motivations, representations, and the broader social fabric that organizes and reproduces itself beyond the visible.
But having been able to share, in such close and even intimate circumstances, moments of prayer at the Central Mosque and that Church of São João Baptista, conveyed an atmosphere of coexistence, vitality, and closeness that made all the difference in this place. That was the impression I had—no more than the superficial perception of someone merely passing through. It gives one pause for thought.