graceful

I went for a run tonight. I was feeling good, confident, graceful. (anyone who has seen me run knows I'm anything but graceful. :-)) but I was feeling good and holding my head high. As I turned the corner off my street and down the side road, I was just about to pass a group of people walking towards me. I smiled, and then I tripped!!! on a GOAT!!! oh the shame. oh the laughter. oh the poor goat! I picked myself up off the ground and kept running, hanging my head a little lower. When I passed the roosters, I thankfully did not run into them. I also passed over the giant potholes without tripping. However I did manage to swallow more than a few flies as I was catching my breath. Mmm...protein! The biggest challenge, aside from the goat tied to the side of the road, is the heat! Even during the last hour of sunlight and a slight breeze, it is still mighty hot. I made salty popcorn for a snack today - thinking that may help ward off dehydration. So far I'm feeling good. I wish I could say the same for the poor goat - on my way back he saw me coming and ran as far as his rope would allow in the opposite direction! :-)

love. hate.

Have you ever been to a place, or a time in your life, where you feel such emotion that you are torn in making a decision on whose side you are on? I love Africa. I hate Africa. Some days I can’t decide. I’ve never been to any other place that has such a pull inside of me. It gets into your blood, your veins, pumps the excitement and anger all at once. It can be blissfully awesome or dreadfully miserable. And it can change daily.

When I first came to Africa 8 years ago, I could not believe how slow everything was. How slow things worked. The difference in time perspective I could not wrap my mind around. Everything took longer. Everything was slower. And people didn’t seem to notice; even worse they didn’t seem to care or see a problem with it. I remember fighting the urge to complain with every line I stood in, each time someone cut the queue, each bus trip that didn’t happen as the matatu was not yet full enough. I probably didn’t fight my urge to complain as much as I did complain. :-) But I always thought when I came back to an African country and learned the culture, lived and worked within it, I would adjust. I would understand. I would not have to fight an urge to complain because I would have adapted.

There is some truth in that. You do adjust. You do adapt. And the little things don’t seem so outrageous on most days. You learn to appreciate a different pace of life. But things still take a long time to happen. You find yourself needing to do so many more steps to accomplish one single thing. One simple thing. My cup of coffee in the morning is an example. Some days I don’t have the privilege. It just isn’t going to happen. One can easily become discouraged if you focus on what has not been accomplished rather than take a bigger picture perspective – though that itself can be dangerous. Mozambique is slow. It’s slower than Kenya. It’s less developed. With good reason. There is a long history of war and ruins, of cyclical natural disasters that continue to strike against the best of intentions. People are poor economically compared to the rest of the world. (Minus the six countries lower on the economic scale.) It is hotter than haites here. Work is difficult. There is little relief for those who do not have the luxury of a foreign income. I get that. And I can adjust to the point of functioning, living day to day and being happy with where I am. I hate the reality I see around me; but I love the spirit of the people who capture that reality. It is a contradiction. It tears at me on days when I feel my patience slipping away. I grew up in a culture where you fight hard for what you want and most of the time, if you fight hard enough, there will always be a way to obtain those wants. I suppose that could be true here as well, but I wonder how much fight a community can take. How much fight an individual can take before they give up and become comfortable in their reality. Contentment is a blessing. It also can be a curse. And we all far too often look for the easy way out.

I love Africa. It aches inside of me when I’m not here. I love the blessings I see through the people I meet. The kind and amazing spirits that welcome and embrace me when I arrive. When I struggle to learn their language, their culture, to not turn red and blow up like the other mazungos preceding me. I love the sound of thunder in the giant African sky and huge raindrops that fall upon the dry red soil. I love being part of a church service with singing and dancing that can go on for hours in total praise and faith in spite of current circumstances. They believe. They have faith. And they continue on in faith that some day they will be relieved of their sorrow and pain and suffering. Mozambique has an incredibly high death rate due to HIV/Aids and malaria. There isn’t a week that goes by that I don’t know of someone whose loved one has passed away. Not a week. Death is a part of life here. I hate Africa. I hate seeing the sorrow. Seeing the pain and frustration. The helplessness. The dependency that people have grown to entrust from the outside world. We are so far removed on some things and on others, there is this desperate plea, begging for any help that can be spared. It’s a learned desperation. The hard part is knowing whom to trust as genuine. Who is in need and who is out to get whatever they can because they can. The Good Samaritan does not exist here.

I suppose a love hate relationship is true of any good thing in life. It brings you to tears with struggles and tears with joy. It fuels passion inside and the choice of which way that is fueled is up to each individual. I have seven months left on my contract. I love being here. I also would love to come home. The truth is its never easy wherever I am. If I am here, I struggle with the here and now. If I am there, I struggle with wanting to be back here. The moments I am content are learned. They are the moments I stop on the street and wave to my colleague or grocer or favorite shopkeeper. They are moments I take to sit and watch the awesome orange sunset drop over the coconut trees and settle into the giant African sky. They are moments I am out in the field and working through two interpreters to speak with the local farmers. To feel the dirt between my fingers as we ask what is needed to produce more food this year. They are moments I walk through the villages with the red dust on my toes, the smell of smoke burning in the hot winter air and the sound of small children playing a game of soccer in a nearby field. They are moments I hold a small baby as she laughs and smiles up in awe at my glowing white face, touching me with her pudgy little fingers and giggling. I love Africa. But I am not African. The struggle of loving and hating a place at the same time will remain within me. I enjoy the fight on most days. There is so much beauty here. So much life. I am happy to make it a part of me.

christmas in Quelimane

I had a beautiful Christmas day here in Quelimane. There are several missionary groups represented here in this little African town. All working for different churches or mission organizations. Some families have been here five, ten, fifteen years. Their children have been born and grown up here; it is their only home. Missionaries sometimes scare me. They have a fearless mentality. And I’ve always found it difficult to relate to them at times. The families here in Quelimane are not like that. They are kind and welcoming and so far have not sat and argued their different theological beliefs with one another during a get together. I am still new to this town, so I don’t have all the inside dirt. But from what can be told on the outside and from time spent together, they are a family. A family who has taken me in from the first day I arrived and have been nothing but kind and generous and always looking out for me. I have been truly blessed with their acceptance.

We celebrated Christmas together at one of their homes just outside Quelimane. There must have been 30+ people there. It was a big family gathering and I felt at home. It was really nice. We had a bbq outside and lots of food to spoil ourselves. The afternoon was spent playing board games and card games and sharing what our families were doing at home on Christmas day. It was nice to know that others shared the loneliness and the sadness of missing the holiday with family. We could take comfort that we were not alone in that. :-) The day went by quickly. The Christmas story was read as we all gathered round. Coffee and dessert followed with group games that the adults and children played in together – the children loving that their minds were just a slight bit faster and sharper than their parents. :-) It was a beautiful Christmas day.

In the evening I joined four other Americans, the few of us younger singles in town and we happily shared in treasures that arrived in packages from the states, enjoyed sucking on candy canes and watched The Christmas Story. My friends had decorated their apartment to look like Christmas at home – paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling (hundreds of them!), flashing Christmas lights adorned the doorways and Christmas tree. It was a winter wonderland in a very hot African town!

And then later in the evening I shared in the laughter and surprises of my family as skype graciously stayed online and mom gave me the commentary of our annual gift opening on their Christmas morn. It was a beautiful Christmas!

my little african christmas tree

:-)

An innocent banter of the eyes never hurt anyone, right?

I smiled as I turned around. The two policemen I tried to walk past were calling out to me to stop. I hesitated, then turned around with a smile, bom dia, and a little banter of the eyes. I did not want to go to jail today!

It was raining. I was soaked head to toe. Two heavy grocery bags in hand. I tried out my little Portuguese for as long as I could carry the conversation, knowing that would help. The policeman seemed more interested in how I was doing than anything else. He wanted to know why I was in town, I said I lived here, what was I doing, working, where was I living, just up the street. I asked him the same questions. He smiled back. I tried not to show how nervous I was, as several of the other "white" people in town had been questioned and held in police custody for hours. All week police have been roaming the streets to check passports. I guess with the holiday season they have alot of people coming in without a visa. I have no idea how, as any place aside from Maputo is difficult to get to. Challenging to say the least. If a person was wondering around without a visa or valid passport, they'd have been wondering for days on end. Quelimane is not an easy place to arrive.

