Housing as social engineering, then and now

Housing has been central to Mozambique’s social and moral order since at least the colonial period (for a detailed discussion, see Morton Reference Morton2019; Sumich and Nielsen Reference Sumich and Nielsen2020; Sumich Reference Sumich2023). However, as with almost all other commodities in the colonial period, a house’s type, style, amenities and furnishings were tightly restricted by more comprehensive processes, formal and informal, of racial segregation (Morton Reference Morton2019; Reference Morton2022; Penvenne Reference Penvenne1995). Unsurprisingly, when Mozambique gained its independence in 1975, Frelimo, which had proclaimed itself a revolutionary socialist party, promised to completely transform housing practices across the nation to eradicate the legacy of colonial inequality. The truly utopian heights of this ambition were to be seen in rural areas, where the peasantry was to be concentrated in centralized communal villages, the foundation of the previously mentioned ‘cities in the bush’ (Hall and Young Reference Hall and Young1997; West Reference West2001; Chichava Reference Chichava2013). In her description of the USSR, Buck-Morss commented: ‘The Herculean task of the socialist collective was to rebuild the world … The reality behind this production fantasy was state coercion’ (Reference Buck-Morss1995: 19). As there was also a strong element of state coercion, communal villages have received significant attention in Mozambican historiography and are usually portrayed as one of Frelimo’s more grievous errors of the revolutionary period (Bowen Reference Bowen2000; Chichava Reference Chichava2013). It is true that the communal villages did alienate rural populations in some areas of the country and did ignore any alternative social vision they may have had. The fact that many were repurposed versions of the despised ‘aldeamentos’, the fortified villages the colonial state built as a counter-insurgency measure during the liberation war, is only too apropos. However, the problem was not simply the authoritarian and modernizing conception of communal villages; the fact that people were forced to live there was compounded by the fact that they rarely, if ever, provided the promised benefits (West Reference West2001). Infrastructure broke down, social services never appeared, shops were empty, and food was scarce (ibid.). Communal villages were supposed to be developmental, socio-economic focal points that would bind the nation together. In a similar manner to Luanda in Tomás’s analysis (Reference Tomás2022: 211), these were sites that promised a form of national wholeness but resulted in a myriad of dysfunctions, which increased fragmentation.

The push and pull, the ways in which centralizing efforts often, intentionally or not, increase fragmentation, has been a common feature of transformative projects over the years. Shortly after independence in 1975, the new Mozambican government, despite all its pronouncements to the contrary, continued the colonial practice of trying to sort different social and professional categories into particular neighbourhoods: there was a bairro (neighbourhood) for soldiers, one for teachers, specific compounds for ministers and cooperates, foreign fellow travellers who came to aid in the construction of a new society (see Tomás Reference Tomás2022 for a similar discussion in Luanda). This was even the case for one of Frelimo’s more celebrated urban policies: the redistribution of housing. Shortly after independence, most of the Portuguese settler population, along with many south Asians and other relatively privileged sectors of the population, left the country, effectively abandoning what was known as the ‘cement city’, the well-appointed core reserved for those at the apex of the colonial social order (Morton Reference Morton2022). The cement city was characterized by tall apartment buildings and spacious single-family homes well served by infrastructure and the shops and restaurants that catered to the lucky few. After independence, the Black residents of the far less salubrious bairros streamed in to take possession of the homes of their former colonial masters with the blessing of the new government. As Morton (Reference Morton2019) documents in his study of Maputo, this unintentionally stoked social divisions, privileging the lifestyles of white-collar workers while undermining the economic activities (beer brewing, carpentry, petty trade, etc.) on which so many residents of the bairros depended (ibid.).

