In recent days, there has been a strange wave of disappearances of our children. Social networks have been flooded with photos of missing children. Of course, this frightens anyone. And all this strange wind, which is robbing us of our children, is shaken off by a huge, heavy silence from our so-called authorities. Nobody talks about it and nobody cares. There's a Hungarian proverb: any little bit adds up, said the mouse, and it peed in the sea. A little concern from our police could add something...

Maybe we're back in the "tatá mama, tatá papá" years. Who doesn't remember the children who went missing in those days, the families who are still looking for their children who disappeared in our city? Of course, back then there was a hint of concern on the part of our police, the community was watching and one case or another was aborted. But today, we have a blind police force, which fills the streets to check IDs and chase refreshments and lunch notes.

Our children, the children of poor people, are disappearing, we see families every day sleeping with one less child in the house, families who are stalking the streets like blind men, looking for their children. Our children have become commodities in the neighborhoods where we live and we still don't know it. Our neighborhoods have become refugee camps and we must always keep our eyes open, because at any moment a stork could come and take our children away.

When it's too late, our police will "make an effort to locate the perpetrators of these macabre acts". Nothing is being done now. Unfortunately, we have this police force that chases footprints and never the people who make the footprints. This is the pure scenario of the "tatá mamá, tatá papá" years, my God. The scenario of the disappearance of children, the scenario of the distribution of tears in our families.

I'm opening a parenthesis here to talk about my friend Andrade. He went to Unit 13 Primary School in Maputo and one of those afternoons he disappeared. He disappeared for good. To this day, nobody knows about him and nobody knows what kind of stork carried Andrade. His parents, after that episode, loaded everything up and disappeared from the neighborhood, because they were afraid they would see their seven children disappearing in the same way. I still remember Andrade, his sincere smile and the birthmark on his bottom lip. I'll close the parentheses. I'm not sure if I'll ever see Andrade again, I just know that today, just like yesterday, there are many children who could disappear like Andrade.