I kept smiling at the police officer. He practiced his little English with me and allowed me to walk home. I was more than thankful as my passport is currently being held with Immigration and I did not want to join it! I had a Christmas party to get to! :-)

(?)

what shoes do you where when its raining?

*tennis shoes get wet and keep your feet wet

*flip flops get slimy and slippery - dangerous!

*i have no other options :-)

any ideas? the majority of the community goes barefoot. but i remember my sister coming back from africa with a very scary foot fungus!

significant

There are moments in life that are so significant you don’t always know what to do with them. We all have them. Some are big and life changing; others are small and victorious to only oneself. And then there are those goosebump moments where time stands still and you can’t believe what you are seeing and feeling. All you know is that it is so significant you have to remember to breathe.

I am someone who needs to remind myself daily of the significant things to keep stepping forward. My defense at the moment is that I am living in a country outside of my own which functions on a completely different scale. It’s not better or worse, it’s just different (or so I continue to repeat to myself :-)). There is a four-month mark in a new job, a new location, which hits me hard and my frustration esculates to the point of near destruction. I want to quit. I don’t see the significance in continuing when things are so clearly askew with little hope in them changing. I realize I am the one that needs to change and therefore its time to move on. :-) Obviously, this is not the high road. So I remind myself of the significants in my life to put that next step forward in faith that there are more to come.

I am stepping forward. I apologize if my writings in the past month or so have been heavy with frustration or non-existent. I do still have moments within my day that I am overwhelmed with where I am and amazed at the many blessings that have brought me here. I love being in Africa. I love that I am a part of a bigger picture in the work that I am doing. I also have moments of being completely overwhelmed in a not so positive way and need to remind myself to breathe. :-) The daily struggles of living in a foreign land, not speaking the language or understanding the culture, adjusting to the heat and living conditions, are a lot to take. Thankfully, I only am asked to take one day at a time. My greatest struggle at the moment is the language barrier. I’m at a crossroads with my work. I need to speak and understand the Portuguese language to do my job well and I have not yet become fluent. I am practicing and studying. I find myself speaking it more and more unconsciously. And I am able to communicate past the morning greetings and saying please and thank you. I can understand most of what is said in a short meeting – if spoken slowly. These are my little victories each day. The significant at the moment is that I am still here. I haven’t quit. I am stepping forward. :-)

Quelimane

As promised…pics of Quelimane are now on flickr, http://www.flickr.com/photos/khunkristi

Enjoy! It’s a lovely little town. :-)

rain

The rainy season has started. This is good for the second season crops and to lesson the hunger season. We pray for no floods. I went to Zalala beach this past weekend and it was noticed on our way back to Quelimane that the fields have now been plowed and are ready to be planted; this was not the case two weeks ago. The farmers wait for the first rains to give them hope that their planted seeds will grow. I was hoping the rains would cool things down a bit – nope! Now it is like living in a steam room! But with full bellies on those that would otherwise go hungry. :-)

storm clouds rolling in...

the first puddle of the season - in front of my drive!

big white & fluffy

I enjoy the day flights and try to get a window seat whenever I can. Fluffy white clouds always make me think. It’s almost trance-like as I get lost in my thoughts. On this flight I was reminded of how blessed I am. How blessed my life has been and all the many things I have to be thankful for. I thought of my very first flight to Africa; it was 8 years ago. I would never have imagined all the places I have been and experiences I have now had in these past years following that first flight. I have so much to be thankful for. So many experiences, so many people in my life, so much opportunity.

The flight back from Maputo to Quelimane today, I am flying with a colleague’s wife and two young children. The kids are in the seats in front of me. I watch as the young boy looks wide-eyed out of the window and points out all that he sees. He is also very blessed. He is growing up in an English family in Africa. I often am asked if I want to raise my family overseas or if I’d want to go back to America. I don’t have an answer yet. There is something absolutely beautiful to watch children learn and grow to respect a culture outside of their own. They learn the language, make friends, and think no different of their home being here than somewhere else. They have this amazing opportunity to fly across the world and see so many things. But they also miss out on so much from their own culture and extended family life. Thankfully I don’t yet have to make a decision :-). I can just sit back and enjoy the wonder on this sweet boys face as he views the world beneath us, as we fly high above the big white and fluffy clouds.

They are awesome!

zalala beach

swatting flies

Yesterday I took a field trip to Mopeia; a district west of Quelimane about three hours. This area has been severely impacted by floods in the past and is in danger of future flooding. It sits along the Zambezia River. I was invited to join the director of agriculture to meet with district administrators and WV staff to introduce a new project we are going to implement this coming year. We left Quelimane just before 6am and arrived in Mopeia just as the sun was beginning to get hot. My Portuguese was highly tested as all greetings and meetings were done in Portuguese. My head was spinning. The meetings went well.

In the afternoon, we headed farther into the bush, past small clusters of cyclical mud and grass thatched homes. Our convoy of two white trucks parked along a freshly hoed field. There were a group of ladies awaiting us, gathered beneath the sole tree for some shade from the mid-day sun. I was told they’d been waiting all morning. These were the farmers. A group of families that had been relocated after the floods of Jan 2008 to new homes constructed by the government on higher land. The land they sat on was their new farmland. They waited with anticipation to find out what assistance WV was to provide in turning the freshly hoed soil into productive crops. A translator emerged to translate from Portuguese to their local language. The women sat patiently on the ground, all cradling small babies to their breasts. A handful of men came to join the meeting. And there we sat, underneath a large cashew tree with a local farmers group, in the rich black soil. I began swatting flies. The black soil underneath us was very dry. It was also very black, but with a hint of clay mixed in. I’m told once the rains come, it will be very difficult to work with. I looked down and my pantleg was covered in bright red bugs! I quietly brushed them off and tried not to freak out. :-) The women laughed at one point and I asked what was said – the director was giving a mini lesson on what to do with the money from the crops that will come from this new land. A response was called out and he said “No! No drinks and no new wives!” I noticed a woman was holding a small bottle of gin – she held it up as she laughed.

On our way back towards the town both truck beds transported the women and babies with their colorful wraps and sun umbrellas. We stopped. The land had turned from fertile black soil to dense bush with high and dry brown grass and funky looking trees sporadically popping up over the horizon. Something was wrong. We had a flat tire. Within seconds the trucks emptied out and a handful of men were jacking up the vehicle to change it with a spare. Only the spare had no air! Thankfully the second vehicle had a working spare tire. We were on our way within 15 minutes.

A few observations of the day:
*A green mamba snake was spotted not far from our field meeting - no one was biten
*I asked for a toilet to use upon arriving in Mopeia. The staff members scurried around to find me something acceptable. They pointed to an open-air grass hut. I hesitated and walked in - not knowing what I was walking into. It was the duck pen! And it was full of angry ducks!!! I braced my face from their flight of scurry before using the nicest facility in town. :-)
*Upon pickup of our spare tire being fixed at the local mechanic (aka under a tree) we arrived just as they finished pumping it up – with a bicycle tire! The air gauge was even better – a kick of the boot!

I enjoyed visiting the communities and seeing the projects. I hope to do more of that soon. It was a good field day.

practice makes perfect

Last week I had a little dinner party with my new friends. The house I’m staying at has a lady who comes each day to cook and clean for the family. I had not asked her to cook anything for me yet, aside from my lunch salads. But as I was having a dinner party, I thought it would be nice if some things were made ahead of time so the house wouldn’t be so hot (and so I wouldn’t have to cook!). I attempted my Portuguese. The simple meal was going to be pasta and salad and what I thought was chocolate brownies from a box. I would have asked her to make them from scratch, but I couldn’t find any cocoa powder at the local gas station. (where you buy the “exotic” ingredients!) I did however, find what looked like a brownie mix in a box. It was in Portuguese, but there was a picture on the front of this delicious looking fudgy brownie and the instructions on the back said two eggs and oil. Done! Not exactly…:-)

I studied up the key words I needed to ask the cook to make a red tomato sauce, (I wanted to make meatballs but trying to find ground beef is another story! The grocer wanted to sell me what looked like beef patties – which I guess could have worked if I reshaped them) a big green salad, fruit salad, and the brownie mix. I told her I’d cook the pasta when I came home. I had the ingredients out on the table. She replied in Portuguese and we seemed to have understood each other – all except for the brownies. I gave her the box and she didn’t know what to do with it. I turned it over and showed her the instructions – only after did I think to consider she might not be able to read. We found the baking pan and the few ingredients to add. She gave me a hesitant smile and I went off to work.

