Mozambican Martha

Nalia goes to horseback riding every Friday, and while she's riding, I usually talk with my friend Kevin.  Kevin went to Tulane with me, and I didn't know him well then, but through Friday afternoon horseback riding, I've gotten to know him a little better.  He and his wife have been in Mozambique for 10 years--first, we was the director of Habitat for Humanity, but then decided he wanted to do something else and opened up a coffee shop called Cafe Sol.  They bring coffee from Malawi and roast it in Mozambique.  It's good coffee. 
A couple of weeks ago, Kevin told me that they're ready to leave Mozambique and do something else...  'You know, mid-life stuff,' he explained. 'You get to a point in your life and realize you're not going to do all the important things you thougth you would, and you won't advance in your career like you thought you might... and you realize you're just an ordinary person.  But it's good.  It's ok.'  So, in the next chapter of their lives, Kevin and his wife want to work on an organic farm in Yolo County, California. 

I think I've been going full speed for say.. the last 15 years, and I hadn't really even stopped to breathe and think about any of this.  After Kevin said this, my fist thought was, 'Well, maybe he's middle aged, but not me...wait, oh shit.  He's right.  I'm 36 and that means that statistically, my life is about half over!'  That's me, the positive one.  But really, I have half my life left.  However, given who I am and how my life has been over so long, I hadn't even reduced the momentum long enough to consider any of this.  Living in the U.S., working full-time with two little kids, I couldn't reduce the momentum. 

That's why we came here, to slow the pace and do more of the things I longed for but could never do in the U.S. Sure, we did bike rides and went to the park and pool, but I was always rushing.  I was always exhausted.  There was a lot of stress.

Here, I've had a lot more time to consider this short beautiful life.  Part of the reason we came here was because I wanted to have more time with the kids-- to cook, swim, do art projects.  Last week, we picked lemons from the tree outside our house and made lemonade.  The same day, our chicken started laying eggs...last weekend, we made a parking garage for Elio's Matchbox cars out of a cereal box... it was great.  Since I've had a chance to consider more what I want for my family and for myself, I feel myself being pulled more and more towards domesticity.  Just call me Mozambican Martha.  I've been planting herbs and flowers.  I've spent a lot of time on allrecipes.com, printing out recipes for Oatmeal Carrot Muffins and Chinese Chicken Fried Rice.  And I actually make them.  Sometimes they're even good (according to Matias).

Zinnias in our garden

The words from Kevin made me think about how much time I've spent in my life apologizing for who I am... true, I'm impatient, I do things too fast, sometimes I'm defensive and don't listen, I can be cynical.  I feel guilty about too many things, and then feel guilty about feeling guilty.  But doesn't it really take your whole life to get to know yourself, work on the things you're not so good at, and figure out how to use the things you are good at to make the world a better place?  Also, another thing I'm finding out, as a mom, is that I need to take time to do the things I love!  And, for me, that's what I've missed... so, in the next postings, I'll start sharing my recipes, craft projects, recommendations for good books. 

Mozambican mailbox, aka Blackhole

Photos of Kruger Park

Below are some recent pictures of our trip to Kruger last weekend.  I showed Elio the picture of his passport and he told me, "Elio was sad that day.  He didn't like people taking his picture."  Poor Elio... he does look pretty glum. 

King of the Savanna after the kill

The hippos are the same color as the rocks!

At our hotel in Nelspruit



Fist time swimming with Floaties... all by himself!

 It's still hotter than Hades here, but I'm getting used to dripping in sweat by 7AM.  Funny how adaptable we are as human beings... today a pick-up truck full of policemen toting AK47s passed me on my way to work.  Here, there are two types of policeman.  Fat ones in white uniforms called Policia Transito-- Traffic Police.  They are fat because they take bribes from all the chapas (minibuses).  Then, there are what Mozambicans call Cinzentinhos, or little gray guys.  They are all skinny young guys and they are the ones who get to hold the AK47s.  Twenty years ago, I would have beem scared by all these machine guns, but now I hardly notice.  Yes, we are adapable...

At the Mall

Finally, we got out of Mozambique.  The kids received their Mozambican passports on January 31, and I told Matias that we HAD to get out that weekend.  I just needed a break from the heat, grime, dirt, people asking me for every favor under the sun.  So Saturday morning, we left at 6AM for South Africa and drove through Kruger Park on our way to Nelspruit.  Nelspruit was one of the host cities for the 2010 World Cup, but more important than this, it has a MALL… and a McDonalds. 

