the spanish mortician

I am sitting in the Maputo airport, the dingy domestic waiting area, before our flight up to Quelimane and eventually on to Mocuba. I will be spending the week speaking with communities and assessing a couple different districts on their water and sanitation needs for an upcoming project we are proposing for funding. There is a short, bald, bushy eyebrow man sitting across the room that looks all too familiar to me. I ask my colleagues where I know him from; assuming he was introduced to me through one of our business relationships. Nope, neither of the guys has seen him before.

Our wait lasted a couple hours; half of them in a black out. By the way, how do airplanes fly when there is no electricity in the control towers?? Not important, evidently. So the familiarity of this man sitting across the room finally hits me!! I smell formaldehyde. It is the Spanish mortician from Quelimane that diagnosed my last case of malaria and sent me home to the states.

This will be my first trip back to Quelimane since I left in 2009; feverish and with zilch patience left for all things Mozambique. It is unfortunate, the way I left. I am grateful to go back. A little excited to see the area and what has or has not changed. Sad to have missed my friends by a month; I could use Brian’s agricultural expertise on this trip. Mozambique has taken on a new charm this year than I remember from my time living here. Each field trip we’ve taken has shed a refreshing and new sight for Mozambique and its communities. It’s a beautiful country. I’m excited for this coming week; though I am told Mocuba is an extension of the armpit of the country. We shall see. My challenge will be to find its beauty! And to stay as far away from the mortician as I possibly can!! Wish me luck.