When I came home at noon, she ushered me into the kitchen and opened the oven door, asking if the brownies were ok. She said they had been in the oven for a long time. I took a look and found the top layer to be very dry and crumbly. Where were the eggs and oil? Hmmm…I smiled and closed the oven door, not sure what to think. I checked on it again before I left to go back to the office and a small patch was starting to turn moist. Interesting.

I came home to a spaghetti dish mixed with a very greasy tomato sauce (which is how they make it here – I knew that, which is why I wanted to make the sauce and noodles separate) a big salad was in the fridge, lots of fruit, and when I opened the oven door…the brownies were made, but they were not brownies! Turns out it was some kind of chocolate cake pudding with a toffee like crust. (though I don’t think it was suppose to be toffee like!) The middle was squishy and good. :-)

My dinner guests arrived and we enjoyed a few laughs over the dessert. One of the guys was trying to be really polite and didn’t want to say anything – but he was using a knife trying to cut the bottom crust of his “brownie” in his ice cream bowl and the entire chunk flew up out of the bowl! We were in tears we were laughing so hard!

Moral of the story…I need to practice my Portuguese more. I was so proud that morning that I had an entire conversation without hand gestures or English words…but the outcome wasn’t quite what I was hoping for. :-)

da manhã batata

The morning potato. I share office space with two men working in the Dept of Infrastructure Development, in a dark back corner of the building. They are both very sweet and both very eager to learn new English words each day. They also have been teaching me a little Portuguese. Our communication is mostly with hand charades and a few laughs, but we get along very well. Each morning as I make my cup of coffee they offer to share their breakfast or mid-morning snack. After two weeks of trying to explain no bread (and a couple days when I was just starving and ate it anyway!) I think I got it across that I am allergic. They shook their heads in agreement and then asked about “batatas” or potato? Yes, I eat potatoes. So this morning the assistant comes in with a bag full of bread and one potato for me. :-) It’s a cold cooked sweet potato and I’m becoming rather fond of it as a mid-morning snack. He even cuts it up in bite size pieces for me! Ok, so that’s a bit spoiled. But what can I say? To decline would be rude. :-)

hazards

Africa poses a few different hazards than we have back home. This morning I received a skype message “Hi Kristi, how are you? Myself am little bit okay, am with a leg injury, I fell in the toilet!” Now normally I would laugh at this kind of statement…but it came from one of my colleagues in Mutarara. There are no proper toilets in Mutarara, only pit latrines and open holes. So if he fell in the “toilet” and hurt his leg pretty badly…it means he fell into a giant hole. A very unpleasant giant hole. He is ok. But I didn’t ask for details. I don’t want to know! Watch out for the latrines!!

ridiculousness

There are numerous times throughout the week when I need to walk away from a situation because of its ridiculousness (in my mind) and my lack of patience with the way things work over here. It’s a culture that moves to the beat of a different drum, so to speak. Some days I can dance along and others I just have to walk away. I’m getting better at knowing when to do what. :-)

I have a week of leave coming up. Once my dates were finally approved by HR, I wanted to book my airline tickets as soon as possible. There is one airline in all of Mozambique. They charge ridiculous amounts of money to fly domestic and overbook flights, forget to have flights, change routes mid-air, and enjoy giving customers a hard time when trying to schedule flights. All these things they can get away with – they are the one and only airline.

To book your ticket you must first call one number and ask to make a booking. However, they will not tell you the price. After, and only after, you make the booking then you call another number to find out the price. You then have a few days to purchase the ticket and pick up the eticket at one of their local offices. So I called to book my ticket. They had no English speakers; I find someone in the office to call for me. The booking is made. Then we call on the price. Oh and the price changes too. If you go down to the office and talk to the right person, and pay cash, the price may drop. If however, you go to the office and you look rich, aka mazungo, the price rises. There is no set price for the ticket.

My tickets were booked and I wanted to purchase them before I lost the seats (which also happens frequently with this airline). I was told that it would be beneficial for me to send someone from work to go purchase and pick the tickets, as they may negotiate a lower price. Great! Saves me the trouble of trying to speak in broken Portuguese and hand charades. However, the local airline office only takes cash here in Quelimane. My leave money came in USD. So first it needed to be exchanged. Then the tickets can be purchased. All of this took a total of five days to do. Five days. Friday afternoon I left the office empty handed; still no tickets.

I was pleasantly surprised at around 6p when there was a knock on my door. A delivery man came with my tickets in hand! Yay!! A sigh of relief, the leave is actually coming! (I’ve learned not to get excited too quickly – a colleague of mine wasn’t able to take hers as immigration held her passport hostage for over a month!) I look at the tickets. My name is misspelled on both of them. And it is not spelled the same on either ticket. Two completely different names/spelling on two tickets that were booked, purchased and picked at the same time! One flight continuing the other.

Saturday morning I made a visit to the local airline office here in Quelimane. I need my name corrected and the tickets reprinted. I don’t want the hassle at the airport. I wait two hours to be assisted. There are two people in the office; one lady is completely useless. She does nothing. She won’t assist me. She’s not working. She just sits there. So I wait. The other man decides every other customer should be helped before me and even though I am standing directly in front of him, he still waves me aside and helps the other people first. He even waved people in off the street and helped them before talking with me! This is where my patience starts to disappear. After politely explaining my problem and asking him to please reprint the tickets, he replies with “no, no, no, no, no. This is a real problem! I cannot help you. You have to buy a new ticket.” And I reply with “yes, yes, yes, you will help me and I’m not leaving until you do!” He decided to try and justify his response of it being my fault that they misspelled my name. It’s a western name. When I made the booking, I was standing there while the person spelled out my name! With the Portuguese alphabet! This man was being ridiculous. He wasn’t going to help me. Luckily I had the number of the headquarters office in Maputo and called his boss! They seemed to think there was no problem and they could easily fix my tickets! The Quelimane man was not happy after I had him talk to the Maputo office. He hung up and then said “No problem! No problem! I can fix for you. I promise. No problem!” All with a great big smile on his face. Wonderful! Oh but wait…

It was 11:50a and the office closes at 12noon. They told me it was now closed and they could not help me. I was told to come back on Monday. I hung my head and walked out the door. I tried to smile. I really did. I know if you smile in these situations they tend to do what you are asking quicker. I just didn't have any patience left. I needed to walk away. The entire situation was so ridiculous to me.

I'm still waiting for my tickets.

it's like living at the beach (-) the water

I step outside and instantly I have sweat pooling down my face. I’ve never experienced anything like it. You’re entire body is wet and dripping within minutes; as if you just took a shower and stepped outside without toweling off. It doesn’t matter what you wear. It is sooooo hot here! And humid. Very very humid. Imagine being at the beach on a very hot summer day, with no shade and no breeze and no water. Its kinda like that. Only much much hotter!

I am told November and December are the hottest months. Once the rains come it begins to cool down. I’m torn on my desire for the rains. Half of the country is in a drought and in desperate need of the rains. The hunger season has begun and is likely to be long due to the lack of rain. However, if it does rain, there is a high likelihood of devastating floods and another humanitarian disaster in the north. So I can’t decide if I want it to rain or not.

I need to remember to put on sunscreen before I leave for work in the mornings. Last week I got burnt in the 10 minutes it took me to walk to the office!

portuguese lesson #1

Bom dia! Como estas? (Goodmorning! How are you?)
*Estou bem, obridgada! E voce? (I am fine, thankyou. And you?)