We didn’t see as many animals in Kruger as we did the first time we went—during the dry season, it’s much easy to see the animals because there’s not as much bush and the animals tends to aggregate around the water holes.  However, we were treated to seeing a male lion that had just killed a huge buffalo.  We got within about 20ft of him… he was satiated into total apathy, tummy full of the buffalo, and probably wouldn’t have touched us if we’d walked up to him.  We were also fortunate to see a very large male elephant up close, and even more exciting for the kids, we got to see him pee.  Nalia was trying to make comparisons on how much pee he’d made… bathtub full?  No, more than that.  20 buckets full… yes, maybe that.

We spent the night at a beautiful lodge near Nelspruit that had live animals roaming around the grounds- we opened the door to find an ostrich next to the car.  The next day, we went to McDonalds for breakfast… and that sausage McMuffin was so tasty.  Then, we fulfilled Nalia’s dream and hit the mall!  There’s a Chuck e Cheese type play area there, and Elio was so excited that he forgot about the bathroom and went right there next to the Skee Ball machine.  After 4 hours of mall roaming, we hit the Pick n’ Pay, or the South African equivalent of Safeway.  This was the exciting part for me… because you can save so much money by buying groceries in S.A.  Almost all packaged food in Mozambique comes from there, so the prices are a lot higher.

On the way out we stopped at Claire’s boutique so Nalia could get her ears re-pierced… amidst all the mayhem of moving, I forgot to put earrings in and her ears closed up.  She was so determined to do it—she didn’t shed one tear the whole time.  The ladies at Claire’s said they had never seen a child not cry, so they gave her a certificate. 

 After all the shopping and piercing was done, we hit the road for the border.  I asked Nalia what her impression of the trip was, and she sighed and said, “It was FANTASTIC.  It was the best day of my life.  My favorite part was the mall.”

Below... a couple of pictures from January.  Pictures of Kruger Park tomorrow!

Museum of Natural History, Maputo

Our new kitten, Little

Nalia's fist day of 2nd grade!

Mr. Elio... hair keeps getting straighter!



Museum of Natural History, Maputo



 

Death as a Routine Part of Life

We just returned from our trip to Chimoio to spend time with Matias' family for Christmas.  It's about 720 miles each way, and amazingly and and thankfully, our car made it there and back with no problems.  Chimoio is a calm quiet city about 45 minutes from the border of Zimbabwe... it's lush and green at this time of year, but also very hot.  And this is also the time of year for beautiful rainbow colored mangoes (and the corresponding not so beautiful flies that attack once you open one).  Nalia loves spending Christmas in Chimoio, playing outside with her friends and cousins until way after the sun goes down.   I'm not as fond of Christmas in Africa, and after 4 years of it, I'll probably advocate for a more traditional American Christmas next year.

During my second day in Chimoio, we found out that the son of a friend of Matias' in Maputo had died.  He was only 11.  I think I posted a picture of him in a previous blog-- we went to their house in September.  So tragic, and it took several days to find out what happened.  In the meantime, I was reminded of how differently people in Mozambique deal with death, partly because it's just a different culture, but partly because it happens so much here. 

In the U.S., we fear death and getting old so much that we try to fight it and resist it all we can-  I remember when my grandmother died...  Modern medicine could keep her alive with stomach tubes and other technologies, but she was unable to eat or speak on her own.  Her quality of life had deteriorated so much that I think she was truly miserable, so one day, or at least this is what I think, she decided that she was ready to go and stopped eating and drinking. 

Here, death happens so much more than in an U.S.-- accidents, AIDS, malaria, and pneumonia are among the many causes.  Upon hearing that someone has died, even someone they may know as an aquaintance or a friend, people here usually have a very unemotional response.  I don't think it's because they don't feel pain or suffer because of death- it's because it happens so routinely that they develop a certain immunity to all the emotions that accompany death in places where it's so feared and not so routine.  They are also not surprised by it, like we are... after all, how could you be surprised by something that happens nearly every day or week. 

And it's not the custom here to ask of what or how people died... if you do ask and the person was sick, they will usually just reply, "He died of doenca (sickness)."  Most times this means he died of HIV/AIDS because there is so much stigma still attached to AIDS that it would be extremely rare for a Mozambican to admit that a family member died of AIDS... even though AIDS isn't rare or uncommon here.

