Oct 24, 2008
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. :-)
Oct 22, 2008
feliz aniversário!
The wedding was many years ago. The celebration still continues.
Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad!!
Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad!!
Oct 14, 2008
?
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.
Oct 12, 2008
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.
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.
Oct 11, 2008
Oct 3, 2008
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.
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.
Oct 2, 2008
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!
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!
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