Bem obrigada. Como te Chamas? (Fine, thankyou. What is your name?)
*Eu chama-me Kristi. E voce? (My name is Kristi. And you?)

Eu chama-me Nelson. Prazer te conhecer. (My name is Nelson. Nice to meet you.)
*Prazer te conhecer. Obrigada! (Nice to meet you. Thankyou!)

random

*There's a man hanging upside down outside my window. He's painting the house. Pink. I don't know why he's upside down...

*I made the mistake of walking past a bakery on my way home today. The smell of fresh bread caught my attention and now my belly would like to explode. :-) I also smothered the delicious homemade bread with some much coveted peanut butter.

*I am housesitting for the next two weeks. There are two orange tabby cats that come with the house that need to be fed. I am not a cat lover, so I closed the door to the bedroom and locked it tight last night. The first night I was here I did not do that and the cat pushed its way in and jumped on me in the middle of the night. I dreamt a repeat of the rooster and awoke panicking that I actually did something to the cat! I hadn't...it was sleeping peacefully at the foot of the bed. :-) But last night, two cats were in the house. I was sleeping soundly until I heard this aweful cry/screech/scream as if one of them was being attacked. The house was locked up so I decided they must be fighting each other. I wasn't getting out of bed to find out! But to my surprise this morning, it was the aggressive cat that actually had new wounds, a patch of missing hair and fresh scratches on its face. The gentle cat would not have done that. I wonder if I should be worried there could be another animal I don't yet know about in the house?! Yikes!

*My fridge is now stocked with fresh fruits and vegetables of all kinds imaginable!

*I am wearing tennis shoes. Those of you who know me, know I hate wearing shoes of any kind other than my comfy sandals. However, it is SO HOT here that the heat has melted my favorite pair of flip flops. There is not an indent, but an actual imprint of my foot on the bed of my sandals!

*The cat food I must hourly dish out is made of some sort of fatty goup and whole sardines. Its kept in a mini fridge - next to the bowl of white chicken feet I am to feed the monsters as a treat! Evidently dry cat food is not enough for African house cats. :-)

*I need to wash my laundry tonight. In a bucket. There are no washing machines. And the house lady doesn't do laundry. That sounded strange to me too...:-)

sunday

I am finding that the town of Quelimane awakes at 5am. This morning I awoke to the sound a beautiful choir singing at the cathedral across the street. They are still singing and it is mid-afternoon. It is now the sound of children’s voices I hear. I enjoyed a morning fellowship group at a local neighbors house and met some more people this morning. Our electricity has been off since 6am, so I decided a Sunday nap was in order. The windows in the house are open and there is a nice breeze. The front yard is covered in mango and lemon trees. I had a couple ripe mangos that fell from the tree last night. The provincial elections are campaigning at this time and trucks full of supporters are blaring music and campaign advertisements driving up and down the streets. I’m sitting in the office overlooking the front yard, watching children chase each other down the street, bicyclists cutting across the church yard and neighbors stopping by to say hello. It is a beautiful day in Quelimane.

This morning at the church fellowship we sang some older hymns and choruses that took me back home. I am always blessed when something as simple as a chorus can bring my back to my family for a short moment. I am in Africa and I really enjoy living here, but there are days I question if the awe and happiness of being here is worth the sacrifice of being so far from my family and friends. And then there come moments when something familiar will come around and remind me that even if I am so far away, I’m still a part of their lives, as they are of mine. Church always brings me back home. And you’d think it would make me feel more alone, reminding me of where I am and where I am not; but it seems to do the opposite. It reminds me of the wonderful people I have in my life who are supporting me. It reminds me that we are all part of a greater family. And to be in a place that as beautiful as it is, is unbelievably poor and full of injustice to so many people, it is a comfort to know that there is a greater power at work. The beautiful songs of the choir across the street have been singing all day. They must believe in something. There is a sense of community here. It is a beautiful thing to watch from the outside and even greater to feel the embrace on the inside.

old habits

There is a divide in the support of disaster response to people who live in an area that disasters continue to recur. There is a pattern among the beneficiaries that surface. A habit in which people succumb to. I met with some fellow aid workers this weekend and we were talking of the floods that occur each year here in Mozambique and I asked what I should be expecting when they come. I received the same response I got from co-workers when I asked this question. I still have no answers. They laugh and say we run around like chickens with our heads cut off. One man described the situation as a triangle. A deprivating play of power and resources. The people, the relief organizations, and the government are all playing each other for the same resources – playing the disaster to their favor. The disaster strikes and the relief organizations are granted money to aid in the people. The government wants the money and therefore constricts the use of it without their involvement, giving them the power on how it may be used. The people also want the money or rather the resources that they know will come from it. It is said that many households have two homes they live in. One is up on higher land, the other is down on the riverbank waiting to be destroyed and rebuilt each year. This concept of working the welfare system is not new. And its not something that only happens in wealthier countries that have a monetary welfare system in place.

I have not gone through a disaster or flood season here, so I have yet to know the truth on these theories. However, it is the argument that is brought up at every meeting and class on international development. How much are we actually helping people by giving handouts – are we hurting them more by coming in with loads of foreign aid that carry restrictions and therefore cause divides upon the actual development within communities? I can see the triangle in theory. This particular individual I was talking with had worked in disaster response for a number of years and became too upset with the way people play against the disasters to continue working in this job. He felt more damage was being done. If after a disaster strikes, households are rescued, provided new housing and livelihood assets, and these people know that the disaster will reoccur next year – where is the motivation to stay in the new house in a new area and have to work hard at rebuilding their lives when they can return to what they know and receive more aid once it happens again?

My take on this, which may change after I work in this area longer, is that we can recognize these bad habits, these behaviors of deceit and cheating the system, but we can also recognize the immediate and very real human needs that do occur if and when a disaster strikes. And hopefully we can communicate those needs to receive funding that will save peoples lives. You can’t fake waters rising or damage done by a cyclone or hungry bellies during the hunger period. A doctor does not turn away a patient because his bad habit caused a dreadful disease. He treats the patient. And hopefully works on educating and promoting healthier habits to prevent sickness and disease in the future. So if there is money available and it is only allocated to do specific activities that someone thousands of miles away thinks is relevant to a place they have never been, why not take the money? And then educate not only the beneficiaries to try and change bad habits, but also the donors with the reality of where the needs lie and what could be done with that money to bring about positive changes and assistance. Someone is always going to cheat the system. It is our human nature to look out for ourselves. We also look out for each other though and if we can work together to create supporting practices and lifestyles, I would hope the bad habits would start to minimize. I am choosing to be optimistic. Someone once told me, there is good in every one. Look for that good and dwell on that good. And it will be a lot easier to work with the difficult people.

cock-a-doodle-do

This morning I awoke to the sound of a cock-a-doodle-do outside my window. It was still dark outside. The clock flashed 5am! I willed myself back to sleep and fell into an early morning dream. In my dream, the rooster was again waking me up in the early morning, before I was ready to greet the day. My brother was staying with me. Over our morning cup of coffee, after I complained about the rooster, he asked if I wanted to buy the rooster? Shall he go to the neighbor’s gate and offer them money for the bird? Why on earth would I want to buy such a dreadful creature, I ask?! Ahh…he grins. :-) If I own the rooster, I can do with it whatever I please. I sent him straight away to buy the bird! Andrew came back – holding it by its feet in one hand and its cock-a-doodle-do in the other! We had roasted chicken for lunch and I enjoyed an extra hour of sleep the next morning. :-) Too bad it was just a dream…

in the presence

Some people say they can feel prayers being lifted or when they are in the presence of angels. I am feeling extremely blessed this week. For my family and friends who have been praying, I am grateful to you. Thank you.