After the official abandonment of socialism in 1989–90, these emergent cleavages were only intensified by capitalist reforms and privatization, such as when the housing stock was sold off at nominal prices. This tended to allow an emerging middle class to take control of the houses in which they resided and even acquire more. In fact, this became a significant basis for such a class, due to the increased demand for housing by the UN peace mission in the country from 1992 onwards and the influx of NGOs and international organizations that caused rents and housing prices to soar (see Jenkins Reference Jenkins, Bekker and Therbon1990; Sumich and Nielsen Reference Sumich and Nielsen2020). The contrast between public and private was stark. One would enter a decaying building of peeling, crumbling concrete with water dripping through cracks in the walls, walk past mailboxes still waiting for a postal service that had not existed for decades, and pass lifts that had not functioned since the late 1970s. Individual homes in these buildings, especially in the largely privileged areas of the ‘concrete city’, however, were calm enclaves of the aspirations that it seemed, for a time, capitalism may provide for, at least for the chosen few. They were generally beautifully presented and immaculate, with mementoes of family life lovingly displayed next to high-quality consumer goods imported from South Africa, Europe and Asia. In its first iteration, Frelimo attempted to transform the face of the city by taking sovereign control of the housing stock, to ensure equality and justice from above. The second iteration of revolutionary transformation transferred sovereign control to the individual householder, effectively giving state blessing to growing inequality while trying to ensure the formation of a more autonomous, class-based urban subject. While both reforms were undoubtedly transformative, neither achieved its stated goal (see Sumich and Nielsen Reference Sumich and Nielsen2020). House prices and rents continued rising at an alarming rate, and the children of the original beneficiaries were effectively priced out of the market. These are the circumstances behind urban fragmentation and the growth of gated communities in Maputo, which now number more than eighty (Mazzolini Reference Mazzolini2016). These are interesting developments, because, as noted by Chipkin (Reference Chipkin2013), gated communities are a way in which capitalist property rights are both mitigated and sustained by forms of non-capitalist collective ownership. In some ways, gated communities in Mozambique recall both forms of socialist collective ownership and a collective, if highly class-based, form of identity formation. We will tell this story by focusing on one such development: Casa Jovem.Footnote ¹

Casa Jovem

Casa Jovem is a condominium in the newly developed area of Costa do Sol, in what was previously the outskirts of Maputo. The story of Casa Jovem is contentious, as we shall see. It was founded by Erik Charas, who also launched Mozambique’s first free weekly newspaper, @Verdade. From nightly news broadcasts to pub debates, few can agree whether Charas is an idealistic visionary, a well-intentioned figure whose plans went tragically awry, or a con artist presiding over a pyramid scheme.

Casa Jovem was launched in 2010 and marketed as a response to the lack of housing in the city. The project targeted a specific camada social (social layer) of middle-class young professionals, mainly under forty years of age. Members of this group are central to the current hegemonic urban discourse in Mozambique. They should have high levels of education and at least relatively secure, well-paying jobs. Such features mark them out as exemplars of the modern city. Reality, though, often paints a very different picture. Despite their own best efforts and often privileged background, many are still forced to live far from the city and their jobs in self-built houses in areas with little or no infrastructure, in rented (and very expensive but decaying) apartments in the city centre, or with their parents even though they have children of their own.

The project started with sponsorship by the Joaquim Chissano Foundation, whose founder was the country’s president from 1986 to 2005, and was implemented by Charas Ltd. The initial design of Casa Jovem was composed of around 2,000 units in buildings of four to seven floors. However, the backers soon expanded their aims and in 2012 the project launched phase 2, which included villas: this was a far more ambitious goal of building self-contained, detached and terraced houses. It is now the largest post-independence private housing project built in Maputo. The marketing of Casa Jovem also focused on a social component, and it was publicized as a revolutionary venture to create affordable housing close to Maputo city centre, even if it was still aimed at members of one of Mozambique’s more privileged groups. Prices were initially kept low as Charas negotiated favourable mortgage terms with the Banco Comercial e de Investimentos (BCI), much lower than the normally prohibitive interest rate, averaging around 34 per cent, that was usually charged by Mozambican banks.

However, the original partnership behind Casa Jovem soon ran into difficulties. The critical stance of @Verdade newspaper towards the ruling party, Frelimo, is often thought to be part of the reason why the Joaquim Chissano Foundation backed out of Casa Jovem. It is also possible that the growing political tension between Charas and Frelimo was one of the reasons that the BCI ended its relationship with Casa Jovem and no longer provided favourable mortgages. While the first ninety-six houses in Casa Jovem were completed in 2012, the loss of support from the BCI seriously jeopardized Casa Jovem’s ability to deliver houses on time (or, in some cases, at all). As Charas explained to us, the project was soon radically restructured. Instead of building houses for clients who paid after the completion of each agreed-upon stage, clients either had to pay for the entirety of the house or had to build it themselves. Despite the teething issues, many prospective buyers still hoped that Casa Jovem offered a new direction for home ownership. It soon became apparent, though, that not everyone agreed on what that new direction was or what the project had promised.

