a perfect picture

There is an old round theatre in the middle of town. I walk past it every morning. It has five round pillars on the front steps. This morning there were five homeless people sleeping in the shadow of each pillar, bracing themselves from the hot morning sun. One had a raggedy old t-shirt hanging on a clothes hanger above him.

Mozambique is a very impoverished country. If there was a face to poverty, you can see it here. If you open your eyes to the poverty, you can easily become depressed. It can eat inside of you until there’s little hope for change. You can start to feel empty. It will make you feel sick. However, you can also keep your eyes closed to the faces of the poor. To those who are hungry, sick, in need of employment and a roof over their heads. They are kids that play soccer in the street. They are elderly women who sift through the garbage bins at night. They are mentally ill who walk around with one shoe, no shirt and a glaze in their eyes. You can avert your eyes and not see them. You can walk past the outstretched hand without breaking a stride. You can go on living your life as if they don’t. It is harsh. But it’s the truth. Sometimes it is easy to close your eyes; and other times there is nothing more you can do. You feel paralyzed by the reality you are surrounded in.

A friend once said, this is “the perfect picture of poverty”. To make it ideal, to highlight and paint a pretty picture – it is here in Quelimane. In Mozambique. The picture of poverty comes drawn with bright sunshine, beautiful sunsets and coconut trees high up in the sky. There are days you can only see the beauty in the picture. And there are days when all you can see is poverty.

urgency

A boy about ten years of age ran up behind me as I entered my friend’s apartment. I didn’t see him. Just as I opened the door (I had a key) he pushed his body up against mine to also get inside. As I hadn’t seen him behind me, his sudden urgency frightened me and I pushed him away and closed the door. Only the door wouldn’t close as he continued to push harder and harder to get in. He wanted something. And he was persistent. And quite forceful. After a few minutes of this tug and war I was able to close the door and lock it. He continued to push. And then the doorbell rang. His fingers held down the button so hard it became a constant noise of high-pitched urgency – he wanted in. For the next 15 minutes he rang that doorbell. He was not giving up easily.

I sat straight up in bed this morning with a sense of urgency filling my chest. I don’t know why. The incident with the little boy came to my mind. How often do we demonstrate this sense of urgency in our lives? How often do we live by faith that when the urgency comes to us, there is a higher power that is available to take it? To calm us. To provide for that need that is pressing on our hearts so. Not often enough.

Speaking with my friend later that night we concluded the boy probably wanted food. I felt awful I turned him away. But I was surprised and a bit frightened by his urgency. Was he just a kid looking for trouble? Playing around? Or was he really in need of food? Desperate enough to do whatever it took to fill the ache inside of him?

Living in places such as an African country with a history of war and famine or even on some of our own city streets in the US, you can come face to face with those who are hungry. When I get hungry, I get crabby. I get short. And eventually I wear down to have no energy. But then I get food. I don’t know what would happen to me if the food didn’t come. Would I be desperate enough to beg for it? To push myself into someone’s home, steal from someone’s pocket, or lift an empty hand and look someone in the face begging for help? Would I do that? Could I do that? Or is my pride too big? We’re taught not to beg, not to lie, not to steal. Are there exceptions to these rules? How much judgment should we place on those who break the rules and live a life so far removed from our own that we could never walk in their shoes? They are wearing no shoes. How can we judge? And more importantly, how do we help? How do we help lesson their pain? The hunger? Can we help?

There is a sense of desperate urgency in so many lives of people we meet everyday. It may not be visible. It may not be knocking on our door, begging. But I would take a bet it is pushing its way inside our hearts and maybe even inside our lives. Can you ignore it? Can you walk away? Is there something you can do to help fill the ache? The pain. The hunger. Will it remain?

retraction

I spoke too quickly. No internet at home. No skype. No laughing at my sister on the big screen tv. :-) I know I am completely spoiled to even have the ability for internet in my home in Mozambique. I was thinking of our time at Daystar in Athi River, Kenya and how us crazy American students would do whatever we needed to get on that bus or hitchhike in a matatu or back of a truck to get into Nairobi on a Saturday and anxiously climb those stairs to Lazards and check our email. The days we had to wait for an open computer – torture! I have some amazing friends who have put up with my impatience! (I may have been the worst one. :-)) I remember once Katie and I were meeting the girls at Java downtown (and then we were going to check email) and we had hitchhiked in, after several attempts, squeezing into a full matatu sitting in the very back with very little space. I hope for Katie’s sake, I fell asleep on that ride. :-) When we arrived in Nairobi, it was raining and we were literally dumped into a pile of garbage. The matatu door opened and we jumped out…into a wet, stinky, smokey pile of garbage. I remember thinking all I wanted to do was check my email! There was also the trip with the bloody toe, the runaway matatu chase when they made us whities duck from whomever was chasing us down the wrong way of a one way alley, and the time we had to hide from the angry street mob who blocked our bus ride back to campus. But not every trip was so exciting; the good ones we got ice cream at Java as well as emails! Those were fabulous Saturdays to get us through the next week. :-)

I am thankful I can walk to the office or a friend’s house here and use their internet when mine doesn’t work – no sweaty stinky full matatu rides or angry mobs keeping me from the outside world. Times have definitely changed. ;-)

butterflies, hot toes, & technicians

My alarm went off far too early this morning. As I stepped out onto the street I was greeted with a bom dia of the guard and warm sunshine. Then a peculiar thing happened – a monarch butterfly flew in front of me and fluttered in circles - all the way to the office! (It is a good four or five blocks with many turns.) The butterfly intrigued me. It was almost as if it was leading me somewhere or wanted me to see something. When I arrived to the office, it flew away. Hmm. It did give me a few moments to enjoy the morning and not stress on the events of the day. A nice little distraction.

My afternoon walk back from lunch and a Portuguese lesson had my toes burning! The warm sunshine turned into some kind of laser beam. :-) The ten minutes to the office were so hot that the metal zipper on my bag hurt to touch.

Technicians kept coming to my house today. Three different ones. All were saying the same thing in Portuguese over and over and over. My Internet has been out at the house for over a week – so I’ve been trying to get it fixed. This is no small task in Quelimane when you are not fluent in Portuguese nor have all day every day to sit at home and wait for the technicians to arrive. Yesterday the excuse was he couldn’t find a bicycle taxi to take him into town. Interesting. My house is on the same block as the phone company. Today was a success though! After two visits, a technician brought his friend and they fixed it. The Internet has been working fine until we had a massive storm and everyone’s connection went out – and came back three days later. Mine never returned. When the techs saw my computer they would shake their heads and mumble something disgruntle and kept repeating to me “windows vista!” “windows vista!” and I kept replying no. (I have a macbook.) They tried to take my computer and push a bunch of buttons – which obviously didn’t work. Oh but it must be my computer that is broken and not their connection! If only I could communicate better. :-) They kept speaking louder and louder and pacing in my living room – but eventually google popped up on their “windows vista” and all was right with the world again. I even got a new ethernet cable out of the deal.

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!