Sunday I moved to a small town on the northeastern coast of Mozambique, a place called Quelimane. My time in Mutarara was challenging and as much as I loved living the village life for a short time, I realized I need a few more people in my life who I can communicate with and a few more comforts to indulge in (running water, electricity, aircon, fruits and vegetables – to name a few :-)). I have found this town to be full of welcoming smiles not only on the streets, but also in people’s homes and in the office. It is only Wednesday and I’ve been invited to homes for lunch and dinner every day this week! I even have plans for the weekend! (I had briefly forgotten what weekends were – days were measured by the excitement of the crocodiles in the village!) I am overwhelmed by the kindness of the international community and by the church community here; it is something I had not yet experienced these last few months in Maputo or Mutarara.

My first day in a new office and a new town I was invited to a colleagues home to meet his family and have lunch. We all sat down together at a big table and had lively conversations around his youngest sons’ fascinations with cyclones and hurricanes and Madagascar. :-) It was really nice to share a meal with a family. I hadn’t realized how much I missed that until I sat down around their table. Later that day I was introduced to a local pastor and his wife who open their homes to short-term missionaries. I met several more people and played with a four-month old baby girl. She fell in love with me and was so adorable! Today I have been invited to housesit for a colleague for the next couple weeks – in a big cool African compound with a garden and dogs and a very extensive DVD collection! And at the present I am looking for a home to call my own. I looked at a couple of apartments last night with a local university student who spoke excellent English and was so kind to take me around town. I didn’t feel very comfortable in either of the apartments, so as I’ve been given a couple weeks to housesit, I will keep looking.

I have met several people on the street today that wanted to meet me. They had already heard of my story and wanted to invite me to have dinner with their families. And this morning at breakfast I met an American who is staying in the same motel I am – turns out he also went to college in Minneapolis and is now working with Samaritans Purse. He had also heard about me from someone and wanted to introduce himself –I guess the missionaries like to talk. :-) Oh and I met the US warden today – he invited me to a concert in the park on Saturday to meet the other young ngo workers. I have been longing for company and it seems that I may be in just the right place!

I am feeling blessed.

internet...a lack of

The internet seems to have its own temperment here in Mozambique. At the office we have been lucky to have it come on and off during the day; but outside the office is another story! I have tried to keep up with emails, but this blog and my weekly webcam dates over skype have been missing! I've missed them!

waiting

Today was a day of waiting for me. I waited for the driver to pick me from the hotel. He never came. I waited for a taxi. I waited in the US Embassy to get some additional pages in my passport. The security machine broke - I waited for over two hours! The taxi waited. I waited for the irate taxi driver to calm down and bring me to the office. I waited for a meeting that got postponed three times today only to find the person I was waiting for was not prepared and we had to cancel the meeting. I waited while being told how upset my boss was that HE was waiting as well. I waited for my computer to reboot SIX times. I waited for an important phone call. I waited for my lunch to thaw. :-( I waited for the internet to come back to the city. I waited for answers on my HR questions. I waited for my colleagues to understand what I was trying to say. I waited for money from the finance office. None came. I waited for a ride home. I waited for the hotel manager to settle my account. I waited for my dinner. And now I can not wait any longer – I am done waiting for today. Tomorrow will be a new day. Saturday. I hope it comes with a new dose of smiles while I wait. :-)

feliz aniversário!

The wedding was many years ago. The celebration still continues.
Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad!!

?

What happens to these houses when the rains come? Can you stay dry under grass? Does mud not get soft and lose its form? This picture is one of the stronger structures of many homes in the village - many are made completely of dry grass. Rumor has it Mozambique is predicted to experience more rain fall and flooding this year than that of the 2000 & 2001 massive floods. That's a massive disaster. There are pictures online of flood waters in the villages with just the tip of the straw rooftops showing. Mud evidently does not float, but one would definitely not want to be trapped inside.

comfort

The moment I stepped off the plane in Maputo, I was greeted with the shock of cool air. I stopped to take a deep breath. The heat was gone.

Jerry cans and gnarled sticks of wood atop women’s heads are replaced with baskets of nuts and colorful fruit to sell on corner stands. Piles of bright oranges and shiny apples line the sidewalks. I am eating my Sunday brunch of crepes with bananas and honey, a real cappuccino, and a tall glass of freshly squeezed fruit juice. I am back in the city life.

I am often pleasantly surprised when I travel alone – people surprise me with their kindness. As I waited in the Tete airport, a British couple came up to me and started talking. The gentleman was in his late 60s and lives in Harare. He is a boat builder. The woman owns a business up near the Cabora Bassa Dam and was awaiting visitors to pick from the airplane arriving from Maputo. The couple offered to buy me a soda in exchange for some conversation, curious as to why I sat in the Tete airport alone and what I was doing in Mozambique. We talked of the history of the Cabora Bassa Dam and the failing state of Zimbabwe. The “hardship” conditions living in southern Africa that are now a part of everyday life. J* never has water. He hasn’t for the past two years. A* carries her water by bucket and jerry can, just as the villagers do. It has become a necessity. It is not that there is a lack of water in these countries, but there is a lack of infrastructure, of piping to get the water to the people and to treat it against water borne diseases. And there is the lack of money, of course. J* talked of how the Zimbabwe currency is worth nothing; he remembers the days when he could buy a coffee with it. Those days are no more.

I noticed on this trip how devastatingly poor this country really is. I think there’s a time when a foreigner stops seeing things in the awe and excitement of the new and unfamiliar to maybe seeing something a little closer to reality. And what follows is a feeling of depressed hopelessness that no matter how much you could do, it will never be enough. There is not enough money to solve the problems that rise from this level of poverty. And you wonder what would it take? Will it ever improve? But then again – improve to what standards and by whose judgment? As a humanitarian you want to see the “improvement” of people not going hungry, of adequate shelter and access to safe water, equal opportunities for sustainable livelihoods. You want to see the basic needs being fulfilled. And as an individual coming from a western society, you still hope for the opportunities you have been given to be available to each of these individuals you meet. You want to see some development as per the world you are familiar and comfortable in - thinking that all people may find comfort in the same.

There was an elderly woman from the village awaiting my plane in Tete. She was traveling with her family – the daughter was dressed in jeans and designer sunglasses, her children sporting clean and new clothes labeled with soccer logos. They fussed around the grandmother making sure she was comfortable. She looked far from comfortable. She looked frightened. Her beautiful face was wrinkled with age from years of working in the sun, her back permanently bent over. She wore crisp new wraps over her tattered and torn clothes. Her two grandchildren held her on either side and guided her onto the airplane. Her life was going to change as she knew it. No doubt she was going to live more comfortably in the city with her daughter. Again, as with the many refugees I’ve helped resettle in the US, I wonder how comfortable this woman will feel so far from her home and her familiars.

I am back to the comforts of the city. But I am also back to the unfamiliar and must once again find my way around and a way to adjust to make myself comfortable. My struggle with the Portuguese language is back and therefore so is the challenge to communicate. I got frustrated tonight when I couldn't order my food. The hot bath and clean sheets will help…but I’m afraid my comforts may have changed.

ooh...ahh...

from luxury in village life...

to luxury in the city life...

life & wonder

I am sitting in the office on this beautiful Friday morning, trying to stay cool and hopefully get some work done. But all I can do is stare out the window. Yesterday I heard the news that a good friend of mine from University passed away from a battle with leukemia...a year ago. We had lost touch since our time at Bethel and I hadn’t heard the news of her death until yesterday. I am saddened by this loss. She was one of the most passionate people I’ve ever known; beautifully full of life and living it as she believed was her calling. She had dreams and plans and that exciting wonder you could see in her eyes and voice as she shared them with you. She was one of those people that you need in your life to help give you perspective on the bigger picture and get you excited for the little things – it was all important to her.

So as I'm sitting here today, distracted in my thoughts, I can't tear my gaze away from the life that is happening outside my window. I can't help but wonder why one so young and full of life would be taken from this earth so soon. And who am I to be so lucky to be sitting here and enjoying life and Africa in all its glory. It just doesn't seem fair.

