TRADE
kinguilas
When you come to Luanda, you need to change money to the local coin, kuansas (KZ). This money is only valid in Angola where, thanks to crazy growth and unstable inflation, the rates change daily.
Anna, Marsha, Bell and Cat sit on the street-side everyday chatting amongst themselves, and waving money as they call out their exchange service to everyone who passes by.
These women are known as “Kingilas”, which comes from the verb ‘to wait’. They sit with their wads of cash on street corners and under buildings, ready and waiting to exchange money. Being a Kingila is a tradition - everybody uses their services.
These women tell us that they do it because they have no choice – that there is no work for women. It’s a story we’ve heard before.
These days, the KZ is stronger than the USD and Luanda is as expensive for us as Amsterdam is - in every way. The Kingilas are the authority on the rate: they know, and everybody takes their word. They make around 100 KZ on every transaction.
And I keep thinking: here we are in the dangerous streets of Luanda, and women are moving around with large amounts of cash, dealing in money, making money and they know how to protect themselves. Sounds empowering to me.
Peixeiras // Fisher Girls
At sunrise each day, these women make their way to the harbor to buy the fresh fish. They gather around the boats, negotiating with the fishermen and then clean and arrange their fish on the beach. They have to pay a local guy to use his plastic groundcover, and so that he’ll help them put their load on their heads when it’s ready.
When we showed up to film, not everyone liked it. There was a general feeling that we would show the world a helpless or ugly picture of Luanda. It’s a familiar story in this city and I respect it, but sometimes it borders on the fact that people don’t want to show reality.
They’re Independent entrepreneurs, working long days and supporting their families. Many of them carry their babies with them - occasionally breast-feeding as they work. Just like wonder woman.
Maria is 28-years-old. When I ask why she does this she tells me that she had to give up her education because there was no money. She has 4 kids to feed and this is the only thing she can do.
She talks to us while arranging the fish in a big bucket. When she’s done, she pays the guy and he helps her put the heavy bucket of fish on her head. Then she walks back to the road where the fisher girls are all busy trying to grab a cab back to one of Luanda’s many markets.
Zungueiras
Every day we wake to the sound of roaring traffic, the rumble of construction, the babble of people talking, and women’s voices singing out long names. Their calls lend a sweet melody to the morning din, and we soon learn that these are the “Zungueiras” announcing their wares. The word "Zungueiras" derives from the verb to walk and these women walk all day, selling whatever it is that they have to sell.
Olivia Banana
I don't know much about this woman, except for her name and her sweet bananas. She sold them to me with a sweet smile. There are lots of women like her running about Luanda: they carry kilos of fruit, vegetables or other stuff that they have to sell on their heads. People call them by whatever they sell. So they call this woman“banana”. But her name is Olivia.