The Church and the Dhow Inhambane, Mozambique Attempting an old town treasure hunt, going on foot, in the late afternoon, I come upon a Portuguese church with the powdery look of a daylight moon. Such is the gust of its old-world beauty it seems to blow in from the nearby bay, bringing a sense of blustery wonder, the sequel to which is creeping dismay. For, inside, graffiti covers the walls. The darkest scribblings are still extant. Inverted pentagrams brandish their horns amidst a thicket of devilish cant. And where there once were rows of pews, and where the prelate’s lectern…