July 21 > From one place to the next… in, out, through the other. My last week in Mozambique was spent with those I love dearly in Beira at KEDESH the boys’ orphanage. The last 3 days I traveled back to Machanga with a new MCC country representative and her 2 daughters (ages 11 and 13). Although the long, bumpy drive was not very pleasant to the new comers, the girls’ center was a day of new experiences for these two white, very blond girls. Eyes were opened wider on both perspectives – the American children as well as the Mozambican girls. It was great sharing my life in the bush with people from a Western culture who know my life-style outside of the bush. They pointed out differences of rural lives and were exited about the same things I am: Gazillions of stars, eating by lantern, singing and dancing to beautiful songs and steps without a radio, sleeping on an estera (canisu floor matt). I led these two white girls around our village and they too became the new article of Machanga.
I am not very fond of goodbyes. I tend to wish that I could just escape the whole fair-well situation and have those I left-behind know and understand how much I appreciated them and will miss them without the tough departure. I had to say my last goodbyes to the girls in Machanga, to the village people and my dear neighbors and friends. I spent my last night at KEDESH (after signing up for university courses and having the power go off moments after I got all my courses chosen, thank goodness just in the nick-of-time.. literally!). They put on a talent show of dancing and singing > then the next day I flew off to South Africa. The whole airport process was unorganized and rushed. My Christmas packages from December 2009 were discovered, delivered, and distributed to me in the airport. I gave most givable things (chocolate and candies) away and deposited my 7-month-late presents in the remaining space of my suitcase. Rush rush! Rapio! Vamos! I hugged the boys and my dear friend Heather goodbye, last minute harassments from the airport officials and hopped on the plane. Tears only began to fall when I put ‘Coldplay’ on the Ipod and the wheels lifted off my Mozambican soil.
My couple days in South Africa were spent with my colleagues who spent their last year in either South Africa or Lesotho. It was great to joke, analyze, reflect, discuss, compare and contrast our last year and just to have people who can understand both worlds with me.
I have just arrived in Akron, PA for the re-entry MCC-SALT retreat. SALT participants from all over the world trickled in throughout the day from all over the world. Although we all connected so well a year ago at the orientation, an awkward presence exists now. Everyone has had such amazing, different experiences and there are no questions or amount of time or proper answers to do each one its’ justice in how that experience played out. We meet again, greet each other and everyone can acknowledge to avoid the questions: “So, how was it?”, “What was your favorite part?”, “Tell me about _______”. There is limited time and limited understanding on both ends. I will need to keep this in mind for when meeting people who are only mildly interested and will loose interest minutes after I start going in depth about my experiences. I was told not to ‘throw all my pearls to the swine’. Be home in Winnipeg the 27th this month. This has been such an experience and I want to say thanks to all who have been keeping in touch, praying, supporting and thinking of me over this year. It really has only strengthened my desire to travel the world more and help those who need it at the same time. The things I have learnt and will miss are uncountable and some even unexplainable. What a life. What a culture. What a place. What an experience. As time goes on the things I long for will become strongly more evident.
Transitions
July 21 > From one place to the next… in, out, through the other. My last week in Mozambique was spent with those I love dearly in Beira at KEDESH the boys’ orphanage. The last 3 days I traveled back to Machanga with a new MCC country representative and her 2 daughters (ages 11 and 13). Although the long, bumpy drive was not very pleasant to the new comers, the girls’ center was a day of new experiences for these two white, very blond girls. Eyes were opened wider on both perspectives – the American children as well as the Mozambican girls. It was great sharing my life in the bush with people from a Western culture who know my life-style outside of the bush. They pointed out differences of rural lives and were exited about the same things I am: Gazillions of stars, eating by lantern, singing and dancing to beautiful songs and steps without a radio, sleeping on an estera (canisu floor matt). I led these two white girls around our village and they too became the new article of Machanga.
I am not very fond of goodbyes. I tend to wish that I could just escape the whole fair-well situation and have those I left-behind know and understand how much I appreciated them and will miss them without the tough departure. I had to say my last goodbyes to the girls in Machanga, to the village people and my dear neighbors and friends. I spent my last night at KEDESH (after signing up for university courses and having the power go off moments after I got all my courses chosen, thank goodness just in the nick-of-time.. literally!). They put on a talent show of dancing and singing > then the next day I flew off to South Africa. The whole airport process was unorganized and rushed. My Christmas packages from December 2009 were discovered, delivered, and distributed to me in the airport. I gave most givable things (chocolate and candies) away and deposited my 7-month-late presents in the remaining space of my suitcase. Rush rush! Rapio! Vamos! I hugged the boys and my dear friend Heather goodbye, last minute harassments from the airport officials and hopped on the plane. Tears only began to fall when I put ‘Coldplay’ on the Ipod and the wheels lifted off my Mozambican soil.
My couple days in South Africa were spent with my colleagues who spent their last year in either South Africa or Lesotho. It was great to joke, analyze, reflect, discuss, compare and contrast our last year and just to have people who can understand both worlds with me.
I have just arrived in Akron, PA for the re-entry MCC-SALT retreat. SALT participants from all over the world trickled in throughout the day from all over the world. Although we all connected so well a year ago at the orientation, an awkward presence exists now. Everyone has had such amazing, different experiences and there are no questions or amount of time or proper answers to do each one its’ justice in how that experience played out. We meet again, greet each other and everyone can acknowledge to avoid the questions: “So, how was it?”, “What was your favorite part?”, “Tell me about _______”. There is limited time and limited understanding on both ends. I will need to keep this in mind for when meeting people who are only mildly interested and will loose interest minutes after I start going in depth about my experiences. I was told not to ‘throw all my pearls to the swine’. Be home in Winnipeg the 27th this month. This has been such an experience and I want to say thanks to all who have been keeping in touch, praying, supporting and thinking of me over this year. It really has only strengthened my desire to travel the world more and help those who need it at the same time. The things I have learnt and will miss are uncountable and some even unexplainable. What a life. What a culture. What a place. What an experience. As time goes on the things I long for will become strongly more evident.
• Things I will miss = ☺ • Things I Wont miss as much ☹
• ☺ Gorgeous sun rises and sun sets
• ☺The ‘ta-ta’s from the little children running after the muzungu • ☹The hisses and whistles for me to talk English with random people (mostly men)
• ☺My morning routines in Machanga (morning run, sweep and wash floor, tea and breakfast…) • ☹Part of the routine - Checking my shoes each morning for creatures, shaking my cloths out for other creepy-crawlies
• ☺The excitement of people when I come into their home and their willingness and happiness to serve • ☹Feeling awkward I could not finish a mountain of rice or xima
• ☺The inventiveness of materials when one cannot afford something else (a bottle of oil used to make and sell traditional drinks, an old hot chocolate container for laundry soap or piggy-bank, de-thread rice sacks for string etc) • ☹The constant garbage mess on the ground b/c there is no garbage system.
• ☺The delicious foods, walking through paths and identifying all the edible foods and leaves in the bush > almost everything is edible • ☹Waiting so long for a meal your stomach feels like it’s eating itself.
• ☺The constant challenge of learning the Chindau dialect • ☹Being left out of conversations/ jokes and look like that clueless, awkward, white chick
• ☺Roosters waking me up, Chickens crossing my path on my morning run, fresh boiled eggs sold on every corner •
•
• ☺The gift of food > being presented with a papaya or a roasted corn on the cob • ☹Being given food when not hungry but are obligated to eat it > charred chicken stomach, fermented-corn-meal drink MAHEU (v. filling).
• ☺Using the excuse of miscommunication / language-barrier when I screw up to cover mistakes • ☹Actually screwing up because of miscommunication
• • ☹Not being understood/ lack of ability to communicate feelings. Language simplifies how I actually feel
• ☺The freedom of song. There is no shame or embarrassment > sing it loud and proud • ☹The 3-hour (plus) church services… and then the singing and dancing to prolong the service afterwards
• ☺The comfort of my mosquito net ‘bubble’ • ☹Setting up my mosquito net each night
• • ☹Having to slip out of my mosquito net to go to the washroom in the middle of the night
• ☺The intense rainstorms! Natural Movie theater • ☹Having to go to the washroom in the middle of the night i.e. outside (pray its not raining out)
• ☺The moonlight so brilliant-bright as I am going to the washroom in the middle of the night • ☹The fear of the night guard seeing me run to the washroom in my ‘knickers’ in the moonlight
• ☺The way I can say “you farted” in three languages and we all laugh at the same bodily function. •
• ☺Climbing exotic fruit trees and eating your reward high up in its strong elephant leg like limbs • ☹The red ants that pinch your fingers and toes when latching in the crotches of the mango and cashew trees
• ☺My friends! Countless amazing people and stories told • ☹People who think they are my friends. The whistles, and hisses to get my attention from afar. My name is NOT your sister.
• ☺The simplicity of life – one does not need much to live a happy healthy life. • ☹Not having to use a plug-outlet-converter every time I want to change something and hoping it is sunny enough to charge the solar panel
• ☺Too much to mention….. •
July 28 > Wow, just got home in the PEG! Everything is straggly familiar as if I had only left yesterday. A few more houses painted, new garden arrangements, same lazy cat ☺. My niece, whom is almost 2 now is walking and talking up a storm> like a new kid in my life. I have had a great initial re-entry here, but have been warned that in some weeks time (perhaps around 6 weeks) I will start feeling the reverse-culture shock.
Now that I am back home, I feel I am going to be bombarded with LOTS. Mom has already scheduled numerous appointments ahead of my arrival, I have various speeches to make (booking opens now!) and people to talk to. Next week I am off to Alberta to be a youth leader for my churches youth-group, going back to the café to work, and starting up full time school at Uni of Winnipeg. Keep me in your mind and prayers as I go through these transitions (as well as finding a good phone plan! Suggestions anyone?). This will be my last blog entry in this particular blog-address, but my next adventures will are not too far away (Japan next summer). I will keep all posted for my next gallivanture.
Cheers
Alexis Goertz
July 28 > Wow, just got home in the PEG! Everything is straggly familiar as if I had only left yesterday. A few more houses painted, new garden arrangements, same lazy cat ☺. My niece, whom is almost 2 now is walking and talking up a storm> like a new kid in my life. I have had a great initial re-entry here, but have been warned that in some weeks time (perhaps around 6 weeks) I will start feeling the reverse-culture shock.
Now that I am back home, I feel I am going to be bombarded with LOTS. Mom has already scheduled numerous appointments ahead of my arrival, I have various speeches to make (booking opens now!) and people to talk to. Next week I am off to Alberta to be a youth leader for my churches youth-group, going back to the café to work, and starting up full time school at Uni of Winnipeg. Keep me in your mind and prayers as I go through these transitions (as well as finding a good phone plan! Suggestions anyone?). This will be my last blog entry in this particular blog-address, but my next adventures will are not too far away (Japan next summer). I will keep all posted for my next gallivanture.
Cheers
Alexis Goertz
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
Forest Gump goes to outer space
Time has come close to the end. One thing I will miss for sure is the love of simple entertainment. Whether its rocks or sticks, or free music: someone has speakers and BLASTS them to the MAX. The 25th of June was Mozambique’s Independence Day. I had the opportunity to stay with 3 other girls at one of their houses in the bush. When night came, the bush cleared out to move to where the ‘free music’ and action was. One of the local ‘barakas’ was playing music and people of all sorts came. Young to old to VERY old. Even mothers with sleeping babies on their back were dancing as the baby was bobbed to sleep. Old grandmothers stomped feet and held their crooked backs swinging their heads vigorously side to side in delight. I have never knew ‘discos’ existed where ALL generations of ALL types were present at the same time, enjoying the same music.
Then there I was… the only white one in the crowd with a group of children who have never seen a white. Eyes were basically popping out of heads and I had a crew follow my like newborn ducks in unbelief. Some had the courage to run up to me and touch me apparently its good luck. Others believe they will be healed. I wish it were true so I would never have to get vaccines.
Along with SHREK (the big, digitally animated, green ogre), Tom Hanks, AKA Forest (from Forest Gump) is the new favorite. What adventures will Forest be up tonight?! The girls’ watch in fascination as Forest is launched into space (APOLLO 13), then the next day does not speak English and is locked in an airport (THE TERMINAL). The other night Forest (Tom Hanks) had an adventure they all could relate to. CAST AWAY. They keeled over laughing as this mid-aged muzungu (white man) tried to open a coconut by throwing it at a rock wall or biting it, trying to start a fire, cutting-up his feet on sharp ocean shells and being inventive with the FEDEX deliveries he comes across washing up on the shore. They rooted for Forest and his ball-friend Wilson and cheered when he finally escaped the vast island and made it to homeland.
My leaving of Machanga is only becoming a little more real each day as things are being packed, given away and pictures and decorations taken down. my room is feeling empty and vast and I know that there will always be a space in my heart that only machanga can fill. I am leaving ‘um pequeno padaso’, a small piece here. It is the people that are so important. I feel like I am leaving so many relationships at a point where they are growing the strongest. Along with the people, the language. I know that I am going to be submersed back home to a place where Ndau does not exist. I am at a point where the locals know me and simply talk to me in Ndau ONLY. I understand a great deal, but only can properly respond in Portuguese. I only realized this morning how much I understand when I take Ndau verbs and use them in a sentence of Portuguese. Example “Vou kusamba”, where vou is Portuguese: I go and kusamba is Ndau: to take a bath. Or when Tio Injala (Guard) asks “Mopinda Kugogoma kwapi nyamasi?” (You’re going to run where today?) and I respond without realizing he spoke Ndau and I understood. Language is a barrio, but as I am crossing it secrets are being reveled and stories unfolded (mostly traditional stories of the monkey and the rabbit which have absolutely no moral or point but rather to give laughs).