This lack of agreement concerning the overall direction of Casa Jovem has troubled the project since the beginning. Even Charas initially had a very different vision for what Casa Jovem would be:

The way he described it, his original goal was something like a libertarian utopia where, by working through high-ranking members of the state and their close associates, he could escape Mozambique’s decaying sovereign order (or recreate a form of sovereignty in his own image) through urbanization freed from the ‘dead hand’ of the state. However, his vision for a new form of urbanism and what appealed to prospective buyers were not the same. In fact, a gated community – in the classic sense of an estate surrounded by walls – was, as he expressed it, the furthest thing from his mind; he had no desire for walls at all. He envisioned Casa Jovem to be a neighbourhood that would emerge and organically gentrify the area. However, clients who bought the first flats felt unsafe living in buildings surrounded by a large construction site and a nearby low-income bairro. They demanded security and fencing. This demand, combined with the slow pace of implementation of the project and the fact that Charas could deliver houses only in stages, forced him to bow to residents’ wishes and build walls around the newly delivered apartments, completing its transformation into a walled enclave and, ironically, securing their capitalist property rights through collective, non-capitalist forms of organization and control.

Chipkin argued:

As we shall see, this is similar to the situation in Maputo, although a vision of an emerging middle class has taken the place of race. This vision similarly struggles to fulfil its original promise.

The attractions

Taking a similar line as Chipkin, Tomás argues that the appeal of gated communities in Luanda is not simply restricted to issues of crime and security but also reflects the reconfiguration of property rights, access to infrastructure and the desire for ‘good living’ (Reference Tomás2022: 158). Security – or at least the appearance of security – is a significant concern for many residents of gated communities. Still, Tomás’s general observations are equally applicable to Maputo, since the notable attractions mentioned by residents involved in either investing, buying or renting in Casa Jovem are related to: (1) price; (2) location; (3) type of building material; (4) security; and, for those buying or residing in the villas, (5) having a household garden located in the city.

Casa Jovem allowed many inhabitants to own new houses closer to the city. Both apartments and villas in the development were far more affordable: prices ranged from US$25,500 to US$134,250 (in 2010), depending on the house size (one to four bedrooms). Flats and villas are far cheaper than a new apartment in the city centre, where the minimum price would be US$104,000. One woman described her reasons for moving to Casa Jovem to Manuel as follows:

With the completion of Maputo’s ring road, Casa Jovem is now even closer to the city, and this ability to mitigate the capital’s notorious traffic problems has wide appeal, as explained by a neighbour of Manuel in an informal conversation:

In addition to enjoying less traffic, many residents often spoke of a sense of security in Casa Jovem and an overall sense of a good quality of life. Some residents told Manuel:

The sense of security provided something approximating ‘the right to the city’, even if only for the relatively privileged camada social to which Casa Jovem catered. It was not entirely clear, though, how much this sense of safety was largely symbolic. When asked, Charas just laughed and said the security was an illusion. Anyone could hop over the walls, and the walls would do little to stop a thief who was already inside. The guards are supposed to take down everyone’s details and licence plates and check with the house that they say they are visiting, but, in practice, this rarely happens. According to Charas, ‘[T]he walls make one feel secure, and if you feel secure, then you transmit a sense of security.’