There is nothing but life up here. I was noticing this the other day. There are no distractions. No busyness of a city. No competition for wealth or possessions. I'm in this little place, sitting on a hill overlooking the beautiful Zambezi River, middle of absolutely nowhere, in Africa. And it seems to be stripped of all the competition and haste of the fast world I know - yet it’s not really stripped as those things have yet to exist. Everyone lives in a mud hut. Now maybe one neighbor has better mud than the other? Ok, that's a bit silly, but I’m sure there are competitions that I am not aware of; I'm not fully immersed in this culture. But to the outside eye, that competition and judgment does not exist. It is just life here. In the past I would describe it as being "raw" - coming from an individual who has grown up in the western world with lots of extras. But I don't think it’s raw. It is rich. These people, the villagers, it is their life. And they smile and greet you when you walk down the street. The children wave their hands and dance around all excited when we drive by. The international doctor is frustrated that he can't practice his medicine because there is a lack of resources and infrastructure. The lack of access to those resources; the speed and direction of the development in this town frustrate the NGOs. But its just life. There’s no need for me to complain about the cold bucket baths, because that's what everyone has; if not they bathe in the river. Very quickly - I was watching them the other day. They literally run in, splash water and try to clean themselves really fast and then run out. I was told they are afraid of the crocs. I would be too. :-) It’s hotter than one can imagine up here; which makes it all the more real. You feel everything.

My view on things is changing. Seeing this life, living here, my overall view is changing. There's a much bigger picture than we can see from our highly educated schools or Hollywood induced media. Hearing the news of my friend’s death...it just makes me wonder all the more. What am I really doing up here and how can I make it beneficial to others rather than myself. Because I could make it all about me. Easily done. I could make it about my research for grad school. I could look at it as just a job that I need to put my time in to get a better job. Or I can look at it as life. Just like the people passing by my office carrying their babies and their water jugs and their chickens on their bicycles. This is their life. And now its mine too, sort of (minus the baby and chickens – and the water jug – I don’t get my own water). I don't know what to do with this yet – this life I’m living up here. I hope I can figure it out before its too late. I hope that my life can be a just a fraction of the passion that my friends was. She had passion and beauty and this contagious high on life. I want that. And I have every opportunity to have it. My friends life has ended, but I am still living mine. It should count for something. Some days it is extremely difficult to see past the simplicities and struggles of this little African village. It is a beautiful life, but contentment is an ugly struggle. And knowledge, knowledge can do more harm than good if you don’t see the reality in front of you and do something about it.

critters who share my floor

Some may call me a desperate woman. If I sit in my cement cell of a bathroom, I can sometimes reach the wireless internet from our office. Last night, after I enjoyed a few minutes of wireless, I stood up to find a critter scurry across the floor...just behind where I was sitting!!! One must not sit on the floor in the village if you are not willing to share it. I have decided I'm not willing to share!! This cockroach was much bigger than the picture displays. No worries, I promptly killed it and went back to my email. :-)

high temps

Summer has arrived. This week the daily temps in Mutarara have been well into the 40's C (those of you at home - that's 100+ degrees F!).

I sit in front of a fan in the office during the day and again in my room in the evenings. When I walk outside, the heat blasts you over like a strong wind. Its feels like it did in Mae La Camp when it was so hot even my eyeballs hurt! Mutarara town sits atop a mountain of rock...sizzling, in my opinion! Today we have been praying for the electricity to come back on - it was cut out earlier this morning because it was TOO hot! And they didn't want anymore electric fires. But without electricity, we have no way of cooling ourselves. And the day becomes very very long. The town becomes silent and empty as people fall asleep under whatever shade they can find - mid morning - myself included. There's nothing else you can do. It's too hot to work. Too hot to be outside. Too hot to be inside without aircon. You start to feel like a ghost.

Last night I took a walk through the village around dusk. The sunset was a bit unusual. The sun hung just above the bridge in a perfect circle of deep red. The sky was clear; all except for the red sun. Its reflection on the water looked as if it was bleeding into the river - a bit too creepy for my liking.

It is hot here. My dear friends at home, please enjoy the cool autumn weather for me!

a rare treat

Bananas! were found at the market today. A very rare appearance here in Mutarara. A rare treat which I very much enjoyed this afternoon! Its the little things in life that are to get us so excited, right? :-)

sunset in mutarara

i spy...a snake! (can you find it?)

soldiers' day

Today is a public holiday in Mozambique – Armed Forces Day – otherwise known as “soldiers day”. We took the opportunity of the office being closed to drive to the Malawi border to renew my soon to expire visa. It was a short trip, 45 kilometers through villages and dry bush land. The road was present, just washed out and very bumpy! I sat in the front cab of the land cruiser, center, between our driver and my assistant. It was a beautiful morning with the sun shining. The hot air blew through our cab windows as we honked for the goats in the road and waved at children as they shouted “mazungo”. Driving through the villages, we noted celebrations being held in honor of soldiers’ day. The entire community was gathered beneath a tall wide baobab tree; men, women and children circled around the tree in honor of the fallen soldiers who fought for their freedom from Portugal. As we passed by these gatherings, the people were silent, soldiers stood at attention, and leaders spoke. On our return back from the border, the ceremonies had ended and the celebrations had begun! Children were dancing in the street, families were eating together outside, and everyone had a smile on their face. It was a beautiful thing to see these communities come together and celebrate.

To describe a little of the land out here…the farther we got away from Mutarara, the electric poles disappeared. The old railway was grown over with brush and plants. Mud huts turned into straw huts – which I wonder how they stay up in these terrific windstorms? We passed by a settlement camp where you could see the tarps WV gave out to cover rooftops of straw huts. Vegetation was scarce. The soil was very sandy. A mountain range guarded the west and the land bottomed out into dry sandy openness to the east. Goats were everywhere! Baobab trees were in plenty and scattered throughout the terrain. Villages were small with maybe 10 – 20 households. There was a community well with a large hand pump in each village. Women and children were gathered around, pumping and filling yellow jerry cans with water. We stopped on the roadside to buy onions and to our surprise…little bananas! I miss my fruit! Its hard to think I’m in Africa and we don’t even have bananas. They are a rare treat up here!

I did not return from the Malawi border with a renewed visa, as was the plan. The guy at the border said I still had four days left on my current visa, so I need to come back on the day it actually expires. I could not understand his reasoning of not being able to buy one today, but Monday I will make the trip once again. :-)

special viewing

crocodiles & spaghetti

This morning during our weekly staff meeting, as we were all gathered together in the front office, there was a sudden burst of children screaming and men yelling outside. Followed was a stampede of the entire village running past our office and down the street shouting and sounding very upset. I had no idea what was going on as the whispers and shocked expressions were all said in Portuguese. Turns out, there was a crocodile found high up in the village, not too far from the office, but very far from the river, causing a lot of mischief as it was looking for some food! It was killed and the stampedes of people were dragging it down the street!!! Just a little Monday morning excitement in Mutarara!

I also found to my delight – spaghetti for lunch today! A welcome change to my beans and rice. Of course, I did compliment it with a nicely grilled piece of fish. :-)

It is freezing cold and overcast at the moment. An extreme change to our sandstorms and 100+ degree weather we’ve been having. I drank three cups of hot chocolate this morning to warm up!
I wish my eyes could take pictures for you all – it was truly a day for pictures. Driving down to the guest house for lunch I saw the cutest little girls, not older than 3 or 4 years old, wearing little kanga wraps around their waist and giggling as I past by - one was carrying a basket of seeds on her head. The local hospital grounds were bright and colorful with young mothers and their babies all wrapped in traditional cloths waiting to be weighed on a scale that hung from a tree. An elderly woman sat at the steps of the community well, her wrap hung loosely over her shoulders as she pulled it close to her to keep warm; her face was wrinkled from the sun and her eyes sparkled with interest. A man on his bicycle peddled by carrying two (live) chickens tied upside down by their feet on the handlebars and a passenger riding sideways on the back – the man himself adorned a shiny black cowboy hat with bright blue stars on it! He smiled as we passed; his grin was missing a few front teeth. It was a day for pictures. :-)

p.s. – I was safe inside the office when the crocodile was found. However, as you may imagine, when I heard what all the rioting was about my eyes got very big! I may now be scanning more of the ground with my torch as I walk home in the evenings!