Our friend died of something more rare and entirely preventable.  That's what bothers me most about death here in Mozambique-- a lot of it is entirely preventable.  Our friend drowned.  He went to the pool with his friends because school was out and it was really hot.  There are no lifeguards here and he didn't know how to swim well.  It never should have happened.  So, to remember him, I'm attaching his photo below.  Please keep him and his family in your thoughts and prayers.

Changing Languages...

After a little lapse, I'm back.  I've had six days in the house to myself--Matias and the kids went to his hometown, Chimoio, last Friday.  That's the longest I've been alone in my house in nearly 10 years.  Unbelievable.  So I should have had plenty of time to write... and I was thinking of all the things I could write about-- how Dona Veronica, the accountant at work, told me I was getting fat and made a pose like a body builder; or my new best friend at work, Luigi, an Italian from Naples.  He calls himself a Neopolitan, not an Italian.  He's married to a wonderful Roman Italian named Sarah, who effortlessly melds being a progressive independent woman while retaining many of the characteristics of the quintessential Italian mother and wife (i.e. she calls Luigi 4 or 5 times a day at work and they yell at each other on the phone).  Luigi is a lot like me in an Italian man's body-- we both do everything fast and nothing calmly.  So we get along great. 

But, when I choose what to write in the blog, I inevitably come back to the kids, because watching them go through all the changes here is endlessly entertaining. 
Nalia
Nalia came to me the other day and asked very seriously, "What is prahncing?"
"You mean praaancing?" I replied.
"No.  Prahncing." 
"Well, it's... like galloping in a very happy way."  (I am not good at defining these things).  "In the U.S., we call in praaancing."
"Well, I'm going to say prahncing, because that's how my teacher says it.  ... And mommy, you should know that Elio has started saying 'waTer,' and not 'waDDer,' like the Americans do.  I don't understand why Americans say waDDer anyway because it's spelled with a t.  Why do English and American people talk differently anyway?"
Wow, that was a question.  So then I had to explain about how they colonized the U.S., but we don't talk like them because our countries are an ocean apart, and with the distance, over time, people pick up different accents. 

Nalia has kept her American accent for now, but she's experimenting with words like prahncing and she finds words and phases like swimming costume and being cross with someone very funny, so once in awhile, she'll slip these in to make us all laugh.

Elio is a different story.  Nalia is right.  He has started saying waTer.  He is also starting to speak English with a Porgueuse accent:  "loook Mommy."  "Seet down."  "Thees is mine."  I think it's endearing and cute, so I don't correct him.  It's really amazing to me (and makes me v. jealous!)  how fast children can pick up languages.  Elio has been here four months and speaks Portuguese fluently.

My new language is Italian.  I hear more Italian than Portuguesethese days at work .  This is because 1) there are two Italians in my office (Luigi and Francesca), and 2) Italians generally like to talk.  Also, Italian is more like Portuguese than I ever knew. So I'm understanding a fair amount and try to speak once in awhile. 

Anyway, here are a few pictures of our recent trip to the beach in Bilene, and my trip to the middle of nowhere (once again) for work. 

I love this picture of our Elio



Luigi is on the left... we are reviewing a health worker's patient register.



Maybe this will make you want to visit?

This is a health post



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Thanksgiving at Isaias' and Cherry's house



A bit about names...

Mozambique is a diverse place!  Indians have been here forever, and now with the Chinese pouring into invest all over Africa, there has been a huge influx of Chinese into the country.  Not to mention, there are many Europeans, mostly Portuguese, who have hung on since independence, and others who work for aid organizations, donors, embassies, etc.  That said, Mozambicans have been exposed to new cultures more in the last 20 years than every before. 

This has created some very funny misunderstandings regarding names from all those different cultures... names that Mozambicans aren't used to.  For example, there is a little Chinese boy at Elio's school.  When I asked teacher Ana, who speaks English very well, what this boy's name is, she said, "Oh, his name is Someone."  "Someone?" I questioned.  "Yes, that is what his parents say he name is."  Teacher Ana didn't seem to think this was out of the ordinary.  Then, when I arrived at the school a couple of days later to drop Elio off, Ana explained that she had been mistaken about Someone's name.  Apparently Someone's parents had gotten upset when they heard the Mozambican staff at the school calling him Someone.  After all, his name is Sam Wong.  But the parents' accents must be pretty thick and I am sure the Mozambican staff are wholly unaccostumed to names like this, so Sam Wong's parents had to write his name down for all the teachers so they could see the difference bewteen Someone and Sam Wong.  But in Portuguese, words don't end in g and words that end in m make an ng sound, so this was quite a stretch for many of the teachers.  From what I can see, they continue to call him Someone when his parents aren't there. 