A sense of security that is perhaps more symbolic than real may be emblematic of the wider issues that plagued the entire project. In a manner similar to previous attempts on a grand scale, such as those of the socialist period, urban transformation was to be achieved through a process of sovereignty – or, more accurately, a project of sovereign order – although this time scaled down to the neighbourhood level. Again, despite the grand rhetoric, the project had no universalizing pretensions but focused entirely on a favoured social group, one that consolidated its privilege in the socialist period and later became well represented in the ‘middle class’. For Charas, this was the fabled young professionals, but especially those of his own social background, the children of well-established largely mixed-race families that came from the privileged residential areas of Maputo. The prominence of such people was so visible that in certain circles Casa Jovem was known as condomínio dos mulatos (mixed-race gated community). This designation was not solely an ethnic marker; it also referred to issues of social class. Such families, whose relatively elite status dates back to the colonial period, have accumulated social capital that gives them a certain level of respect and status in society. The status of the initial owners and residents of Casa Jovem set the tone regarding the profile of its residents. As a consequence, there is a perception among both residents and outsiders that Casa Jovem residents share social traits that have long been associated with urbanity in Mozambique – that is, refined manners and courteousness.

Indeed, the role of the ‘young professional’ (as exemplified in the set of images in Figure 1) is analogous to Frelimo’s socialist ‘new man’, which attempted to create a new social subject, free of the degradation and poverty of the past (Vieira Reference Vieira1977). While the socialist ‘new man’ who would selflessly dedicate himself to the collective has faded in the misty reaches of time, the idea lives on – although now this would mean men and women who are professionals with an income that allows for two cars and who would happily inhabit houses that are designed for nuclear families with no more than two children, with predefined domestic aesthetics and ways of organizing and occupying the space. The advertisements in Figure 1 are as much a statement of the fabled class-based social traits that signify ‘true’ urbanity as anything else; thus, they cater to a small social segment – those who could conceivably achieve something along the lines of this ideal. In fact, many of the people who would have the sufficient social and material capital to enter the ranks of ‘young professionals’ also come from families connected to Frelimo that have a long history of trying to build the ‘new man’ (see Sumich Reference Sumich2018).

Figure 1.

Casa Jovem publicity posters and advertisements. Sources: <https://www.facebook.com/Casajovem/photos/pb.100021606925511.-2207520000./573073496061316/?type=3&locale=pt_BR>; <https://www.facebook.com/Casajovem/photos/pb.100021606925511.-2207520000/535931493108850/?type=3>; <https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=241382392563763&set=pb.100021606925511.-2207520000>; <https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=241382325897103&set=pb.100021606925511.-2207520000>.

Figure 1. Long description

The collage consists of four distinct images. The first image (a) shows a family of five posing together in front of a Casa Jovem poster. The second image (b) features a promotional poster with the text ‘Casa Jovem O Pulsar Da Cidade’ and an arrow pointing to ‘Novo Produto VIVENDAS F3’. It includes illustrations of houses and a list of features such as living room, dining room, two bedrooms, one bedroom with a private bathroom, one shared bathroom, an open kitchen, and a backyard with parking. The third image (c) displays a modern living room with a sofa, coffee table, and decorative items. The fourth image (d) shows a bedroom with a bed, a chair, and framed pictures on the wall. The images collectively promote the Casa Jovem housing project.

These advertisements promote Casa Jovem in ways that construct and reconstruct the ideal Mozambican – in this case, urban, modern professionals who embody what is thought to be ‘proper, modern urbanism’. However, as in the socialist era, today’s prototype of the ‘new man’ seems disconnected from everyday experiences and ways of living, even if such a vision retains considerable attraction for its target demographic.

Casa Jovem’s original appeal was based on its promise to provide dignified urban living. This was supposed to be the natural condition for many members of a ‘middle class’, as exemplars of the capitalist incarnation of the ‘new man’, despite the precariousness and difficulties of day-to-day life they routinely experience. While urbanity, class, education and professionalism are at the core of definitions of who should live there and how, as with other projects of transformative sovereignty, the development affected change but did not achieve its stated goals. In fact, the failure to provide what was promised has again bred conflict rather than the hoped-for homogeneity.