HDI Rank 172

Mozambique has a HDI Rank of 172 out of 177.

The Human Development Index (HDI) is a summary of human development that is published by the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP). The HDI measures the average achievements in a country by three points of human development:

1) A long and healthy life, as measured by life expectancy at birth
2) Knowledge, as measured by the adult literacy rate
3) A decent standard of living, as measured by GDP per capita

What this means for Mozambique is that it is ranked the fifth poorest country in the world by humanitarian standards. The United States has a HDI Rank of 12 out of 177 in the 2007/2008 report. A few facts and figures from the CIA World Factbook on Mozambique – with comparison to the United States:

*Population of Moz: 21,284,701 / 303,824,646 US

*Median Age in Moz: 17.4 / 36.7 US

*Infant Mortality Rate in Moz: 107.84 deaths per 1000 live births / 6.3 deaths per 1000 live births US

*Life Expectancy at Birth in Moz: 41.04 years / 78.13 years US

*HIV/AIDS prevalence rate in Moz: 12.2% / 0.6% US

*Literacy rate (age 15 and over can read & write) in Moz: 47.8% (male: 63.5% / female: 32.7%) / 99% US

*GDP per capita in Moz: $800 / $45,800 US

*Unemployment rate in Moz: 21% / 4.6% US

*Population living below poverty line in Moz: 70% (2001 est) / 12% US (2004 est)

the local doctor

I ran into the local doctor yesterday here in Mutarara. He arrived just three weeks ago – has been sent by one of the aid organizations. He was telling me how frustrated he is. The hospital here looks pretty from the outside. A new million dollar (rumor has it) building was constructed not too long ago; it sits atop the hill behind the original hospital building. It looks very nice on the outside, but is lacking all medical equipment inside needed to diagnose and treat patients. For example, he has no lab. All blood work needs to be sent to Tete, which is the nearest city and a strenuous 8-hour journey by 4x4. As a result, the lab tests are never guaranteed a time to arrive back in Mutarara. How can he treat his patients if he doesn’t know what is wrong with them by a simple blood test? His vehicles are also all broken at this time and he doesn’t have a proper mechanic or the parts to fix them. So he must find an alternative way to get the lab work to Tete. He also has no fuel. I had forgotten about the fuel – it has to be brought in from Tete as well. So if you run out while you are here, you are here to stay. He has no x-ray machine. No machines of any kind to test what may be ailing the patient. There is no running water. No air conditioning. Often there is no electricity, so it is hard to keep things sterile and preserved. The hospital beds are full of sick patients in need of care, the doctor wants desperately to care for them, but the reality here presents a very difficult challenge to do so.

mutarara...pics on flickr

hunger season

There is a time of the year in Africa, between the first and second harvests, where the food has run out. It is called “hunger season”. An entire season dedicated to hunger. As a person who has always lived with a luxury of having food aplenty, it is hard to understand that there could be a season for such a time as hunger. Months. Three to six months that happens every year. Some years, those months may multiply if a disaster strikes and the crops from the second season are destroyed. These are months in which you know are coming, but are unable to prepare for. Thousands of people go hungry during this season of hunger.

I am eating local food - rice and beans and once in a while we get steamed spinach and carrots, sometimes a fish from the river. The food here at the guesthouse is in plenty. It lacks in variety; but there has always been food left over. My belly is always full. I sometimes struggle with a guilt of feeling satisfied.

Food security is an ongoing issue all around the world. In the states, we often try to think of ways to conserve the amount of excess we eat or throw out. We debate with each other about what can be done to end this cycle of hunger. What would it mean if we ate less in one country – would the excess reach those who need it most? Or would it be lost in the politics and logistics of the transfer? Who would really benefit? Would these children in Africa, the ones who are malnourished and run aside me shouting “mazugo, mazungo” – would it reach them? Or would it turn into cash inside some big mans pocket? I hate the debate. We can debate all day. Our words do not feed the children. They do not change the reality. Someday, they might. Someday, if solutions are created and agreed upon and carried out, the children may benefit. Today they are hungry.

Here in Mutarara, the hunger season will start mid-October to November, at the same time the rains start. It will continue through the floods. Imagine going hungry and trying to deal with a disaster, saving your family and household assets, on an empty stomach. I don’t know how this is done. I also don’t know where I’ll find my appetite once the hunger is more visible. It is sad that all too often we don’t recognize the need if it is not staring us in the face or lifting a hand in request.

There is a season of hunger here in Africa. But there is hope. There are programs in place providing food aid and livelihood assistance to help prepare for this season; to feed those most vulnerable and without food. I wish I could say it is enough. I wish I could report back from the field that all the starving children are now fed and sleeping happily with full bellies. But I can't do that. I can encourage each of us to look for ways to help - whether by giving financially to an organization that provides relief and assistance or by working in ways to make changes within our own lives and share with others the reality of the world we live in; with hope that one day, a solution may be had to end the season of hunger.

substance

motivation

...is a tricky thing when one’s body temperature is high. I’m told there is no “normal” in Mutarara. Everything is to the extreme. Extreme hot. Extreme cold. Extreme wind. Extreme rain. Today it is HOT! And I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on anything. The air is dry and HOT. I awoke to the electricity off. As I approached the office, I was told to look up. The electric pole was on fire! And evidently had been for quite some time. Children gathered on the rocks nearby to watch, while men in orange suits and yellow hard hats stared up in perplexity of what to do next. This was all before 8am...it is now 5p and the new pole is still not up. I am thankful for colleagues who were able to connect a small generator for the office; but by the sound of it, we will be going home early. The sun is about to set. And I have a feeling it is going to be a dark and quiet night by torchlight. :-)

(17° 15' 7" south, 35° 15' 15" east)

The sun is out and it’s a beautiful Saturday morning in Mutarara. I arrived just this week and have been trying to find a way to describe to you all what it is like here. I have never been in a place such as this. I’m having a hard time writing.

So I will copy and paste some thoughts I sent to my brother upon my arrival. They may help in describing where I am…

“i now understand what people's faces meant when they heard where i was going. i've never been to a place like this before. i had this feeling as we were four-wheeling it through the bush to get here that this is going to change me. i don't know how. but it will. i really believe i have found "no where". there seems to be no other way to describe it. though i imagine there are many more of these places – you probably see them where you are. the town of mutarara sits up on a hill above the river. there's the longest bridge i have ever seen in my life running across it. i'm told the entire area is flooded when it rains. right now only a fraction of it has water - and its still a very wide river. i imagine monster crocodiles coming up the banks at night to eat the shadows of people wandering the town. :-) j/k! there are no people here!!! i'm told most of them live in resettlement camps further down the river. i have yet to see. i'm sure i will one of these days. there are no roads here. you think that's not possible, i thought it wasn't possible, but its true. just endless amounts of dirt and rock and washed out terrain. there are many buildings in this town, however they are all carved out and empty, burned from fire or falling down from age. no one lives in them. its like a ghost town. no electricity at night. kids come out and play in the streets in the dark. there is but one shop and restaurant. no running water. i haven't seen any roadside stands that sell food or drinks. it’s very odd – especially for africa. the only vehicles are from us and the other two ngos. the town seems to be void of women. as does my office. the men are all nice, but its an odd feeling being not only the single white expat, but also female. i feel a little out of place. the office is cozy. it is one big open room with desks in a u-shape. its only our programs that are running here- just emergency response. though at the moment there is no emergency. i have so much to learn. but i will have lots of time. i am told there is little to do except work.”