The foreign names that Mozambicans choose put together also provide some fuel for a good laugh.  I have a colleague at Save the Children named Aguinaldo, which is a pretty good name inself, Aguinaldo Santana.  17 years ago, Aguinaldo and his wife Jamila had a son they decided to name Filkadafi.  Say it out loud.  Aguinaldo loves Phil Collins.  He loves Elton John too, but not as much as Phil.  Everytime I have to drive somewhere with him, he blares "Another Day in Paradise."  Aguinaldo also thinks that Moammar Kadafi is one of the most intelligent and exemplary leaders in the history of Africa and in the modern world.  So he named his child Filkadafi, but he doesn't go by Fil or Kadafi, it's Filkadafi.  And let's not forget that his last name is Santana, so it's Filkadafi Santana.
Anyway, since some people have asked me to post some photos about our life and friends, here are a few...


Nalia and her friends from school: Clara, Olivia and Irati.  Clara is half Brazilian and half Belgian.  Olivia is Danish, adopted from Ethiopia, and Irati is half Tanzanian and half Spanish (Basque).



At the pool!



Elio calls these his swimming glasses.

Oh man, yesterday was a hard Mozambique day, and I felt like I shouldn’t be complaining because the car finally started… it did’t move, but it started.  Right now, if you actually want it to move, you usually have to push it to get it going.  Luckily there is no shortage of able bodied (i.e. not much to do) Mozambican men who can help with this.  So we have graduated from: 

Two weeks ago: Car being pushed home 4 blocks at 2am

One week ago:  Fire in the starter (flames coming out… Matias told the guard and me to run and get sand to dump on the engine to put out the fire)

Today:  Car starts on its own (sometimes).  Needs a push to start (most of the time).

So I guess I should be happy.  But it was 39 C in Maputo yesterday… 39 C is about 102 F, and since the very unreliable Nissan was still not running, I walked to work again.  It takes me about 30 minutes each way, and some parts are very pleasant—the wide sidewalks with the shade from the acacia trees.  The jacarandas are blooming with their purple princess colored flowers and circular black seed pods that look like big coins.  But the walk has to be very strategic and I am still finding the best routes… strategic to avoid:  1) foul smelling steaming trash heaps, 2) trees that too many men have relieved themselves on 3) excrement from who knows what, and 4) blasts of diesel fumes from the minbuses.

But some parts of living in Mozambique are so much easier… for example, it is so much easier to make people happy here than in the U.S.

I asked Eusebio, our guard, to cut our grass.  He did this all by hand because mowers, like tow trucks, don’t really exist here.  I paid him 100 meticais, about $3.00, and he was so happy he about fell over.  He told me that he’s going to bring me lettuce from his farm because Matias and I help him so much.

You can also make people here very happy here just by saying good morning- ‘Bom dia.’  That’s all it takes.  If you say this to complete strangers in the U.S., they will look at you like you must be crazy or on something and then mumble something incomprehensible back if you’re lucky, but here saying “Bom Dia”  anything can make a tremendous difference in your life.  People at the office will be more helpful.  The guards at the other houses on our street will look out for us.  The waiter at the restaurant will (try) to be efficient and expeditious.  The gentleman who works at the grocery store will carry your basket for you.  So, as my mom always says, there are always two sides to every story…

Anyway, seven days after the shipment arrived, the camera cord was recovered in the rubble, so here are some photos.



Nalia and some friends in a bairro outside Maputo

 

Matias and the cow leg referred to in the first post.



Nalia and her friend Tililly at the Maputo Elephant Reserve.

 

Elio and his best friend Santiago sharing a secret at the Maputo Elephant Reserve.

 

View of Maputo from Catembe Penninsula



Beach at Maputo Elephant Reserve



Nalia in our shipment rubble.

Horsewoman Nalia!



U.S. Embassy Halloween party last week- Elio is Nemo and Nalia is a 50s girl!