As we wait on dinner in the star lit sky the girls sing out loud in beautiful African song. It brings an ache to my heart and tears to my eyes to think it will be left here as I move on.
This is the time where one goes through the ups and downs of departure. I have always hated being categorized, where a book of scenarios predicts how I am going to feel and act, but obviously a lot of research was put into this research and the culture-shock-roller-coaster has brought me to the part of up’s and down’s before departing for home. Keep my in your thoughts and prayers as I finish off this last month in Moz.
Then there I was… the only white one in the crowd with a group of children who have never seen a white. Eyes were basically popping out of heads and I had a crew follow my like newborn ducks in unbelief. Some had the courage to run up to me and touch me apparently its good luck. Others believe they will be healed. I wish it were true so I would never have to get vaccines.
Along with SHREK (the big, digitally animated, green ogre), Tom Hanks, AKA Forest (from Forest Gump) is the new favorite. What adventures will Forest be up tonight?! The girls’ watch in fascination as Forest is launched into space (APOLLO 13), then the next day does not speak English and is locked in an airport (THE TERMINAL). The other night Forest (Tom Hanks) had an adventure they all could relate to. CAST AWAY. They keeled over laughing as this mid-aged muzungu (white man) tried to open a coconut by throwing it at a rock wall or biting it, trying to start a fire, cutting-up his feet on sharp ocean shells and being inventive with the FEDEX deliveries he comes across washing up on the shore. They rooted for Forest and his ball-friend Wilson and cheered when he finally escaped the vast island and made it to homeland.
My leaving of Machanga is only becoming a little more real each day as things are being packed, given away and pictures and decorations taken down. my room is feeling empty and vast and I know that there will always be a space in my heart that only machanga can fill. I am leaving ‘um pequeno padaso’, a small piece here. It is the people that are so important. I feel like I am leaving so many relationships at a point where they are growing the strongest. Along with the people, the language. I know that I am going to be submersed back home to a place where Ndau does not exist. I am at a point where the locals know me and simply talk to me in Ndau ONLY. I understand a great deal, but only can properly respond in Portuguese. I only realized this morning how much I understand when I take Ndau verbs and use them in a sentence of Portuguese. Example “Vou kusamba”, where vou is Portuguese: I go and kusamba is Ndau: to take a bath. Or when Tio Injala (Guard) asks “Mopinda Kugogoma kwapi nyamasi?” (You’re going to run where today?) and I respond without realizing he spoke Ndau and I understood. Language is a barrio, but as I am crossing it secrets are being reveled and stories unfolded (mostly traditional stories of the monkey and the rabbit which have absolutely no moral or point but rather to give laughs).
As we wait on dinner in the star lit sky the girls sing out loud in beautiful African song. It brings an ache to my heart and tears to my eyes to think it will be left here as I move on.
This is the time where one goes through the ups and downs of departure. I have always hated being categorized, where a book of scenarios predicts how I am going to feel and act, but obviously a lot of research was put into this research and the culture-shock-roller-coaster has brought me to the part of up’s and down’s before departing for home. Keep my in your thoughts and prayers as I finish off this last month in Moz.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Motorcycle Diaries
Motorcycle diaries in Mozambique. A 12 L gas container on the tail, a tent, matt, sleeping-bag, 2 peoples belongings and food for 3 days in a trekking pack on my back, a 6 5’’ Jon in front with another knapsack of goodies strapped-on affront. Our silhouette could easily be mistaken for an humpback and a pregnant woman on wheels.
After a scrumptious breakfast of cornmeal with sugar and peanut-butter (prepared by Jon’s housemate, Chengeti from Zimbabwe), Jon (an MCC engineer in Tete province from Oregon), and I headed out into the crisp morning air. It didn't take too long until sweaters were removed, for Tete, being the hottest of all provinces in Mozambique, warmed up as the sun peaked over mountain tops.
Off the pavement and into the bush we went. Aside the large aisles of thorn trees, prickle-bushes, burrs and other random spiky growths, the trails would be absolutely spectacular for hard-core mountain bikers; Rocks, roots and all. As it were, we traveled on Jons’ Honda XL 125S through the trails - cargo and all – through these gallows of barbed things tearing at our limbs, and sand patches liberating us to power-slide (if we chose to or not). In our dustcover state we passed through random hut-villages waving at the dozens of children sprinting after us screaming ‘TA-TA” or “MAZUNGU!” Leaving them in our dusty trail we pushed through sand to arrive at the Luenha river (Loo-way-nee-a). The little, orange bike was lifted into a dug-out canoe. In the waist deep waters, 2 local Mozambicans in their tighty-whiteys guided the two MUZUNGUS and their treasures to the other side - Mandie. With an I-pod in one pocket, a phone in the other, camera in hand and a motorcycle in front, my heart had ‘butterfly’ moments as the occasional off-sided-tipping occurred and over-re-correction of the tipping could have had fatal consequences.
The journey over our 3 day stay in Mandie led us to communities with ‘sand dams’ which are man made barriers built across seasonal rivers (when its rainy season, water flows past that area). The way a sand dam works> with the dam wall in place, the rainwater collects as well as the sand that the waters bring with it. The sand piles up to the height of the dam wall and water stays preserved underneath, thus making an under-the-sand aquifer. It was interesting to see these dams and not see any water like one may expect, but instead sand all the way up to the dam wall. Once the rains have properly prepared this aquifer, upstream shallow wholes are dug out and water is present directly underneath the sand! This is so useful for this dry, arid, dessert like communities, for they are starting up gardens and small vegetable crops and even fruit-trees, which are new concepts to many in that area! As well, cattle and other animals are able to drink (where as before they would walk the whole day to the river to drink, sometimes only twice a week because it is so far!). People are able to easily access this water to drink, cook, bath and live! It was another National Geographic experience. At one of the dams, we came across a deep whole upstream where woman, young and old, sat at the base of the whole with their buckets, jugs and jars waiting. They conversed slowly and almost lethargically. I felt dehydrated looking at them but restrained from pulling out my Nalgiene and taking a swig of water. There was one woman inside that whole who was sifting the sand from the water with a cup. One scoop, wait for the sand to settle to the bottom of the cup, slowly pour into a container, carful not to disturb the sand particles in the process. The amount of water was so little and she continually had to dig a little deeper and wait for the water to sift through the sand granules filling the bottom of the whole little by little. This is quiet a process and can easily take up or over an hour to fill up a bucket of water. BUT > this is an improvement from years past!!! Right now, without rain, the water is sparse, but without this dam this community was suffering more so walking to the river miles and miles. Talking with a local man he told me that by the time they got back from the river, people and animals were already thirsty again from the heat and the water amount brought was barley sufficient. I could not imagine a life where each day water is so precious one could trade it for gold. Here, taking a bath is a luxury! Perhaps even gluttonous.
As you may have noticed, everything seems very DRY in this area. Even the fruit is dry! MALAMBE> The Baobab-tree fruit. A wood-like-material-green-velvet-covered shell, that can grow bigger them the size of a football or small as an egg. A red-painted interior contains segments of white-chalky fruit. You pop these pieces of chalk in your mouth and you saliva makes the fruity flavor of malambe come out and dissolve the white, leaving a dark red seed to dispose. It is THE strangest fruit I have ever eaten but very tasty, high in calcium and vitamin C. ☺
We made the journey back over the river with the bike and after getting lost in random bush-trails made it onto smooth road-again. I have never felt so thankful to take a shower before.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
famous too much is too much
May 25 / 2010 – Gertrude, I appreciate the generosity
I frequently find myself asking if I am a changed person from this experience here in Mozambique. I know the answer is YES, but WHICH things have changed and will they be helpful attributes in the future? I have discovered the frequent and merciless men asking for my hand in marriage has made me loose patience, and politeness. I tell them off in a straight forward, no joke manner. I am getting away from the beat-around-the-bush retorts. When asked if I would like another fanta (after having two too many that day) and I respond ‘No thanks, I’m fine’… somehow another fanta-cap is popped and the bottle in my hand. I must say ‘Nao quero’ > I don't want it.
People are very generous and not afraid to ask for things. This can sometimes go against how I feel about giving. When asked, the person asked is expected to give. But I, in the giving position, feel like the voluntary act is no longer free-will and out of good feelings but is more a commanded obligation. I try not to show my frustrations as my ketchup, jam and peanut-butter is disappearing.
Here at the center we have a new Tia. Tia Joakina. She seems to be very jolly and friendly. She works very hard and has all sorts of African skills like cooking, garden work, repairing mud houses etc. The only problem is that she speaks not a spot of Portuguese. Our communication is limited to my capacity of Ndau and actions. She showed an action of appreciation for me by giving me a gift:
The sun is setting early these days as we are getting into the winter season. I was called into the glowing kitchen-hut where the 2 tias (Amelia and Joakina) were sitting by glittering coals of the fire. I was handed a roasted corn-on-the-cob (massaroc) and sat on an oil bin munching my corn. Tia Joakina silently handed me my gift, which I at first could not distinguish in the dim light. I recognized the gift when a squawk was heard. She had presented me with my very own chicken! I named her Gertrude ☺. Being an animal lover, and Gertrude being a beautifully featured, plump chicken, I wanted to keep her as a pet… but I knew she was the next days dinner…. She was… and she taught me more about my capabilities. I have killed a chicken before… a quick hit with a machete (or 3 to actually sever off the head), but never thought I would be able to with a dull knife. But low-and-behold I was capable. Gertrude was plucked then dissected (It was like biology class all over again) and cut into portions, cooked and distributed. She was delicious.
May 27 – Throwing the First Rock
Deeper into the bushes of Machanga a project is commencing. Today was the ‘lancar a primeira pedra’ (throwing the first rock) ceremony for a new Girls Center and school that is being built. All the available cars, trucks and transport in Machanga seemed to pile as many people as possible into the available spaces and head down for the event deeper into the bush. The event seemed formal in a casual African way > The president of the American Board church did his speech in his black robe and red sash-like thingy, while at the same time the man beside him was digging for gold-nuggets in his nose and other neighbors occasionally slapped their neighbor on the back, head or leg because of a pestering bug.
A brick was laid in a dug-out space and prayers were said, songs were sung and they shoveled some scoops of dirt on top as a symbolism of the first rock put down before the construction of the new center.
The big feast was anticipated by everyone… and what a feast! I was given a plate of foods I could not imagine anyone able to polish off. There were 3 of us from the center (me, Tia Amelia and Fatima our chefe’) and I, having the genius Mennonite/African idea (as well as being prepared with a plastic bag in my purse), we scooped the rest of our foods into the bag and continued the feast later that night.
May 28 / 2010 – My Mother of Africa
My Mae da Africa. Tia Cacilda. A woman of great power, great memory and a great conversationalist. She seemed to teach me, show me, and make me try everything she possibly could that would be new to me here in Machanga. After her leaving of the center in March I have really felt a loss in her presence and decided it was time to pay a visit at her hut in the district across the river in Mambone.
The months apart were enough to have us talking all that day, throughout the evening and into the night and the next day again. I was once again showed everything possibly new and this included all her friends, parents and cousins of these friends, and other relations that I lost track of. I was tiered of my story being told so many numerous times… but what can you do when you’re famous like that ;)
We slept in her mud hut with a gas lamp on, on the caneesu-matt with capulanahs under and over top of us two and her little daughter Laurina. Me, being the guest, was given their only pillow, which was a hard sack of something like rice. Being a Friday, and Tia Cacilda living close to the market, we ended up talking all night with an in ability to sleep with the booming of the countless ‘bancas’ blasting their speakers with music. There was no possible way to distinguish a single song or rhythm.
May 29 / 2010
Waking up and rotating my body, like a marshmallow over a fire, to insure the one side would not be left flattened by the hard floor underneath. Tia was just leaving the yard when I got up and didn't return for over an hour. She was quiet exited about serving her ‘white Canadian daughter’ (filha branca da Canada) and so I was sure she would return. She came back bearing bread.
After the day, meeting many people and having to take their picture and telling them my story again and again, I was getting tired of being famous. It really is exhausting. Perhaps I will miss the looks, gawks, and touches when I am just another white kid when I am back in Canada. Take it all in
I frequently find myself asking if I am a changed person from this experience here in Mozambique. I know the answer is YES, but WHICH things have changed and will they be helpful attributes in the future? I have discovered the frequent and merciless men asking for my hand in marriage has made me loose patience, and politeness. I tell them off in a straight forward, no joke manner. I am getting away from the beat-around-the-bush retorts. When asked if I would like another fanta (after having two too many that day) and I respond ‘No thanks, I’m fine’… somehow another fanta-cap is popped and the bottle in my hand. I must say ‘Nao quero’ > I don't want it.
People are very generous and not afraid to ask for things. This can sometimes go against how I feel about giving. When asked, the person asked is expected to give. But I, in the giving position, feel like the voluntary act is no longer free-will and out of good feelings but is more a commanded obligation. I try not to show my frustrations as my ketchup, jam and peanut-butter is disappearing.