My first impressions of the village are slowly changing. It is peaceful here. Quiet. The village does sits on top of a hill. The view is beautiful! The Zambezi River flows beneath it. Wide. Deep. The bridge is called “Dona Anna”. It is the longest rail bridge in Africa. A total distance of 3.7 km. I’ll have to take a picture. :-) Men ride bicycles along the red uneven dirt as they pass our office during the day. Women walk with water jugs atop their heads. I receive smiles and greetings as I walk to the office in the morning. I am learning to appreciate Nescafe (powdered coffee) from a can. :-)

The staff in the office here are all very kind & a few of them even speak English! (an excitement for me as I've struggled with a lack of English speakers since I've arrived in Moz)

There is electricity in the office and in our rooms. There is no running water. My living quarters are said to be changing soon – so I’ll save those details for when they do. :-)

I am finally here. I am in Mutarara. I am living in a village. (I have to keep repeating it to myself to believe it ;-))

Today I am reminded that it is September. It is the beginning of autumn at home; my favorite time of year. I awoke this morning thinking of where I was last September. My housemates and I would be excited to go to the farmers market in Brattleboro to buy wildflower bouquets and drink delicious chai. I could not have imagined I’d be here now, one year later. I had no idea this place even existed. I wrote home at the beginning of this week and announced that I’d arrived in “no where”. I had found that place where no one goes and no one can find. I still feel like I’m “no where” – but I am somewhere. I will have to do some exploring to where I am. I need to be open to life in a village. I need to get past my desires of comfort as I know them and adjust. And I need to figure out how to do that without blocking out the rest of the world – so not to be dwelling on the things I do not have but know exist. (such as running water with hot showers on a cold evening!) I am struggling as to how I can adjust. I will, it’s just a struggle at the moment. I hate being woken in the middle of the night by rats chewing above my head. Thankfully the mosquito net creates a cozy euphoric state for my mind to pretend I am safe and sound and the critters cannot actually touch me. :-) I have a lot of learning to do. The unexpected journey continues.

butterflies

Have you ever watched a butterfly in the air? It doesn’t always look to have complete control of where it’s going. It flutters back and forth and eventually will choose a direction to fly away in. My friend Kate and I got butterflies in Thailand. They were to remind us of new beginnings. Beautiful beginnings. Butterflies often don’t start out as anything pretty to look at, but through the struggle as they grow and mature in the cocoon, and as they flutter against the wind, they eventually become something of beauty.

I awoke this morning with the feeling of butterflies in my stomach. Excitement and nerves all wrapped into one. I opened the window shades to let the bright African sun poor in and hear the birds sing. I took a deep breath. I sometimes forget where I am. I need those small moments of calm to remind myself and not to be overwhelmed with the butterflies in my stomach. I am in Africa.

Today I start the journey up to my new home in a small village along the Zambezi River. It is a district called Mutarara, located in Tete Province in north-central Mozambique. I’ve never been before, but tomorrow I will call it home. Mutarara is difficult to find on a map as it’s off the main road and has nothing of tourist interest to spotlight. It is a resettlement area for thousands of refugees and internally displaced persons who have been forced to leave their homes due to things outside their control. Many have chosen to stay in spite of the reoccurring floods. The government has asked everyone to move to higher ground; however the task of moving thousands of people from their homes is quite difficult. They want to stay. They are fishermen and farmers, living their lives and raising their families the best way they know how. I am going to work on community projects that will in hope prepare communities for future floods by reducing their risk of loss and increasing their resilience to survive the floods. All very good in theory, but in practice could be a very big task! We don’t want to go in and change their livelihoods or tell them they must move; we have community groups in place to work with creating local options that are sustainable for the communities.

I am excited to see communities’ work together and our projects up and running. I am curious to see how the projects will play out. I am nervous to experience an emergency and provide response. And today, I am reminded of butterflies, new beginnings, and unexpected journeys. I will just have to enjoy the fluttering in my stomach and trust the new directions I take will bring me to something of beauty.

weekend in chidenguele

This past weekend I spent with some new friends at a lake house near the beach in Chidenguele, about 250 kilometers north of Xai Xai. We drove four hours north of Maputo on the one and only national highway that runs north-south through Mozambique. I loved seeing more of Africa again! Children ran alongside the roads, waving and laughing as we passed by. Women carried heavy loads of anything you can imagine – balanced in a bucket atop their heads. Big trucks full of timber logs with goats adorning the sides and top passed us at record speed. All the while, the landscaped changed several times as we drove through low lands with rice patties and sugar cane fields, beautiful wide rivers running into the sun, dry and barren open space with bushfires burning out of control, and lush palm tree jungles where you imagine creatures of all shapes and sizes are hiding inside.

The beach was absolutely beautiful! Clean, golden sands stretched along the coastline. Sand dunes lush in vegetation protected the beach and provided a barrier to the villages. We bought fresh fish from a local fisherman for dinner – they packaged it up and buried it in the sand to stay cool while we enjoyed the sunshine. It was my friend Leila’s birthday weekend – there were seven us staying the weekend to celebrate with her. We barbequed a big meal for dinner and sang birthday songs till she couldn’t turn a darker shade of red. :-) We also enjoyed homemade birthday cake!

Saturday night started the excitement of this African weekend. I was sleeping in a tent alongside the lake. The night was calm and warm as I fell asleep looking up at the stars that were shining so brightly. They were amazing! I awoke a few hours later to the sound of incredible winds, my tent had collapsed on top of me, and I was starting to roll inside the tent! The winds were so strong! I managed to unzip and get out of the tent just as my mind started to race of rolling into the lake where the crocodiles were sleeping. I then crawled into the tent next to me, which was smaller, lower to the ground and had another person in it. It was not going to blow away with two of us! In the morning, I found out a small cyclone had hit the coast nearby and we were receiving the wind! I am proud to say I survived my first cyclone (sort of), in a tent! :-)

Later that morning, after a lovely breakfast, we all climbed into the 4x4 to enjoy the beach a little more before returning to the city. Tree branches were down and the sand was thick and loose. I learned that to drive in that kind of sand, one must deflate the tires. And keep turning the wheel back and forth. :-) After returning from the beach and enjoying a delicious traditional Brazilian meal, we packed up the vehicles to head back home. However, one of the 4x4s needed a push start. (tis very hard to do in thick sand!) We constructed a road out of tree branches and gathered men from the village to help push the truck. Several heave hoes and one accident later, the truck was running and we were on our way!

It was an exciting weekend :-)

counting backwards

The clock on my work laptop counts backwards. Literally. I look at the time, and 10 or 20 minutes later, it’s 15, 20, even 30 minutes earlier! And I can’t seem to figure out what the glitch is or how to fix it. Anyone know??? :-) Tis a pleasant surprise when I look at my watch and it’s a good hour or so later than I thought. But still, hmmm...

maybe there really is such a thing as “Africa time”!

i am elderly

The life expectancy here in Mozambique is said to have dropped to 34 years of age. Resources state anywhere between 34-41 years of age. The rapid decline is due to the spread of HIV/AIDS. Here, I am considered elderly.

As an American, you kind of grow up thinking you will live forever. (or at least I did :-)) There are so many things you want to do and see. Opportunities, you are told, are endless. To live in a country, walk down a street, and work with colleagues who live with the reality that they are in their last years is something to think about. If I had grown up in this country, and I was among the average Mozambiquan whose life was in its last few years, what would I be thinking right now? What would I be doing? Would I have lived the life I wanted?

HIV is not a disease you outwardly see on the street; its not like leprosy or a bad case of boils. It is often unseen until it makes you really sick. And then, you will not be on the streets or in the workplace. You will not be seen. It is said that one out of eight people in Mozambique is living with HIV. One out of eight! That’s an incredibly high number of people. I pass many of those people on the streets each day.

I’ve noticed a few people in their later years, but as I look around, there are many more young people. I’m told in the villages and out in the rural communities where our projects are at work, there is a great challenge to pass along traditional knowledge to the next generation – there is an entire generation missing. We want to encourage agricultural techniques that will help to sustain crops through droughts and floods – but there is no one to teach these techniques. No one to share what has worked in the past in these areas that are at risk for disasters. An entire generation is missing.

If there is an entire country where the “elderly” are between the ages of 25-35 years, is that not reason to be alarmed? It alarms me that I am among the elderly. Not in terms of age, but in terms of wisdom and instruction. Who will teach the next generations? Are those who are considered elderly here also considered wise? Are these really their golden years? Personally I feel my life is just getting started. I’m getting to the good stuff and there’s so much ahead. However, I don’t know that the average 29 year old here is feeling the same way.