Dreams and detachments

After the initial 100 flats were built, in-fighting among Casa Jovem’s management led the project to declare bankruptcy. The promise of affordable housing started to resemble a pyramid scheme, and housing again became detached from the promise of autonomy or the achievement of a form of middle-class prosperity. In fact, prospective residents who had already invested in Casa Jovem were left with no house, no refund, and, due to the sheer number of court cases, little hope of redress. The situation was slightly different for the villas. There, the project management allowed owners to continue building independently rather than relying on Casa Jovem. Despite these ongoing difficulties, the management currently attempts to project an air of optimism. When a real estate agent is giving a tour of Casa Jovem, one would never guess anything is amiss. An infectiously enthusiastic sales agent will show a prospective resident the various types of houses to suit many budgets, family sizes and circumstances, all the while assuring the prospective buyer that the rooms will appear far bigger when the bare concrete is covered and appliances are installed (which is true). One might be quoted a price of US$50,000 for a house, but then one needs to pave the road oneself, pave the gutters and sort out the infrastructure, and it ends up costing something like US$100,000 (prices as per 2022).

Charas himself acknowledges numerous difficulties when speaking with us and wonders if it might be easier just to keep the land, wait for the city to grow and then sell up for a considerable profit. He has been forced to cannibalize his original vision many times. Currently, 400 units are occupied, and he has plans for Casa Jovem to reach about 850 houses, but this still falls short of the original goal (which he called a billion-dollar business). It is not clear if he would be able to fulfil even his scaled-down ambitions, something that became apparent as he outlined the various problems with former partners who have gone their own way and with people who bought houses and did not receive what they felt they had paid for. According to Charas, there are many reasons for this, including broader issues with financing; he claims to have been blacklisted by the banks and says they will not extend credit any more. There is also, as he sees it, a problem with the unrealistic expectations of his clients. Charas stressed that buying a house, as with sovereignty itself, is a process, not a one-off event, and the people who are patient and willing to work with him will receive everything they are entitled to in the end. Despite everything, though, he still displays flashes of his older grand ambitions when he speaks of turning the remaining land into a commercial zone with a mall or perhaps a new university.

Many other architects in Maputo had far less faith in Casa Jovem and harboured considerable doubts about Charas’s ability to realize a form of urban sovereignty, through either Casa Jovem or a new university, however scaled down the attempts may be. Senhor Golfinho, an architect based in Maputo who also designed gated communities, agreed with the reasons behind Casa Jovem. That was not the problem, according to him.

Another architect told Sumich that he simply did not take Casa all that seriously. ‘Prices there are low, but getting a house is the first question, and then the quality of the house is the second. You can see houses with cracks going all the way up the wall.’

Charas’s goal of securing ‘the right to the city’ through autonomy, of building the city through his own efforts, faced several challenges, as highlighted above. From wanting to create an expansion of the city to having a gated community, from a project of affordable dream housing to simmering feuds with partners and banks that delayed the project, increased costs (even if Casa Jovem is still cheaper than other major developments) forced many to build their own houses. While Casa Jovem was a materialization of detachment from the wider city, it was also an attempt to create a form of intimacy, where young middle-class professionals could live together free from the tumult of the capital. In some ways it was a capitalist, class-based version of the previous goals of revolutionary nationalism and the intimacy that was supposed to engender, even if only in microcosm. It is also, as we shall see, a microcosm of the failures of these projects.

Challenges of living together

We have argued that the ‘right to the city’ and even urban citizenship itself depend on sovereignty, particularly a utopian, transformative conception of sovereign order. While that has failed for the nation as a whole, one sees its fragmented legacy in projects such as Casa Jovem, where again one must cede individual rights for the collective good. However, as the transformative project fragments, so does sovereignty. It is no longer clear whose vision and whose style of living – whose collective good – projects such as Casa Jovem are supposed to champion. A localized vision of sovereignty falls prey to many of the aspects that undermined the previous nationalist version. Whether the status of ‘young professional’, the capitalist ‘new man’, is a resource to be activated or a habitus to be lived is not clear. Nor is it entirely clear whether it is a habitus that can be lived outside aspirational advertisements, or who has the legitimate authority to define exactly what a young professional should be. Utopian efforts to create intimacy through shared membership of a particular camada social falter when those in question do not necessarily share similar visions of life, collective good or living together. The mismatch of expectations and ideals happens at various levels: project planning and its actual implementation, diversity in modes of living and existence, and access to infrastructure.