Here at the center we have a new Tia. Tia Joakina. She seems to be very jolly and friendly. She works very hard and has all sorts of African skills like cooking, garden work, repairing mud houses etc. The only problem is that she speaks not a spot of Portuguese. Our communication is limited to my capacity of Ndau and actions. She showed an action of appreciation for me by giving me a gift:
The sun is setting early these days as we are getting into the winter season. I was called into the glowing kitchen-hut where the 2 tias (Amelia and Joakina) were sitting by glittering coals of the fire. I was handed a roasted corn-on-the-cob (massaroc) and sat on an oil bin munching my corn. Tia Joakina silently handed me my gift, which I at first could not distinguish in the dim light. I recognized the gift when a squawk was heard. She had presented me with my very own chicken! I named her Gertrude ☺. Being an animal lover, and Gertrude being a beautifully featured, plump chicken, I wanted to keep her as a pet… but I knew she was the next days dinner…. She was… and she taught me more about my capabilities. I have killed a chicken before… a quick hit with a machete (or 3 to actually sever off the head), but never thought I would be able to with a dull knife. But low-and-behold I was capable. Gertrude was plucked then dissected (It was like biology class all over again) and cut into portions, cooked and distributed. She was delicious.
May 27 – Throwing the First Rock
Deeper into the bushes of Machanga a project is commencing. Today was the ‘lancar a primeira pedra’ (throwing the first rock) ceremony for a new Girls Center and school that is being built. All the available cars, trucks and transport in Machanga seemed to pile as many people as possible into the available spaces and head down for the event deeper into the bush. The event seemed formal in a casual African way > The president of the American Board church did his speech in his black robe and red sash-like thingy, while at the same time the man beside him was digging for gold-nuggets in his nose and other neighbors occasionally slapped their neighbor on the back, head or leg because of a pestering bug.
A brick was laid in a dug-out space and prayers were said, songs were sung and they shoveled some scoops of dirt on top as a symbolism of the first rock put down before the construction of the new center.
The big feast was anticipated by everyone… and what a feast! I was given a plate of foods I could not imagine anyone able to polish off. There were 3 of us from the center (me, Tia Amelia and Fatima our chefe’) and I, having the genius Mennonite/African idea (as well as being prepared with a plastic bag in my purse), we scooped the rest of our foods into the bag and continued the feast later that night.
May 28 / 2010 – My Mother of Africa
My Mae da Africa. Tia Cacilda. A woman of great power, great memory and a great conversationalist. She seemed to teach me, show me, and make me try everything she possibly could that would be new to me here in Machanga. After her leaving of the center in March I have really felt a loss in her presence and decided it was time to pay a visit at her hut in the district across the river in Mambone.
The months apart were enough to have us talking all that day, throughout the evening and into the night and the next day again. I was once again showed everything possibly new and this included all her friends, parents and cousins of these friends, and other relations that I lost track of. I was tiered of my story being told so many numerous times… but what can you do when you’re famous like that ;)
We slept in her mud hut with a gas lamp on, on the caneesu-matt with capulanahs under and over top of us two and her little daughter Laurina. Me, being the guest, was given their only pillow, which was a hard sack of something like rice. Being a Friday, and Tia Cacilda living close to the market, we ended up talking all night with an in ability to sleep with the booming of the countless ‘bancas’ blasting their speakers with music. There was no possible way to distinguish a single song or rhythm.
May 29 / 2010
Waking up and rotating my body, like a marshmallow over a fire, to insure the one side would not be left flattened by the hard floor underneath. Tia was just leaving the yard when I got up and didn't return for over an hour. She was quiet exited about serving her ‘white Canadian daughter’ (filha branca da Canada) and so I was sure she would return. She came back bearing bread.
After the day, meeting many people and having to take their picture and telling them my story again and again, I was getting tired of being famous. It really is exhausting. Perhaps I will miss the looks, gawks, and touches when I am just another white kid when I am back in Canada. Take it all in
Saturday, May 15, 2010
having 2347895 facebook friends is nothing special to Africans
I just want to say a word of thanks for African Connections.
Africans seem to know everyone. Walking along with an African friend, you will notice at times it is hard to keep a fluent conversation because the African your with knows almost every passer by and must say a word of greetings. Over my time being in Africa, you realize that these ‘friends’ are more acquaintances. After my first encounter with people, before they even know my name, they would like my phone number. I have become selective of who I give or take numbers from. People simply like to call and say a “Good morning” or ask a simple “How are you?” then hang up without a warning or goodbye. They do this several times a week and even multiple times during the day. I am thinking it is a way to sustain this ‘relationship’.
Although I have been cautious about taking ones number, I have become ever so thankful for one that I did take. My friend in Machanga had her mother and mother-in-law visit from Maputo (the capital city of Mozambique). 4:00 am I crossed the South Africa – Mozambican boarder, and wondered what I was going to do in the big city I had not know or been to before. I sent a message to these two woman I had numbers for and whom I had only met once. Within minutes I got a response from Katissa, my friends’ mother-in-law, saying she was going to meet me at the bus stop. Sure enough, when I got off the bus I had a friendly Mozambican woman waiting for me. I was the only white one and was not hard to spot out. She took me to her house and since it was still early in the morning she fed me breakfast and called her friends and my friends' mother over to visit as well. I had to get back to Machanga and before she took me to the bus stop she fried me up some ‘bolachas’ (like Tim-bit donuts) and chicken for the road. I could not have asked for a better person to be acquainted with. Throughout the incredibly long (and I mean like 22 hours long) ride, she messaged me and made sure I was doing okay. (To be honest, by the end of that ride I thought I was going to die). When I got to the end of the ride it was midnight and I still had to take a boat over the river to Machanga, but they were not running at this hour. So I called up another friend I had in that district of Mambone. She woke up and came into the villa and picked me up, and I was given space on her floor with her little nephew on a bamboo matt to sleep. Without the help of these people I wonder where I would be.
I still am cautious of who I take numbers from, but thinking strategically, connections can save a life! (And I am sure this is what many people are thinking when they are asking me, a white girl, for my number, even before they know my name).
Africans seem to know everyone. Walking along with an African friend, you will notice at times it is hard to keep a fluent conversation because the African your with knows almost every passer by and must say a word of greetings. Over my time being in Africa, you realize that these ‘friends’ are more acquaintances. After my first encounter with people, before they even know my name, they would like my phone number. I have become selective of who I give or take numbers from. People simply like to call and say a “Good morning” or ask a simple “How are you?” then hang up without a warning or goodbye. They do this several times a week and even multiple times during the day. I am thinking it is a way to sustain this ‘relationship’.
Although I have been cautious about taking ones number, I have become ever so thankful for one that I did take. My friend in Machanga had her mother and mother-in-law visit from Maputo (the capital city of Mozambique). 4:00 am I crossed the South Africa – Mozambican boarder, and wondered what I was going to do in the big city I had not know or been to before. I sent a message to these two woman I had numbers for and whom I had only met once. Within minutes I got a response from Katissa, my friends’ mother-in-law, saying she was going to meet me at the bus stop. Sure enough, when I got off the bus I had a friendly Mozambican woman waiting for me. I was the only white one and was not hard to spot out. She took me to her house and since it was still early in the morning she fed me breakfast and called her friends and my friends' mother over to visit as well. I had to get back to Machanga and before she took me to the bus stop she fried me up some ‘bolachas’ (like Tim-bit donuts) and chicken for the road. I could not have asked for a better person to be acquainted with. Throughout the incredibly long (and I mean like 22 hours long) ride, she messaged me and made sure I was doing okay. (To be honest, by the end of that ride I thought I was going to die). When I got to the end of the ride it was midnight and I still had to take a boat over the river to Machanga, but they were not running at this hour. So I called up another friend I had in that district of Mambone. She woke up and came into the villa and picked me up, and I was given space on her floor with her little nephew on a bamboo matt to sleep. Without the help of these people I wonder where I would be.
I still am cautious of who I take numbers from, but thinking strategically, connections can save a life! (And I am sure this is what many people are thinking when they are asking me, a white girl, for my number, even before they know my name).
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The America of Africa - a coloberation of adventures
Mozambiqu driving to Zambia (through Zimbabwe)-
After many car break-downs and a day and a-half spent waiting for car repairs in Zimbabwe, I arrived with my Moz-CR’s (Country Representatives) in Zambia. From Zambia, after connecting with other MCCers, I traveled down Zambia, through Botswana to reach South Africa. Once in South Africa travels became independent to introduce more adventures to my plate.
April 13 / 10
Sticking your toes over the edge of a 111 Meter open drop over white water rapids may not sound thrilling to some, but it sure was for me.
I connected with the MCC-South African CRs, James and Joan, and took the ride with them to their home country South Africa. First stop along the way => Zambia, Victoria Falls. Being Menno, heart and blood, I am always looking for deals as well as good stories to tell over a bowl of hot borscht. Every good Menno knows savings comes in ‘bulk’ so I went for the package deal. This ‘Package deal’ included zip-lining, bungee jumping and gorge swinging Victoria Falls. I had my fill of butterflies that morning as well as the audience that watched my continuously jump in 3 different forms off the 111 M high bridge. Afterwards, to relax, I stood on the ‘Knife Point Bridge’ where overspray from the falls instantly drenches you in shower-temperature water. I was in my glory. By myself yes, but laughing uncontrollably. Perhaps there was something in the water... any who... I did not have a problem because the roar of the falls masked all other hullabaloo (
We (James, Joan and I) stayed in a backpackers hostel which was packed full of young people traveling over South Africa. It was 10 US bucks a night complete with a pool, restaurant and bar, a giant pillow lounge and more. The next night we spent in beautiful Botswana at another hostel which was not as much of a party place but equally as pleasing. We arrived late to the quiet cabin feeling, pool equipped, mini-cabin lodge. It was crisp out and the huge fluffy cloud like sheets were delightful. Better than those starchy covers you pay 80 bucks a night for at a musty hotel.
The next morning on our way to South Africa we stopped numerous times to say hello to the HUGE elephants on the side of the road. They were just chilling there, wild, free, beautiful. The skin on these magnificent creatures is like that leathery old woman on the beach who has spent far too many of her youthful years in the sun, still is oblivious and is smearing on the baby oil still. Its giant fly-swatter ears and rubber trunk complete the perfect awkwardness of it all.
Rolling hills and fields of sunflowers, grains and bails... others dotted with healthy cows of browns, whites, blacks, and tans. Traveling with James and Joan is a good time. They like to stop in on little town-ships for cups of tea and cookies, have picnic lunches on the way and enjoy the scenery. There is no way like traveling in style.
April 24 / 10
My adventures take me from the cozy home of James and Joan in Pietermaritzburg to the bustling city in Durban where I stayed at a backpackers meeting great people, visiting the bustling markets during the day and even the biggest mosque in all South Africa. after discovering bead market after Indian market after meat market, after clothing market, witchdoctor market, fish market, market, market, market.... the German girl (that I had connected with at hostel and joined me on my days gallivant) was tiered I may have been dragging her around a bit forgetting that she was not used to the culture and atmosphere. So we took to evening off and watched the sun set on the beach with one of the World Cup stadiums in the distant point of the bay.
From Durban I fly to Cape Town -
I have never been to Europe, but it’s as close as I have ever been. The backpackers (Longstreet backpackers) located on Long St. (how appropriately named) is in the middle of the hub and happening of most all events. The amounts of cafes were infinite and craft shops overtaking. Being in wine country it was only appropriate to see the gorgeous wineries and sample some of the delicacies with local cheese. The next day climbed Cape Hope, one of the most southern points of all South Africa on the peninsula. Touched white sand deserted beaches with large waves crashing. It really is a different world this side of Africa. There were many times I forgot I even was here on the safe continent.
From Cape Town I bus to Port Elizabeth –
The one day I stay in PE was cold and rainy. The intense wind did not stop me from going adventuring and exploring with a fellow backpacker from England, Anthony. Our goal the whole day was to find the art exhibit that was on according to a local ad on a street post. On the way exploring we stumbled on the IRON MAN competition and wandered around the exhibit getting free samples of powerjuice and powerbars. Once we were re-fuelled we bussed around the town looking for the crazy art gallery. When we finally made it cold and wet from the rain, we stopped in at their cafe for tea and cake for only R15 (fifteen rand ~$2). Unfortunately the cakes were coming in the next day, but after having a small conversation with the little lady that ran the place she made banana-caramel pancakes and tea for us with whip cream. How sweet.
From Port Elizabeth I fly to Johannesburg –
Into the big bad city of Joberg. Met up with more MCCers to stay in their quaint town house. Today I was able to see the world heritage site where archaeologists are still digging up old human fossils. I learnt heaps about stalagmites and stalactites and explored around in some sweet caves!
Making a venture back to my home Mozambique tomorrow. Adventures continue.
After many car break-downs and a day and a-half spent waiting for car repairs in Zimbabwe, I arrived with my Moz-CR’s (Country Representatives) in Zambia. From Zambia, after connecting with other MCCers, I traveled down Zambia, through Botswana to reach South Africa. Once in South Africa travels became independent to introduce more adventures to my plate.
April 13 / 10
Sticking your toes over the edge of a 111 Meter open drop over white water rapids may not sound thrilling to some, but it sure was for me.