Casa Jovem was supposed to be a refuge for a modern middle class, where they could escape the crumbling infrastructure and wildly varying models of ‘proper’ urban comportment of the wider city. However, that promise was half-built at best. For those inhabiting this half-built enclaved utopia, it soon became apparent just how socially diverse their camada social was and how little bound them together without the presence of some sort of urban other, such as the wider population. Conflicts simmered over practices such as throwing litter on the floor or outside the bin and endless disputes concerning sewage pipes and other services.

Everyday living at Casa Jovem also brings diversity and signs of the impossibility of a joint vision of the collective good. This can be seen in fights over who gets a house and why, and in conflicts over the ways in which houses are built and how that affects one’s neighbours. Some villa owners have gone beyond the original blueprint and have erected balconies that overlook their neighbours’ homes. These are, unsurprisingly, unpopular with the neighbours, who claim that anyone standing on such a balcony has a clear view of their garden and can see through the windows into their house as well.

Tomás argues that the ‘skin of the city’ can stretch, as it tried to do in the socialist period, or in a more contemporary and restricted fashion, such as encompassing the residents of Casa Jovem. It can also recede, pulling back from the city to specific zones, neighbourhoods or even individual apartments in a shared building (Tomás Reference Tomás2022: 92) or individual houses in a gated community. The modernizing ethos of previous Mozambican urban projects lives on, but its reach and legitimacy are being severely challenged. Ferguson’s (Reference Ferguson1999) cultural dualism can be used as a lens to understand the dichotomous scenario in Casa Jovem. The condominium has been framed as a modern construct for the contemporary nuclear families in the city. However, ‘urban’ models of living are not universally accepted by residents; many also practise what many long-established urbanites consider a ‘rural’ form of inhabiting the city. Clashes in kinship ideology and ideas of ‘local knowledge’, the cosmopolitan versus the ‘traditional’, play out through the built environment. The mismatch between the poster of the nuclear ‘modern, urban family’ marketed by Charas and how families are actually organized reveals nuances that are not considered by the management of Casa Jovem – and, indeed, broadly held stereotypes about what it means to be urban in Maputo. Some houses that are three-bedroom households have more than seven residents, as one resident told Manuel:

Tensions within Casa Jovem extend far beyond family size and disagreements about what constitutes an urban as opposed to a rural milieu. There are also challenges concerning the day-to-day management of the gated community. Clashes among neighbours emerge concerning the diversity of lifestyles. Dogs off leads and dog fouling are a constant topic of contention. There was an incident of a dog biting a resident, and another of a dog that almost killed another dog. These incidents have enraged some residents to the extent that they have suggested killing dogs who are not on leads if they feel in danger.

Casa Jovem is a new development and, as such, is not linked to the existing centralized sewage network; thus, it relies on septic tanks. Some owners and residents have directed their sceptic tanks directly to the ditch that drains rainwater to the sea to avoid floods. As faecal waste from the sceptic tanks directed to the drain is not adequately treated, the ditch is not clean and exposes people to health-related problems. The lack of infrastructure and disputes over who should pay for improvements are a major source of disagreements both among neighbours but also between the residents, the manager of the project and the management of the condominium.

These sorts of difficulties in achieving the collective good, ‘the tragedy of the commons’, are widely known by architects and planners. As Tiago, an architect, mentioned to Sumich:

As demonstrated by Figure 2, similar issues exist in Casa Jovem. The picture illustrates a set of houses. On one side, they have agreed to pay to have the road paved; on the other side, at least one, for whatever reason, has refused. Casa Jovem arose from the failure of previous projects of sovereign transformation to achieve their goals. In the face of this failure, localized sovereign projects appeared like focal points throughout the city to insulate favoured social groups from a feared downward spiral of neglect and decay in the urban fabric. Yet, as with so many cases in the past, efforts to avoid fragmentation also cause fragmentation; the very disorder the walls were meant to protect against is now trapped inside.

Figure 2.

Paved road left unfinished due to the lack of contributions from some of the home owners. Photograph by Jason Sumich, July 2022.

Figure 2. Long description

A paved road with hexagonal tiles on the left side is left unfinished, with a muddy section on the right side. The muddy area shows tire tracks and puddles of water. Buildings and a vehicle are visible in the background.