I connected with the MCC-South African CRs, James and Joan, and took the ride with them to their home country South Africa. First stop along the way => Zambia, Victoria Falls. Being Menno, heart and blood, I am always looking for deals as well as good stories to tell over a bowl of hot borscht. Every good Menno knows savings comes in ‘bulk’ so I went for the package deal. This ‘Package deal’ included zip-lining, bungee jumping and gorge swinging Victoria Falls. I had my fill of butterflies that morning as well as the audience that watched my continuously jump in 3 different forms off the 111 M high bridge. Afterwards, to relax, I stood on the ‘Knife Point Bridge’ where overspray from the falls instantly drenches you in shower-temperature water. I was in my glory. By myself yes, but laughing uncontrollably. Perhaps there was something in the water... any who... I did not have a problem because the roar of the falls masked all other hullabaloo (
We (James, Joan and I) stayed in a backpackers hostel which was packed full of young people traveling over South Africa. It was 10 US bucks a night complete with a pool, restaurant and bar, a giant pillow lounge and more. The next night we spent in beautiful Botswana at another hostel which was not as much of a party place but equally as pleasing. We arrived late to the quiet cabin feeling, pool equipped, mini-cabin lodge. It was crisp out and the huge fluffy cloud like sheets were delightful. Better than those starchy covers you pay 80 bucks a night for at a musty hotel.
The next morning on our way to South Africa we stopped numerous times to say hello to the HUGE elephants on the side of the road. They were just chilling there, wild, free, beautiful. The skin on these magnificent creatures is like that leathery old woman on the beach who has spent far too many of her youthful years in the sun, still is oblivious and is smearing on the baby oil still. Its giant fly-swatter ears and rubber trunk complete the perfect awkwardness of it all.
Rolling hills and fields of sunflowers, grains and bails... others dotted with healthy cows of browns, whites, blacks, and tans. Traveling with James and Joan is a good time. They like to stop in on little town-ships for cups of tea and cookies, have picnic lunches on the way and enjoy the scenery. There is no way like traveling in style.
April 24 / 10
My adventures take me from the cozy home of James and Joan in Pietermaritzburg to the bustling city in Durban where I stayed at a backpackers meeting great people, visiting the bustling markets during the day and even the biggest mosque in all South Africa. after discovering bead market after Indian market after meat market, after clothing market, witchdoctor market, fish market, market, market, market.... the German girl (that I had connected with at hostel and joined me on my days gallivant) was tiered I may have been dragging her around a bit forgetting that she was not used to the culture and atmosphere. So we took to evening off and watched the sun set on the beach with one of the World Cup stadiums in the distant point of the bay.
From Durban I fly to Cape Town -
I have never been to Europe, but it’s as close as I have ever been. The backpackers (Longstreet backpackers) located on Long St. (how appropriately named) is in the middle of the hub and happening of most all events. The amounts of cafes were infinite and craft shops overtaking. Being in wine country it was only appropriate to see the gorgeous wineries and sample some of the delicacies with local cheese. The next day climbed Cape Hope, one of the most southern points of all South Africa on the peninsula. Touched white sand deserted beaches with large waves crashing. It really is a different world this side of Africa. There were many times I forgot I even was here on the safe continent.
From Cape Town I bus to Port Elizabeth –
The one day I stay in PE was cold and rainy. The intense wind did not stop me from going adventuring and exploring with a fellow backpacker from England, Anthony. Our goal the whole day was to find the art exhibit that was on according to a local ad on a street post. On the way exploring we stumbled on the IRON MAN competition and wandered around the exhibit getting free samples of powerjuice and powerbars. Once we were re-fuelled we bussed around the town looking for the crazy art gallery. When we finally made it cold and wet from the rain, we stopped in at their cafe for tea and cake for only R15 (fifteen rand ~$2). Unfortunately the cakes were coming in the next day, but after having a small conversation with the little lady that ran the place she made banana-caramel pancakes and tea for us with whip cream. How sweet.
From Port Elizabeth I fly to Johannesburg –
Into the big bad city of Joberg. Met up with more MCCers to stay in their quaint town house. Today I was able to see the world heritage site where archaeologists are still digging up old human fossils. I learnt heaps about stalagmites and stalactites and explored around in some sweet caves!
Making a venture back to my home Mozambique tomorrow. Adventures continue.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
jack of all trades... master of none?
If anyone needs something welded, I am now capable. At KEDESH I learnt how to weld with electricity. I made a Mozambican style oven, in a Mozambican welding-style. Saying this I mean welding in: flip-flops, shorts, tank-top. The only protection was the hand-held welding mask, and I used my cat-like reflexes to dodge bits of burning metal. One flew in-between my toes! Ouch.
March 22 / 10 - You know that things are sparse here in Machanga when your guard and chef are fighting over who will take home the empty mayonnaise jar. Tio George, the guard claimed it first. But Tio Machau (the chef) claims it is his tern to take it home because Tio George already took home the goat pelt from the party we had. I am not sure what the end result was, but the mayonnaise jar wasn't either of theirs to begin with. Nor did it have mayonnaise in it.
March. 27 / 10 – Ah art. Art is defiantly a therapy for me. I picked up oil paints when I was in the city and have started to decorate our dorm wall with the girls. I gave a space to each girl to do with it what she wants. It has been a growing experience for all. Learning R-E-S-P-E-C-T, not to paint outside of your designated space, on other peoples paintings, on the ground etc, learning how to use a paint brush and respect the equipment given, cleaning up after ones self, and how to encourage and compliment others on their work. Learning colour mixtures (what colours make GREEN?) is a new thing for almost all. Half a coconut shell is sued as our palate (paint holder) and a group will form eager to see the results of a new colour created. Painting has been an everyday activity for over a week; me- having to take out and set up the equipment twice a day (once for the morning group and once for the afternoon group) and monitoring everything, encouraging, suggesting then cleaning up. Not sure how many brain-cells have been destroyed from the constant exposure to the fumes of paints, lacquer thinner and turpentine, but I am very much enjoying myself.
March 29 / 10 – “Tia, I must confess… I am a smoker” Tio George Injchala admitted in Portuguese as he pulled out a hand-rolled tobacco roll from his plastic bag in his pocket. I told him I already knew, and he seemed surprised. How could I not with a smokers cough which makes even my ribs hurt from hearing the wheeze. I always know when he takes out a fresh roll, for the series of heeves and hacks begins, then will slowly diminish. We sat under a large masanica tree on his property as the wind occasionally rustled the branches sending the cherry sized, apple tasting, pit imbedded, fruit on our heads; little children (not sure if their were his kids, his sons, or neighbor kids) waited anxiously on the outskirts of adults in the chairs to make a chase for the fallen fruit. The breeze was refreshing and conversation informal. Neighbors ‘happened to stumble in that way’, I am guessing to get a better view of the muzungu, and I surprised myself with conversations that I could keep going in my few-word phrases of Ndau. As we chatted, Tio, being a night guard, was nodding off in his chair, head occasionally slipping off his hand jerking him back into consciousness. He constantly had to run back inside to roll a fresh cigarette to keep him occupied and alert.
We arrived at his house an hour from the center on our bikes. My bike, never ceasing to have a flat made the trek a little more difficult then usual, but we made it just as the sun began threatening its scorching rays. He had told the other 10 household members in advance of my visit. He, being the only member of his family to speak Portuguese. It was a good opportunity to use the Ndau that I do know. Tio and I walked around his land and area to show me the marsh, his machamba (field/garden) and local plants that can serve as food and others medicinal properties. When we got back to the house his wife had freshly killed a chicken, which was to be our lunch, and began plucking its feathers. Fresh. Tio made sure I knew that this lunch was in my honor, and they had bought the chicken months in advance, awaiting my arrival. They gave me the honored piece of charred chicken-stomach and there was nothing I could do to pass it to anyone else without insulting them > so into my stomach went the stomach. After lunch, Telemba, a 15 year old with her 11 month old took me to the marsh and I waded into the sun-hot water and tomar banho’ed (bathed). What a perfect African day. I am not sure who was more grateful; they kept thanking me for being there and I kept thanking them for hosting me.
March 22 / 10 - You know that things are sparse here in Machanga when your guard and chef are fighting over who will take home the empty mayonnaise jar. Tio George, the guard claimed it first. But Tio Machau (the chef) claims it is his tern to take it home because Tio George already took home the goat pelt from the party we had. I am not sure what the end result was, but the mayonnaise jar wasn't either of theirs to begin with. Nor did it have mayonnaise in it.
March. 27 / 10 – Ah art. Art is defiantly a therapy for me. I picked up oil paints when I was in the city and have started to decorate our dorm wall with the girls. I gave a space to each girl to do with it what she wants. It has been a growing experience for all. Learning R-E-S-P-E-C-T, not to paint outside of your designated space, on other peoples paintings, on the ground etc, learning how to use a paint brush and respect the equipment given, cleaning up after ones self, and how to encourage and compliment others on their work. Learning colour mixtures (what colours make GREEN?) is a new thing for almost all. Half a coconut shell is sued as our palate (paint holder) and a group will form eager to see the results of a new colour created. Painting has been an everyday activity for over a week; me- having to take out and set up the equipment twice a day (once for the morning group and once for the afternoon group) and monitoring everything, encouraging, suggesting then cleaning up. Not sure how many brain-cells have been destroyed from the constant exposure to the fumes of paints, lacquer thinner and turpentine, but I am very much enjoying myself.
March 29 / 10 – “Tia, I must confess… I am a smoker” Tio George Injchala admitted in Portuguese as he pulled out a hand-rolled tobacco roll from his plastic bag in his pocket. I told him I already knew, and he seemed surprised. How could I not with a smokers cough which makes even my ribs hurt from hearing the wheeze. I always know when he takes out a fresh roll, for the series of heeves and hacks begins, then will slowly diminish. We sat under a large masanica tree on his property as the wind occasionally rustled the branches sending the cherry sized, apple tasting, pit imbedded, fruit on our heads; little children (not sure if their were his kids, his sons, or neighbor kids) waited anxiously on the outskirts of adults in the chairs to make a chase for the fallen fruit. The breeze was refreshing and conversation informal. Neighbors ‘happened to stumble in that way’, I am guessing to get a better view of the muzungu, and I surprised myself with conversations that I could keep going in my few-word phrases of Ndau. As we chatted, Tio, being a night guard, was nodding off in his chair, head occasionally slipping off his hand jerking him back into consciousness. He constantly had to run back inside to roll a fresh cigarette to keep him occupied and alert.
We arrived at his house an hour from the center on our bikes. My bike, never ceasing to have a flat made the trek a little more difficult then usual, but we made it just as the sun began threatening its scorching rays. He had told the other 10 household members in advance of my visit. He, being the only member of his family to speak Portuguese. It was a good opportunity to use the Ndau that I do know. Tio and I walked around his land and area to show me the marsh, his machamba (field/garden) and local plants that can serve as food and others medicinal properties. When we got back to the house his wife had freshly killed a chicken, which was to be our lunch, and began plucking its feathers. Fresh. Tio made sure I knew that this lunch was in my honor, and they had bought the chicken months in advance, awaiting my arrival. They gave me the honored piece of charred chicken-stomach and there was nothing I could do to pass it to anyone else without insulting them > so into my stomach went the stomach. After lunch, Telemba, a 15 year old with her 11 month old took me to the marsh and I waded into the sun-hot water and tomar banho’ed (bathed). What a perfect African day. I am not sure who was more grateful; they kept thanking me for being there and I kept thanking them for hosting me.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
hobuwa - snail
March 6 / 10 - Now its time to play the waiting game…… sigh…… and….. nnnnnnnn……. NNNnnnnn….. nnnnnooooW! NOW! Nope. My mistake, please continue to wait patiently like everyone else.
People have incredible talents for waiting without complaining. As you may already know, when things start at 10, it means 12:30 at the earliest, and if they say ‘punto!’ (sharp) 40 mins is the magic number to wait after that mark ( and you will usually still be the early one).
What is fair is fair... Waiting … No one seems to mind to wait for hours on end and eventually not even get what they were waiting for. Tia Cacilda and I were waiting for a shipment of dry fish to come in to buy in bulk quantities for the girls’ center. We got their early morning and waited over lunch and until 17:30. When the boat finally came in the woman, whom accumulated AFTER us and were patiently waiting doing each others hair, got up in a frenzy tumbled down to the boats and claimed sacks of fish. In the end we didn't even get what we were waiting for. Part of life. Go in the next day to repeat and perhaps get lucky?
March 8 / 10 - There is nothing like a visitor coming to visit for one to realize how much they appreciate the place they are in. Jon, a colleague working up in Tete province, came to Machanga Saturday and stayed the Sunday and Monday. The girls with singing and dancing greeted him warmly, taking his load off his back and clapping. I love it when people get so overwhelmed in these kinds of situations. It was nice to talk English and show a piece of my life as well as the girls life to another person with the same Western prospective. I can say I felt quiet proud of our little district of Machanga. There is not much out this way, but what we have is wonderful! And the people are what make it what it is. He fell in love with all my dearest neighbors and friends and they likewise were overjoyed with another white to come to their parts of Moz.
March 12 / 10 – Helped Tia Amelia transplant rice. We found a giant snail. We put it in the fire. I ate it. Chewy.
People have incredible talents for waiting without complaining. As you may already know, when things start at 10, it means 12:30 at the earliest, and if they say ‘punto!’ (sharp) 40 mins is the magic number to wait after that mark ( and you will usually still be the early one).
What is fair is fair... Waiting … No one seems to mind to wait for hours on end and eventually not even get what they were waiting for. Tia Cacilda and I were waiting for a shipment of dry fish to come in to buy in bulk quantities for the girls’ center. We got their early morning and waited over lunch and until 17:30. When the boat finally came in the woman, whom accumulated AFTER us and were patiently waiting doing each others hair, got up in a frenzy tumbled down to the boats and claimed sacks of fish. In the end we didn't even get what we were waiting for. Part of life. Go in the next day to repeat and perhaps get lucky?
March 8 / 10 - There is nothing like a visitor coming to visit for one to realize how much they appreciate the place they are in. Jon, a colleague working up in Tete province, came to Machanga Saturday and stayed the Sunday and Monday. The girls with singing and dancing greeted him warmly, taking his load off his back and clapping. I love it when people get so overwhelmed in these kinds of situations. It was nice to talk English and show a piece of my life as well as the girls life to another person with the same Western prospective. I can say I felt quiet proud of our little district of Machanga. There is not much out this way, but what we have is wonderful! And the people are what make it what it is. He fell in love with all my dearest neighbors and friends and they likewise were overjoyed with another white to come to their parts of Moz.
March 12 / 10 – Helped Tia Amelia transplant rice. We found a giant snail. We put it in the fire. I ate it. Chewy.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
i could really use a friend like you
Feb 25 / 10 - I had spent a brief time back in the city and have already returned to the center. During the time I was gone, the food was not delivered to the center and they went two days without any food! I do feel thankful that I was able to eat good foods in the city, but also feel a bit guilty I was able to indulge while everyone else back here was hungry.
Of course the trip back was eventful, as in the tire underneath my seat blew and I thought we were going to plummet the chapa into the ditch. The driver raised his left hand to calm me and assure me everything was alright as my nails dug into the seat deeper then my mothers when I was in drivers-Ed and began to drive our ol’ Aerostar around the ‘hood’. I would rather have had him put both hands on the wheel, but we skidded to a stop, did the repair and were on our way.
Africans have many friends. Friends. I still cant decided if these friends are family, acquaintances, old comrades or the second time meeting (the first time being from a distance). But nonetheless, Africans seem to treat everybody they meet on the street as if they are first cousins. Walking on the street, yes I am everybody’s ‘sister’ and ‘friend’, but so are other people who pass by. I was walking with a local friend, and I stepped in a mess of mud. It had sucked my sandal and foot right in to create a dirty boot effect. The friend said it was best to ask for water to wash my foot to save me embarrassment and so we walked to the nearest house. There, as I washed my foot, my friend and the house owners greeted each other as pals, then later went into detail of who they were. They had not really known each other as I had first thought. To Africans, the more friends the better. This way they can benefit form the resources one has when in times of need. This is why everyone wants to be my best friend> because they see I have lots of money and when they are in need they can just call their best friend Alexis for a loan. Being white, you are a friend magnet.
March 1 / 10 – Information is a valuable commodity and Africans don't share this as freely as they do items or food and hospitality. Although it is sometimes hard to get historical and personal information out of a Mozambican, there are cultural clues that can let one in on secrets or information. Names have a large significance, especially in the Chindau culture. Mbepo – translated as Wind, lets one know that this baby was born on a very windy day. Okay, so that is not that big of a secret. But others have names such as Zhvipa – meaning cemetery – or others with the name translated as crying and tears. These children were born from a mother who’s previous children repeatedly died after birth, and so this child was also expected to die like the others, in which, if the baby died as expected, would be given to the cemetery, one would cry, and tears would be shed. But it is very typical to encounter people who grew up and carried this sad name into adult-hood.
Other names, unfortunately for the innocent babies sake, are aimed to take a nasty shot at ex-husbands who left their wives. When a woman is thought to be infertile, it is very common for the man to leave her for another woman. The couple will go their separate ways and find new partners. Low and behold the woman is able to have children with this new man and therefore it was the mans fault for the lack of children. The name given to this child is a name to put shame on the ex-husband. Since districts such as Machanga are not very big, word spreads fast about the name of the child and information revealed.
When a child is born, an elder relative of the child gives a blessing and instructions of how this child must grow and follow. Some of these instructions include things that the person can and cannot eat. Many people cannot eat things that have been chewed are eaten partially by zebra (even thought the war and floods /cyclones have wiped out almost all zebras), rats, monkeys and others are forbidden to eat chicken hearts or other specific parts of animals. When one goes against the instructions given, the consequence is the rotting of teeth. Many have rotting teeth here and they are seen as not having followed instructions and are seen as a bit careless or rule-breakers.
Chameleons’ are strange but beautiful creatures. Along with the myth of their deadly, un-healable bite, it is said that if one sees, with their own eyes, a chameleon shed its skin (like a snake apparently), it means one of the family members, of the one who viewed the shedding-skin event, died that instant. Tia Cacilda testified that this happened to her when she was 11. After seeing the chameleon shed its skin-coat, she went home and was informed of the death of her aunt.
Change is sparse. Were talking coins. So many things there are to buy that only cost 5 or 10 meticais, in which these denominations are coins. When making a purchase and the seller does not have change, you may find yourself waiting on the side of the street or in the store where you bought your item watching your seller run down the street to find a friend or another store owner to get coins off. After the change is given, the seller tries to succeed on making another sell with that change you have just received. Now you don't have that excuse to say ‘Sorry I have no more money, I just spent it on that last item’ the cat is out of the bag, or the change is out of the pocket.
Of course the trip back was eventful, as in the tire underneath my seat blew and I thought we were going to plummet the chapa into the ditch. The driver raised his left hand to calm me and assure me everything was alright as my nails dug into the seat deeper then my mothers when I was in drivers-Ed and began to drive our ol’ Aerostar around the ‘hood’. I would rather have had him put both hands on the wheel, but we skidded to a stop, did the repair and were on our way.
Africans have many friends. Friends. I still cant decided if these friends are family, acquaintances, old comrades or the second time meeting (the first time being from a distance). But nonetheless, Africans seem to treat everybody they meet on the street as if they are first cousins. Walking on the street, yes I am everybody’s ‘sister’ and ‘friend’, but so are other people who pass by. I was walking with a local friend, and I stepped in a mess of mud. It had sucked my sandal and foot right in to create a dirty boot effect. The friend said it was best to ask for water to wash my foot to save me embarrassment and so we walked to the nearest house. There, as I washed my foot, my friend and the house owners greeted each other as pals, then later went into detail of who they were. They had not really known each other as I had first thought. To Africans, the more friends the better. This way they can benefit form the resources one has when in times of need. This is why everyone wants to be my best friend> because they see I have lots of money and when they are in need they can just call their best friend Alexis for a loan. Being white, you are a friend magnet.
March 1 / 10 – Information is a valuable commodity and Africans don't share this as freely as they do items or food and hospitality. Although it is sometimes hard to get historical and personal information out of a Mozambican, there are cultural clues that can let one in on secrets or information. Names have a large significance, especially in the Chindau culture. Mbepo – translated as Wind, lets one know that this baby was born on a very windy day. Okay, so that is not that big of a secret. But others have names such as Zhvipa – meaning cemetery – or others with the name translated as crying and tears. These children were born from a mother who’s previous children repeatedly died after birth, and so this child was also expected to die like the others, in which, if the baby died as expected, would be given to the cemetery, one would cry, and tears would be shed. But it is very typical to encounter people who grew up and carried this sad name into adult-hood.
Other names, unfortunately for the innocent babies sake, are aimed to take a nasty shot at ex-husbands who left their wives. When a woman is thought to be infertile, it is very common for the man to leave her for another woman. The couple will go their separate ways and find new partners. Low and behold the woman is able to have children with this new man and therefore it was the mans fault for the lack of children. The name given to this child is a name to put shame on the ex-husband. Since districts such as Machanga are not very big, word spreads fast about the name of the child and information revealed.
When a child is born, an elder relative of the child gives a blessing and instructions of how this child must grow and follow. Some of these instructions include things that the person can and cannot eat. Many people cannot eat things that have been chewed are eaten partially by zebra (even thought the war and floods /cyclones have wiped out almost all zebras), rats, monkeys and others are forbidden to eat chicken hearts or other specific parts of animals. When one goes against the instructions given, the consequence is the rotting of teeth. Many have rotting teeth here and they are seen as not having followed instructions and are seen as a bit careless or rule-breakers.
Chameleons’ are strange but beautiful creatures. Along with the myth of their deadly, un-healable bite, it is said that if one sees, with their own eyes, a chameleon shed its skin (like a snake apparently), it means one of the family members, of the one who viewed the shedding-skin event, died that instant. Tia Cacilda testified that this happened to her when she was 11. After seeing the chameleon shed its skin-coat, she went home and was informed of the death of her aunt.
Change is sparse. Were talking coins. So many things there are to buy that only cost 5 or 10 meticais, in which these denominations are coins. When making a purchase and the seller does not have change, you may find yourself waiting on the side of the street or in the store where you bought your item watching your seller run down the street to find a friend or another store owner to get coins off. After the change is given, the seller tries to succeed on making another sell with that change you have just received. Now you don't have that excuse to say ‘Sorry I have no more money, I just spent it on that last item’ the cat is out of the bag, or the change is out of the pocket.
Monday, February 15, 2010
who wants some meat
Feb 5 / 10 : The other night as the girls practiced their songs for the church and visitors that are coming next Saturday. I watched the stars and thought about what an amazing experience this has been so far and how I know that when I’m back in The Peg I will be laying on my bed reflecting of these moments. I was at the back of the group dancing and singing, a poor imitation of what I thought they were doing…then suddenly… everyone cleared out. It was like some invisible force pushed every person outwards…it was a snake! Some one was dancing and pegged it and felt it squirming underfoot. We killed and buried it, and although this was not a black or yellow mamba (I have seen both in Machanga), it was a small but deadly one.
Sure, rain makes things come to life, we are all celebrating. But now when night comes > so do the bugs. I am not rooting for the famine to thrive, but without the mosquitoes it was so pleasant to sit under the stars as the ground gave its last breath of heat back to the sky. Not that we cant still enjoy the stars, we just have to do a little dance hence the insects.
On the same note, some people really can sleep with that cricket song in the foreground, but when there are 3 crickets in your cement room, the high-pitched chirp bounces on the walls and tin roof, it sounds like your in the bog with the thousands.
Along with teaching these rural girls English (and Portuguese for those that can’t speak yet), I am teaching them simple manors from the West such as: saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and how it is appropriate for a man to open the door for a woman and go in after her. They too have their own standard of manners and gestures that are unconsciously followed. When handing something or taking something from someone else you MUST take / give with your right hand, and bend your left arm under your right elbow. It is a position of respect as well as showing you are not hiding anything. Woman, no matter how old, will sit on the floor before a man, even if it was a young man and an ancient grandmother-type woman. When showing the measurement of a person you raise your hand palm-up to the high of that person, when it’s an animal you show the height palm-down. Talking about someone who steals or takes off with things is a swoop of your right hand at the right side, a gesture of taking and concealing. When smelling something fowl, or seeing feces on the ground one spits in disgust. Do not smell / sniff food, either to see if it smells good/ bad/ ripe/ rotten, it is a sign of disrespect and disgust. When offered food or refrescos (cokes and fantas) its rude to deny this polite gesture (I have been caught in days where everyone wants to be nice to the Muzungu and had to drink 3 fantas> after that I decided to just be rude and refused further offers). Before starting any conversation, business or simple chat, you must start with the simple questions of how they slept, how the family is etc, and then go on to business.
There is a certain time frame one is allowed to leave a scene or conversation. I am still trying to figure this one out. After the words “Ndu pinda” (I’m going) are spoken, I find I still am sitting on the bamboo matt for another 30 mins before me and the person I came with actually leave the scene. I once got up immediately after it was announced we were going, and they all made an embarrassed little gasp on my behalf. I still don't really know what I did wrong, but sat down and had to wait for the cue of the Tia I was with.
Feb 8th / 10: Today has been exactly half a year from home, and today I was hit the hardest with the sight of poverty yet. Tia Cacilda and I got in the local Machanga chapa to go to the church in Dondo 9 kms away. There are a certain number of people that open-back truck-chapas wait for. I’m not sure what that number is, but after long waits I wish that number were much less so we could get on the move. The chapa, when it eventually decided to start (push started of course), went backwards to the hospital. A couple men carried the frailest person I have ever seen. Her feet dragged on the ground with no will and no energy to lift the little mass that she was. The lack of proper transportation meant she had to be hulled in the open-back of the sun-baked truck with others and cargo of others surrounding her almost lifeless body. As she was maneuvered onto the truck bottom and a woman’s lap, people compassionately helped arrange the skin and bones of a body among other bags of rice and mangos. I felt sick to the stomach and the largest knot in my throat seeing this woman who looked ancient beyond all days. In reality she was probably younger then 55. A woman behind her also transported from the hospital had skin that hung like wet rice paper and wrinkled in every direction when in contact with another object. Her face was of oblivion and hurt. Eyes saying she has seen everything but knows nothing. I have seen poverty over these 6 months but have perhaps just let it slide by, but this one was quiet powerful.
Medical information is so very limited, as well as medical supplies. For a high malaria concentrated area, the hospital doesn't carry this. Not even simple IB-PROFIN. I gave a small medical teaching about worms, parasites, headaches, sexually transmitted diseases and what certain drugs were for etc. A lot of illnesses and aches are assumed to be curses, or works of the corenderos (witchdoctors). Tia was amazed that us Mazungus (whites) have problems with birth when we inter-marry (e.g. Sister and brother or cousins), and thought that it was just blacks that had a curse on them. Still much to learn, much to teach.
Feb 12 / 10: Hmmmm, another queasy moment. I was able to kill that chicken back in November with some nervousness and three hits of a machete > done and done. Good work. But today… I could not muster up enough guts to spill the guts > of a full-grown goat. Nope. I did take a graphic film of the local who did the deed and during the taking had to turn my head away from the show. Little kids who were used to the festivities laughed at my reactions as the maestro continued his business of tying the slit-throat body up side down to a tree and strategically skinning it. Perhaps it resembles a dog too much…. One must remember this is still the same Alexis who cried an afternoon when her gold fish floated to the top of the tank and over a day when her first hamster escaped from its cage, crawled into the depths of the air vents (in which this occasion was winter and when the heat went on was not the prettiest passing for Mr. Hammy). Either way, the festivities for the celebration of the Machanga Girls Center start tomorrow! Let the party begin.
So I know I am supposed to adapt to this culture and I have done a pretty darn tootin’ lot of patient waiting, listening (to other languages I don't understand), eating strange things willingly etc, but I can not help but release the tension at times. Today was the big celebration of the American Board church Machanga Girls Center anniversary. Men from the church came and gave lectures to the girls about working / working hard, not looking too attractive with mesha (hair extensions), no cell phones, no shorts etc. I, to be completely honest, am not a big fan of this forceful, condescending approach. Women are accustomed to be quiet and respond with the response wanted even if one does not agree. When the 43 girls were asked if one of them could pray, no one stood up. They were so intimidated. ‘point and choose’ began. Since it was night, a flashlight was used to interrogatingly choose a girl to stand and give a small word of thanks. Instead, all refused and some began to cry. I had enough, so stood up and prayed in English, showing them it was not that hard to do and didn't have to be fancy or long or wordy. After more lecture I was asked to give my little speech of course and cracked some jokes and said my funny little things I can say in Ndau until laughter echoed in the cement room breaking the silence, or rather still sounds of everyone’s timid breath.
Feb 13 / 10 : PARTY. The day was all focused around the preparation of food. It was a good day and a good party. I will just have to say a small little bit before going to bed. I do not recommend goat liver, and I definitely do not think they cleaned the goat intestines enough to get that taste out. I secretly took those parcels out of my mouth and hid them under other various mystery items on my plate.
Feb 14 / 10 : Happy Halloween! Ummmm… I mean Valentines Day. Up at 4 am to catch a spot on the small, inadequate, falling apart chapa from Machanga to Beira. Got on at 5 am and sat a long while as per usual. We started going, but went the wrong direction. I asked what was happening and got an answer in Chindau. I comprehended certain words but not the whole phrase: “cow”, “people”, “pick up”. So I interpreted the cows were bringing in some people (people get around in carts pulled by cows/ bulls over here). We reached our destination, and I may have interpreted a little wrong. Okay, quite wrong. My eyes saw a sight that perhaps is the one that makes people vegetarians in the first place. Men slaughtered a giant cow with machetes and then proceeded to hack up the body, head and bones, with an axe. We had to wait till it was ready and they wrapped the mass-portions in a tarp and loaded it onto the chapa. The smell was over-bearing and I felt nauseous. We finally starting on our way and since the last large rain storm the gravel road turned into a 2 hour-long washboard. My wall of the chapa seemed to be heaving as if it had a nasty cough and was about to hack itself off its bolts. The door on the other side was not closed and the noise from the loose screws and parts made it impossible to think of anything besides my possible death. We swayed from side to side and everything rattled like we were a paint can getting all its colors mixed on one of those machines. I sent my family a good-bye message on my phone in case I was going to parish.
When we finally made it onto the main road I rejoiced. But after 5 times of breaking down onto and stopping in the hot sun I felt once again hopeless. The cow in the black tarp seemed to be baking and flies were insane! Every time we stopped the waft of the sour corps fumed into the windows as if the chapa were a giant baked taco and the people inside were the chilly-beans and cheese inside the crumbly, hard-crust corn shell (phew! someone sure had beans the night before). When we reached Muxungue at 12:00 we had to get a different chapa, which meant to load up the corpse on the top of the other chapa. We started going and I was pleased with our progress. It started to rain as we traveled on. Blood began to leak down the panes of the windows and juice of 8 hour-ago freshly cut cow entered the chapa. My nice MEC pack smelt of uncooked meat juice. The smell haunts me. The ride seemed prime compared even though it was equally squished and uncomfortable. We were so close,,, the suddenly we had tier problems. We stopped 3 times, then the fourth because it blew. I was so fed up with the whole ride I waved down a car and got in. A nice couple with air conditioning drove me to my destination. They didn't talk too much and I think it was because the combination of my dust and sweat and meat juice was an insult to their noses as well as their perfumed car and seats. Either way I made it! Happy Valentines Day.
Sure, rain makes things come to life, we are all celebrating. But now when night comes > so do the bugs. I am not rooting for the famine to thrive, but without the mosquitoes it was so pleasant to sit under the stars as the ground gave its last breath of heat back to the sky. Not that we cant still enjoy the stars, we just have to do a little dance hence the insects.
On the same note, some people really can sleep with that cricket song in the foreground, but when there are 3 crickets in your cement room, the high-pitched chirp bounces on the walls and tin roof, it sounds like your in the bog with the thousands.
Along with teaching these rural girls English (and Portuguese for those that can’t speak yet), I am teaching them simple manors from the West such as: saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and how it is appropriate for a man to open the door for a woman and go in after her. They too have their own standard of manners and gestures that are unconsciously followed. When handing something or taking something from someone else you MUST take / give with your right hand, and bend your left arm under your right elbow. It is a position of respect as well as showing you are not hiding anything. Woman, no matter how old, will sit on the floor before a man, even if it was a young man and an ancient grandmother-type woman. When showing the measurement of a person you raise your hand palm-up to the high of that person, when it’s an animal you show the height palm-down. Talking about someone who steals or takes off with things is a swoop of your right hand at the right side, a gesture of taking and concealing. When smelling something fowl, or seeing feces on the ground one spits in disgust. Do not smell / sniff food, either to see if it smells good/ bad/ ripe/ rotten, it is a sign of disrespect and disgust. When offered food or refrescos (cokes and fantas) its rude to deny this polite gesture (I have been caught in days where everyone wants to be nice to the Muzungu and had to drink 3 fantas> after that I decided to just be rude and refused further offers). Before starting any conversation, business or simple chat, you must start with the simple questions of how they slept, how the family is etc, and then go on to business.
There is a certain time frame one is allowed to leave a scene or conversation. I am still trying to figure this one out. After the words “Ndu pinda” (I’m going) are spoken, I find I still am sitting on the bamboo matt for another 30 mins before me and the person I came with actually leave the scene. I once got up immediately after it was announced we were going, and they all made an embarrassed little gasp on my behalf. I still don't really know what I did wrong, but sat down and had to wait for the cue of the Tia I was with.
Feb 8th / 10: Today has been exactly half a year from home, and today I was hit the hardest with the sight of poverty yet. Tia Cacilda and I got in the local Machanga chapa to go to the church in Dondo 9 kms away. There are a certain number of people that open-back truck-chapas wait for. I’m not sure what that number is, but after long waits I wish that number were much less so we could get on the move. The chapa, when it eventually decided to start (push started of course), went backwards to the hospital. A couple men carried the frailest person I have ever seen. Her feet dragged on the ground with no will and no energy to lift the little mass that she was. The lack of proper transportation meant she had to be hulled in the open-back of the sun-baked truck with others and cargo of others surrounding her almost lifeless body. As she was maneuvered onto the truck bottom and a woman’s lap, people compassionately helped arrange the skin and bones of a body among other bags of rice and mangos. I felt sick to the stomach and the largest knot in my throat seeing this woman who looked ancient beyond all days. In reality she was probably younger then 55. A woman behind her also transported from the hospital had skin that hung like wet rice paper and wrinkled in every direction when in contact with another object. Her face was of oblivion and hurt. Eyes saying she has seen everything but knows nothing. I have seen poverty over these 6 months but have perhaps just let it slide by, but this one was quiet powerful.
Medical information is so very limited, as well as medical supplies. For a high malaria concentrated area, the hospital doesn't carry this. Not even simple IB-PROFIN. I gave a small medical teaching about worms, parasites, headaches, sexually transmitted diseases and what certain drugs were for etc. A lot of illnesses and aches are assumed to be curses, or works of the corenderos (witchdoctors). Tia was amazed that us Mazungus (whites) have problems with birth when we inter-marry (e.g. Sister and brother or cousins), and thought that it was just blacks that had a curse on them. Still much to learn, much to teach.
Feb 12 / 10: Hmmmm, another queasy moment. I was able to kill that chicken back in November with some nervousness and three hits of a machete > done and done. Good work. But today… I could not muster up enough guts to spill the guts > of a full-grown goat. Nope. I did take a graphic film of the local who did the deed and during the taking had to turn my head away from the show. Little kids who were used to the festivities laughed at my reactions as the maestro continued his business of tying the slit-throat body up side down to a tree and strategically skinning it. Perhaps it resembles a dog too much…. One must remember this is still the same Alexis who cried an afternoon when her gold fish floated to the top of the tank and over a day when her first hamster escaped from its cage, crawled into the depths of the air vents (in which this occasion was winter and when the heat went on was not the prettiest passing for Mr. Hammy). Either way, the festivities for the celebration of the Machanga Girls Center start tomorrow! Let the party begin.
So I know I am supposed to adapt to this culture and I have done a pretty darn tootin’ lot of patient waiting, listening (to other languages I don't understand), eating strange things willingly etc, but I can not help but release the tension at times. Today was the big celebration of the American Board church Machanga Girls Center anniversary. Men from the church came and gave lectures to the girls about working / working hard, not looking too attractive with mesha (hair extensions), no cell phones, no shorts etc. I, to be completely honest, am not a big fan of this forceful, condescending approach. Women are accustomed to be quiet and respond with the response wanted even if one does not agree. When the 43 girls were asked if one of them could pray, no one stood up. They were so intimidated. ‘point and choose’ began. Since it was night, a flashlight was used to interrogatingly choose a girl to stand and give a small word of thanks. Instead, all refused and some began to cry. I had enough, so stood up and prayed in English, showing them it was not that hard to do and didn't have to be fancy or long or wordy. After more lecture I was asked to give my little speech of course and cracked some jokes and said my funny little things I can say in Ndau until laughter echoed in the cement room breaking the silence, or rather still sounds of everyone’s timid breath.
Feb 13 / 10 : PARTY. The day was all focused around the preparation of food. It was a good day and a good party. I will just have to say a small little bit before going to bed. I do not recommend goat liver, and I definitely do not think they cleaned the goat intestines enough to get that taste out. I secretly took those parcels out of my mouth and hid them under other various mystery items on my plate.
Feb 14 / 10 : Happy Halloween! Ummmm… I mean Valentines Day. Up at 4 am to catch a spot on the small, inadequate, falling apart chapa from Machanga to Beira. Got on at 5 am and sat a long while as per usual. We started going, but went the wrong direction. I asked what was happening and got an answer in Chindau. I comprehended certain words but not the whole phrase: “cow”, “people”, “pick up”. So I interpreted the cows were bringing in some people (people get around in carts pulled by cows/ bulls over here). We reached our destination, and I may have interpreted a little wrong. Okay, quite wrong. My eyes saw a sight that perhaps is the one that makes people vegetarians in the first place. Men slaughtered a giant cow with machetes and then proceeded to hack up the body, head and bones, with an axe. We had to wait till it was ready and they wrapped the mass-portions in a tarp and loaded it onto the chapa. The smell was over-bearing and I felt nauseous. We finally starting on our way and since the last large rain storm the gravel road turned into a 2 hour-long washboard. My wall of the chapa seemed to be heaving as if it had a nasty cough and was about to hack itself off its bolts. The door on the other side was not closed and the noise from the loose screws and parts made it impossible to think of anything besides my possible death. We swayed from side to side and everything rattled like we were a paint can getting all its colors mixed on one of those machines. I sent my family a good-bye message on my phone in case I was going to parish.
When we finally made it onto the main road I rejoiced. But after 5 times of breaking down onto and stopping in the hot sun I felt once again hopeless. The cow in the black tarp seemed to be baking and flies were insane! Every time we stopped the waft of the sour corps fumed into the windows as if the chapa were a giant baked taco and the people inside were the chilly-beans and cheese inside the crumbly, hard-crust corn shell (phew! someone sure had beans the night before). When we reached Muxungue at 12:00 we had to get a different chapa, which meant to load up the corpse on the top of the other chapa. We started going and I was pleased with our progress. It started to rain as we traveled on. Blood began to leak down the panes of the windows and juice of 8 hour-ago freshly cut cow entered the chapa. My nice MEC pack smelt of uncooked meat juice. The smell haunts me. The ride seemed prime compared even though it was equally squished and uncomfortable. We were so close,,, the suddenly we had tier problems. We stopped 3 times, then the fourth because it blew. I was so fed up with the whole ride I waved down a car and got in. A nice couple with air conditioning drove me to my destination. They didn't talk too much and I think it was because the combination of my dust and sweat and meat juice was an insult to their noses as well as their perfumed car and seats. Either way I made it! Happy Valentines Day.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Machanga de nova
Jan 25 / 10 - What is it about being under pressure. It was the day to leave KEDESH and I had been razzed for the whole month about how I am going to cry. This last week I have had a couple close calls where I am looking into the big eyes of little Fernando or Francisco and I think about how I have to leave them and I get all teary. The day finally came when I had to leave. What a sad morning. I just hung around the boys and all day had such a gloomy feeling even though the sun was blazing hot. When my ride came after lunch and bags were loaded up the boys gathered. Some already had big tears in their eyes. The older boys starred me down so I would start to cry, but no tears came out. Some put their hats over their faces to cover wet eyes. Then as I got in the truck, it suddenly hit me and I began to cry. Only the kids who ran to the gate saw my sorry face. Although I am exited and ready to start up at Machanga, it is a bitter sweet, since I have to leave these amazing boys.
Back in Machanga now! We have many new girls and most of them can’t speak Portuguese. It is difficult because they are asking me to translate things from Ndau to Portuguese. Yikes. Teaching them ultimate Frisbee and had great games of English BINGO> I am taking the winners out for refrescos > that really got them motivated.
Jan 29 / 10 – Few! Just got in on time for the downpour. Carried a 5 L container of oil on my head for over an hour. Really getting into the African spirit and feel less and less strange as days go by. Rain is a blessing > it has not rained for a long time and is the beginnings of a famine. Our well is dry often and long lines for the pump accumulate to get water to drink, cook, and take baths and all the essentials.
Jan 30 / 10 – I know I said rain was a good thing, but sleep last night was like a repeat of the night when I had a rat in my bed and killed it with a brick >> no sleep. Not only was this crazy lightning and thunder the wildest I have ever seen / heard, but our tin roofs extenuated everything. And to make the storm even more ‘real’ feeling, my roof leaked. And I don't mean just leaked, it pretty much poured in. When I finally decided I was too wet in bed to sleep properly and that I should check how the rest of my things were, my box of FRELIMO Made In Mozambique match-box was wet and it took all the matches in the box (and some emergency matches I had to scrounge in the wet dark for) to get my lantern lit. I was up all night moving soaked books, cloths I left carelessly around (yes mom, I should have cleaned my room before like you would have told me to), my bed which was already soaked as my sweaty / rained on shirt on my back… but anywhere I moved anything, rain was getting at it. It was seriously so loud that when I yelled my loudest I could not hear myself (and yes I did yell, I was curious and amused of how loud tin and rain could be). In the morning Tia Amelia came to see how the state of my room was since she also had a poor night in the rain. One of the girls helped me rag-up (we don't have fancy mops) the water and got 2 buckets full! Just from the floor. The other rooms of the girls seemed to be fine; perhaps I just got the dud.
All day it has been raining HARD. I started some painting and of course end up teaching and letting the girls play as they come in to see what I am up to. Today was also the day I took the 6 winners of BINGO out for refrescos. We tramped in the rain and mud to the market and sat in a Baraka with Fantas and bolachas (biscuits). Still is raining hard and its been over 24 hours. I know people have been waiting and praying for rain, but I really can do without the mosquitoes that are about to come.
Back in Machanga now! We have many new girls and most of them can’t speak Portuguese. It is difficult because they are asking me to translate things from Ndau to Portuguese. Yikes. Teaching them ultimate Frisbee and had great games of English BINGO> I am taking the winners out for refrescos > that really got them motivated.
Jan 29 / 10 – Few! Just got in on time for the downpour. Carried a 5 L container of oil on my head for over an hour. Really getting into the African spirit and feel less and less strange as days go by. Rain is a blessing > it has not rained for a long time and is the beginnings of a famine. Our well is dry often and long lines for the pump accumulate to get water to drink, cook, and take baths and all the essentials.
Jan 30 / 10 – I know I said rain was a good thing, but sleep last night was like a repeat of the night when I had a rat in my bed and killed it with a brick >> no sleep. Not only was this crazy lightning and thunder the wildest I have ever seen / heard, but our tin roofs extenuated everything. And to make the storm even more ‘real’ feeling, my roof leaked. And I don't mean just leaked, it pretty much poured in. When I finally decided I was too wet in bed to sleep properly and that I should check how the rest of my things were, my box of FRELIMO Made In Mozambique match-box was wet and it took all the matches in the box (and some emergency matches I had to scrounge in the wet dark for) to get my lantern lit. I was up all night moving soaked books, cloths I left carelessly around (yes mom, I should have cleaned my room before like you would have told me to), my bed which was already soaked as my sweaty / rained on shirt on my back… but anywhere I moved anything, rain was getting at it. It was seriously so loud that when I yelled my loudest I could not hear myself (and yes I did yell, I was curious and amused of how loud tin and rain could be). In the morning Tia Amelia came to see how the state of my room was since she also had a poor night in the rain. One of the girls helped me rag-up (we don't have fancy mops) the water and got 2 buckets full! Just from the floor. The other rooms of the girls seemed to be fine; perhaps I just got the dud.
All day it has been raining HARD. I started some painting and of course end up teaching and letting the girls play as they come in to see what I am up to. Today was also the day I took the 6 winners of BINGO out for refrescos. We tramped in the rain and mud to the market and sat in a Baraka with Fantas and bolachas (biscuits). Still is raining hard and its been over 24 hours. I know people have been waiting and praying for rain, but I really can do without the mosquitoes that are about to come.
Friday, January 15, 2010
pass the parcles
I have borrowed the next-door orphanages’ sewing machine that I fixed for them to make a large lounge-chair cushion for Heathers’ newly constructed lounge chair, and in the process I offered to sew up a boys ripped shorts… and well, before I knew it I was down to serious business… well could have been in business if I was charging for my work. Countless of ripped crotches, and armpits later, I decided to resign for the day > a sitting job, even if it is a creative and constructive job, seems to be a difficult one for me. So I went ‘passear’ing (passing time / strolling) with some boys. Through tall grass, rice patties, and local dirt roads, we followed the sound of children screaming and cheering. We came upon the excitement, which turned out to be a monkey tied to a tree! Standing on its hind legs, its head reached to my hip. This monkey was absolutely hilarious and scary at the same time. The kids had a kick and a half provoking it, going closer to it so it would run at them with outstretched arms and a kid would jump out of the way just in time so the rope would stop the monkey in mid-jump. This monkey is a clever little beast and would play dead then wait till the kids would go close and it suddenly would get up and attack, once clawing and almost biting a little kids leg and another time closely scratching one kids face almost their eyes! David (Dah-veed-ee)… our little rascal at KEDESH >He has this mischievous look on his face and his laugh adds to the ‘bad boy’ look. He has a reputation and is proud of it (e.g. before new years, he got a hold of fire crackers and threw it in a toilet tank, blowing it up). Being the sort of ringleader of the mob of children, he stood in easy reach of this wild, but tied up monkey. He must have some kind of bond or understanding with it, because it would pick up his toes, then feet, inspect them without biting them, then slowly climb up his pant leg and unbutton his track pants, then go back to attacking the other children around David. It is easy to see that the other little boys have almost a fear but great appreciation for David and his dear-devil ways.
It has been 5 months in Mozambique, and I still am seeing the way things happen here at the most simple and most complicated angles.
The understanding of the chapa system, and how one fills it up to its MAXimum capacity is a major part of everyday adventures. It is important to know to follow the same general rule of filling up the back seat first, then the next one up and etc. When getting off a chapa, personal space does NOT exist, and if you want to keep your place, simply shift your position so the person (not matter how large or old) in the far backseat corner can climb overtop everyone in the way and get out the side door.
Music is always blown to full potential, then cranked up one more notch to sound-distortion, so that all who want to hear (or not) are able. Some nights when sleep is needed, this generosity is less then appreciated.
Young boys wait and watch on the sidelines of the shaggy, hand-cut field to bear the ‘bling’ of older boys playing soccer. For the 90 minutes, the little boys take the opportunity to play dress-up and show off the goods the older boys entrusted then, weather a phone, dangly necklace, or oversized sandals.
Peeping around the corner of a shed and seeing boys congregating, young to old, splitting open a jackfruit with an enchada and sharing the sticky innards. This fruit and its strong distinct smell, as well as the laughing of on-going stories can only lure in more passer-byers’. After the peculiar but delicious fruit has disappeared, the passing around of petroleum to wash gluey hands is shared.
Food is a luxury. Wealth is not only seen from the pockets of a person, or the cloths that are worn but also by the size of… well their behinds. People, no matter how little they have, love to give. Gifts of appreciation. Usually these gifts consist of one or too ripe mangoes or other assorted fruits. For me, these gifts are always welcome and highly appreciated. My mouth has been opened to so many new tastes and tangs; each day thinking I have tried every possible thing and a new season starts and a whole new batch of flavors are discovered.
Kids know how to live the good life. Lately, I have been spending good quality time with the younger boys. Sitting on a cement wall under a giant, over-hanging jaca tree to our left and a mango tree to our right, with a mandioc and avocado plot to oversee in front of us. I go to join the sitting-wall line, and all watch curiously as I sit on the end position, but before I know it, the line is rearranged and I have boys on either side anxiously telling traditional stories of Mozambique and local old-wives-tales. A jackfruit passes up and down the line, each grabbing one parcel from the stringy, gluey carcass and passing it to their neighbor. After retiring for lunch I am given a lesson of Ndau as we sit on a bamboo matt making lemon aid (they like it STRONG > simply fresh squeezed lemon juice and sugar), passing the jar around and laughing at each other’s faces pucker up. Quality.
It has been 5 months in Mozambique, and I still am seeing the way things happen here at the most simple and most complicated angles.
The understanding of the chapa system, and how one fills it up to its MAXimum capacity is a major part of everyday adventures. It is important to know to follow the same general rule of filling up the back seat first, then the next one up and etc. When getting off a chapa, personal space does NOT exist, and if you want to keep your place, simply shift your position so the person (not matter how large or old) in the far backseat corner can climb overtop everyone in the way and get out the side door.
Music is always blown to full potential, then cranked up one more notch to sound-distortion, so that all who want to hear (or not) are able. Some nights when sleep is needed, this generosity is less then appreciated.
Young boys wait and watch on the sidelines of the shaggy, hand-cut field to bear the ‘bling’ of older boys playing soccer. For the 90 minutes, the little boys take the opportunity to play dress-up and show off the goods the older boys entrusted then, weather a phone, dangly necklace, or oversized sandals.
Peeping around the corner of a shed and seeing boys congregating, young to old, splitting open a jackfruit with an enchada and sharing the sticky innards. This fruit and its strong distinct smell, as well as the laughing of on-going stories can only lure in more passer-byers’. After the peculiar but delicious fruit has disappeared, the passing around of petroleum to wash gluey hands is shared.
Food is a luxury. Wealth is not only seen from the pockets of a person, or the cloths that are worn but also by the size of… well their behinds. People, no matter how little they have, love to give. Gifts of appreciation. Usually these gifts consist of one or too ripe mangoes or other assorted fruits. For me, these gifts are always welcome and highly appreciated. My mouth has been opened to so many new tastes and tangs; each day thinking I have tried every possible thing and a new season starts and a whole new batch of flavors are discovered.
Kids know how to live the good life. Lately, I have been spending good quality time with the younger boys. Sitting on a cement wall under a giant, over-hanging jaca tree to our left and a mango tree to our right, with a mandioc and avocado plot to oversee in front of us. I go to join the sitting-wall line, and all watch curiously as I sit on the end position, but before I know it, the line is rearranged and I have boys on either side anxiously telling traditional stories of Mozambique and local old-wives-tales. A jackfruit passes up and down the line, each grabbing one parcel from the stringy, gluey carcass and passing it to their neighbor. After retiring for lunch I am given a lesson of Ndau as we sit on a bamboo matt making lemon aid (they like it STRONG > simply fresh squeezed lemon juice and sugar), passing the jar around and laughing at each other’s faces pucker up. Quality.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Zim Christmas
So many adventures have past before I have had any computer access. Our MCC group in Mozambique had our Christmas retreat at a chique place called SELVA. Gorgeous area almost touching boarder of Zimbabwe. Waking up in the morning going for runs in the fog-garnished mountains with the woman working in the fields. A little strange to have such a contrast from inside the ‘secluded’ resort SELVA and just over the fence a family is pumping water out of a well.
Heather, the British girl whom I am living with at KEDESH, and I made plans to go to Zimbabwe for Christmas and so she and Cody (a volunteer from Texas at another orphanage) picked me up from SELVA on the way to the Zim boarder. We arranged for the chapa to pick me up on the road on the way and I waved down the chapa she described for me and got on just in time. So we three began our adventures. The last time I had popped into Zim I made some friends at a local café so we dropped into the café to say hello and hinted at the idea of a trip to Vumba (known to be one of the most gorgeous mountainous regions!!!). The next morning we had a free ride up into the mountains. I could not believe my eyes, or my nose, or my ears… basically all my senses were overwhelmed with the natural beauty of it all. I have never been to Switzerland but I can imagine the rolling hills and valleys, various shades of greens and goldens, would be something of that sort (this only means that I am planning a trip to Switzerland, you know I have to follow up on these assumptions). We got up to the famous ‘Leopard Rock’ hotel (it probably has some big website > check it out!) and explored the frivolous grounds. WOW! Even Princess Diana and the Queen Mother stayed there! I asked for a tour and we were shown the honeymoon sweets and fancy rooms. We started walking down the mountain and the hot sunny day turned and began to pour on us. We hitched a ride by a delightful old white-Zim couple and they took us to Tony’s Café. This mans little cottage and chocolate-whiskey cake is famous in these parts (check it out online too). So we three shared a piece of this super-duper-chocolaty-chocolate-cake and could barley finish it. The tea we got came with everything and more, china cups, silver spoons and dishes for sugar and cream etc. our table was littered with the beautiful ritzy decor. The menu had a choice of 102 teas! I chose sticky-toffee, which Heather, being a proper English tea-drinker (regular black Twinnings, thank you very much), was absolutely aghast. After tea and chasing some baboons up a tree (it really was a thrill), we started up a somewhat manicured trail up a mountain. At the top we could see all the Vumba and the city of Mutare below. We walked a ways and hitched with 4 trucks on the way down.
So from Mutare to Harare we decided to hitch and save on time and money. It was a while until a truck stopped that was going exactly in our direction but we did get a ride. It was a security-delivery truck. We hopped in the hooded back. The back was separated into two parts with a cage. I crawled into the caged area and sat on top of a metal safe box. Four hours and many awkward positions later we were in Harare.
We stayed in a very well equipped home with a great host and tour guide, Taffy. It is so interesting to see the difference between Zimbos and Mozambicans. The education is outstanding here and makes a world of a difference. It is so easy to spot a Zimbo in a crowd of Mozys by the way they hold themselves and dress. They even use capulanahs to hold a baby differently. Zimbos do have more of a confidence about them. It really is a whole new world that side.
Again I went for runs in the morning to explore the local area. I came to the jumbo, mega church ‘Celebrations Center’, which is complete with a giant-entrance fountain, a café (that gives chocolate covered spoons with a coffee, and all foods are named in the name of the Lord e.g. Jericho’s Omelet), a soccer-pitch, skateboard park, AND a motor-bike race course (every church NEEDS one of those right!..???). The smells of the fresh flowers is astounding. Every street smells different. Now I know where the inventers of granny-type perfume get their floral scents that, when put on in large doses, give others that are stuck in a poor ventilated elevator, or the cramped in a city bus bad headaches, let alone nausea. But the floral smells are so pleasant when natural! I cannot help but take giant breaths through my nose each stride.
After our adventures in Harare, we headed down on a bus to Bulawayo. We were taken to the house of a friend of Heather’s’. After our hot bus adventures we took the liberty to dive into the back yard pool with lion-face-statues spitting water into the pool. Plush.
We explored the town going to a giant aloe-vera garden with a million types of aloes and other cactuses and green vegetation, having tea in the garden then going to swim in another pool and a tennis court beside. In the afternoon, we again had tea and pancakes in a courtyard of a castle called the ‘Nesbit Castle’. Men in penguin-like suits came to serve us. Having packed for about 3 weeks in one bag I did not come well equipped with pretty dresses or anything that would suit the castle setting. We all felt quiet scrungy in our over worn shorts and shirts, but the pancakes were delicious.
Christmas Eve: traveled to the Matopas to the Cunnihamm’s ostrage farm. The family that is hosting us (the Cunnihamm family) is the most welcoming people I have ever met. There seem to be a bunch of us outsiders from various areas of the world, (mostly from the UK). This family is into so much activity it is awesome! We arrived around 2 and the rest of the evening I went boating on the giant man-made dam (5 km long), knee boarding and successfully did a 360 first attempt!, swam for hours, almost got thrown off a horse and now have a massive gash by my collar bone and almost got my eyes scrapped out but by the grace of God I decided to wear a helmet and it protected me from the branches. We had a big BBQ or Brie (as they call it) on the rocks by the waters edge and sung Christmas carols under the stars.
Christmas Day: The only part that I can feel the Christmas atmosphere is when we are inside and the lights in the room and tree are lit up. Other wise the hot air and atmosphere is so strange to think it’s the Christmas season. The family opened their gifts and the 6 of us outsiders were also given little gifts of chocolates, soaps, books and things from the family. They are so hospitable. We had a big champagne breakfast then went out to the dam to canoe and motorboat to the other side of the dam and have tea and cake on the rock-wall. I swam about 4 km back! I was very parched by the end.
Wow. Before this turns into some large essay-type blog that no one enjoys reading I will begin the formal closing stages: In conclusion, (classic-end-of essay format, no?) I have learnt and done SO many new things this Christmas break, some of which include: shooting 3 bullets from a gun and killing 3 bats with each one. Not one bullet wasted. Bats are very peculiar looking, almost scary. The first one, Clive (he looked like a Clive), was definitely smiling at me. Body of a rat, arms of a teradactle. I began to practice the trick of unicycling (of which I did end up falling on my bum and hurt my tail bone > but did not let that inhibit the rest of my activities) and wave-boarding (a skateboard with 2 wheels), stood up with feet on the knee board (failed the 360 in this position though. note: very difficult to impossible), climbed some kopis, little mountains, and one of which had ancient cave drawings, and learnt how to role a kayak (one important skill I have always wanted to learn just incase sign up for some crazy game show like Survivor or FearFactor). Each full day of activities ended in an intense brain exercise with a couple rounds of Rummikub.
Back at KEDESH to celebrate the New Year. Fire works blew off in every direction and the boys were allowed to drink coffee to keep them up till midnight. HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
trip to the market
Guapa (Francisco). 8 years old. Never been to the city part of Beira. Today was his first venture out of Manga area and into the Baixa where buildings rise overhead, chapas wiz by and smells of fresh bread. Stinky garbage and mystery items are abundant. At first we wondered why Guapa’s head turned at every shop we past so he could see what it beheld, and why he was so quiet and held my hand tight; but the older boys said it was his first time in the city. People looked at us probably wondering why a white girl has a cute little black boy. We took a trip to SHOPRITE, the big supermarket where one can get almost anything they need (if it is in supply > usually they run out of things like peanut butter or ice-cream and yogurt). His jaw was dropped, eyes popped and voice silent the whole time. I asked if he wanted to go down each isle, and each time he nodded his head eyes not able to fixate on one thing, hand still cusped in mine. The last isle we went down he took a sudden turn in front of me cutting me off and stood in front of some toy guns hanging beside jars of TANG fruit-juice. He stood there for a while not moving, then had the courage to stroke the plastic case that encaged his prize. He didn't smile or talk the whole ride home. Just let the sights, smells and sounds absorb.
Yesterday I held a sports/activity day for the boys. We broke them up into 4 teams and had volleyball tournaments, tug-of-war, egg-in-spoon-in-mouth races, mango-bobbing, bog-races etc. It was a success. We bought refrescos (cokes, fantas, sprite) for everyone and had chicken for dinner where loosing teams had to cook, serve and clean. Since Patricia left today, we had a little show to dispidir (say goodbye) her. Heather and I decided to participate. We did a duet of “lean on me” and then jokingly sung ‘you are my sun shine’ which we could not complete because of our intense laughing. Then for the faunally we out on some holographic glasses (sent from my mom back home) and did mock-tai-Kwando, bowed and walked off stage. Then had a dance party with the boys until midnight and mosquitoes were too intense to stay up any more.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Tropic Thunder
Rainy season. Showers have begun. Thunder and lightning is much more intense then back home, especially when everything is amplified by tin roofs. Today was going to be a beach day, but turned into a board-games, tea, and movies day because the crazy down pour of rain we got. One of many urban myths here is that people are hurt or killed by the sound of thunder, and the lightning is the warning the killer thunder is coming. So when you see light, you are to hit the ground so the thunder doesn't get you. Unfortunately it is quite backwards, although it would be nice to know when and if you were about to be ‘thundered’ to death.
Metacainias are a type of sand flee and burrows into your feet and lays its egg sac around it self, and a needle is used to dig it out, being carful not to break the egg sac and spread the babies. I have been pretty proud I had not had one of these crazy things that I was told wiggle in your toes so you cant sleep at night etc… and then the other day I saw something particular in my 2nd toe of my right foot. I got one of the boys to take out my first metacainia and it turned out there was 3 in the same toe under my nail! EwwwW! I have broken my record on the first shot, and I think some of my other toes have them as well. My feet are in rough condition as usual, and I wouldn't mind anyone’s prayers or thoughts and even suggestions towards my situation. Metacainias are very common, even there is a soccer cheer saying in the Sena language “leave metacainias leave! You itch metacainias you itch!”. One team chants this towards the opposing team. Cute.
Everywhere I go everything is full of life. Literally. I have a mushroom growing beside my light switch on my wall, and various other types of mold along it. Towels, cloths that don't dry for days and straw baskets give my room a nice musky smell. Each night my bed sheets have a moist feature as if they were pulled from the drying-machine too soon. At least I don't need to put on moisturizer. ☺
p.s. I have my old number back 258 824276276!!! So call / text anytime. I usually have insomnia or am up chasing rats so don't worry about the time difference.
Metacainias are a type of sand flee and burrows into your feet and lays its egg sac around it self, and a needle is used to dig it out, being carful not to break the egg sac and spread the babies. I have been pretty proud I had not had one of these crazy things that I was told wiggle in your toes so you cant sleep at night etc… and then the other day I saw something particular in my 2nd toe of my right foot. I got one of the boys to take out my first metacainia and it turned out there was 3 in the same toe under my nail! EwwwW! I have broken my record on the first shot, and I think some of my other toes have them as well. My feet are in rough condition as usual, and I wouldn't mind anyone’s prayers or thoughts and even suggestions towards my situation. Metacainias are very common, even there is a soccer cheer saying in the Sena language “leave metacainias leave! You itch metacainias you itch!”. One team chants this towards the opposing team. Cute.
Everywhere I go everything is full of life. Literally. I have a mushroom growing beside my light switch on my wall, and various other types of mold along it. Towels, cloths that don't dry for days and straw baskets give my room a nice musky smell. Each night my bed sheets have a moist feature as if they were pulled from the drying-machine too soon. At least I don't need to put on moisturizer. ☺
p.s. I have my old number back 258 824276276!!! So call / text anytime. I usually have insomnia or am up chasing rats so don't worry about the time difference.
Monday, November 30, 2009
rio steal-my-money savane
I am learning rules and typical cultural extremely fast. I have only been here just over 3 months, and I am curious if its good I learn now, or all these events are just preparing me for what is to come in the next 9 which means I have many more to ‘enjoy’.
Heather, Patricia (visiting from Switzerland) and I decided to take up an offer of a night at Rio Savane, an touristy, island place with a grand beach, a restaurant and barakas to sleep in. It is only about an hour from Beira, so we decided to hitch a ride. As we waited in a little village market at the side of the dirt road, we got the usual strange looks and strange characters coming up asking strange questions, such as if we were triplets > even though Patricia has strawberry blond hair and very fair skin and Heather is 5 foot 1. A few vehicles past before we were able to get a ride in the back of a truck. I talked about the pricing for us 3 girls and me and the man decided 400 mets for all three… a little pricy, but we were willing to pay. I made sure that it was 400 total and for all of us together. Total. Final price. 6 others got into the back with cases of cokes and baskets of fish and other various overbearing packages. We were riding along, enjoying the wind in our hair and small conversation, when the driver stopped literally in the middle of nowhere on the secluded road and came to us 3 whities asking for money. I said we would pay half now, and the other half when we arrived. When I handed 200 mets over, he made a big show and said that we owed him 1200 all together and it was all a big misunderstanding and he was going to leave us on the side of the road. He obviously knew he was in the wrong and quickly lowered the price to 1000 to make it look like he was the generous one, when really I pay only 330 for an 8-hour ride to Machanga, and he wants 400 for a 1-hour ride in the back of his silly truck! We paid the 500 and I was steaming the rest of the ride there, conjuring up things I was going to say to him, making sure I practiced in my head before I spoke so I could get some real good emotion in my words.
We arrived. “Ja pagamos” Firmly, (we already paid) I said as we hoped out of the back of his truck and started walking towards the boats that take us to the island.
“Ja?” (already), he asked a little confused and then caught up to our fast paced walk and grabbed Heather’s arm and purse. I raised my voice more and told him to let go as I took his grip from her. As this happened he stepped on her sandal, thus removing it and keeping it pegged on the ground as a hostage.
“Ja, nos nao vamos pagar mais” (yes already, we not paying more),,, I explained how we are volunteers and how we should not and could not pay this kind of money, how he is a robber wanted to take these poor girls money and lie to us about prices… blah blah blah. The whole ordeal went on for quiet a while and many people watched as if it was some good movie. One thing that Mozambicans like is ‘drama’. This was probably the best part of their day watching a white girl raise her voice shake her hands with frustration at this thief of a man. In the end we paid 800 mets, which is still WAY too much. To be honest, it was pretty fun and felt good to be able to know I can express myself in this manor in Portuguese.
We took the boat to the island. Cesol, the man who owns the island that invited us to Rio Savane, gave us a Baraka for the night for free (a nice little bamboo hut with mattresses on the floor and mosquito nets, very basic, very cute). We spent the two days on the beach and I played in the wild waves until I was told that my skin was dark as the light Mozambicans. Perhaps that is dark enough. We had a nice dinner at the restaurant, I ordered lula (calamari), and it was the best I have ever had! Fresh, big pieces, and classic fried potato fries and cabbage. Yum.
Cesol is one of those socially awkward kind of people. Perhaps he just does not know how awkward it is when he continually came to sit in on our meal while we were eating, and have nothing or few things to say. Silence would set in and I got the ‘giggle fits’. Its just those situations when one should not, or can not , or simply is not the place to laugh, that it is the hardest not to. I could not control myself and would burst out laughing at absolutely nothing whenever I looked at Heather, and thus I pulled her into it and we were hysterical. And then there was awkward Cesol, quite confused, but smiled his awkward smile. It feels so great to laugh until ribs are aching.
Since Cesol hooked us up with all the sweet deals, we ended up saving money. To get back, we ended up hitch hiking back with some white Zimbabweans. Great weekend despite the robber-type man we had on the way.
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