I took a somewhat spontaneous trip to Namaacha this week to visit my host family and to meet the new training group MOZ 16. The last time I was there, in March, everything was beautifully lush and green. This time around, with the onset of winter, everything looked dead and gnarled and brown, to the point that I almost didn’t recognize some of the streets I was walking on.
The moment I stepped out of the chapa I was greeted with a chilly wind that threw dust in my eyes as I hiked the lonely road to my family’s house. No one was there to greet me except for my host sister Lilita; everyone else was at work or school. I sat in the living room and watched Brazilian soap operas (Brazilian Portuguese is significantly different than Mozambican Portuguese, by the way. My head started to hurt from so much concentration) until Tiffanie, the current trainee living there, came home for lunch. I’d talked to her several times over the phone so it was great to finally meet her face to face.
I met a number of other trainees during the day and shamelessly promoted Xima’s puppies. (Did I mention that she is pregnant? I am the mother of a pregnant teenager- Where did I go wrong??) My favorite dressmaker completed two dresses and a pair of shorts in just a matter of hours, and I stocked up on no less than seven capulanas from the market before heading back to site.
The trip home was decent, which is saying a lot because usually traveling in Moz is a huge pain in the ass. On the way from Chicumbane to Maputo, I had one of those “Oh my God I’m going to die in a chapa” moments that has, since my arrival in October, become increasingly rare. I’ve accepted that seatbelts are almost unheard of, and that almost every driver on the road is a reckless one. This time, however, the chapa driver was too impatient to sit in Maputo traffic, so he decided to cross the concrete divider and suddenly we were facing two lines of oncoming traffic. Several cars, including a police vehicle, swerved into the second lane to avoid us. I still haven’t quite figured out what the police do around here, or if there are such things as traffic laws. Anyway, the concrete divider didn’t break for some time, so our chapa kept swimming upstream and although everyone in the chapa seemed alert, I’m pretty sure I was the only one with my hand over my mouth trying not to scream.
I arrived at the Junta, the giant chapa stop out of Maputo, after snagging a boleia out of Namaacha, and boarded a XaiXai chapa. Three hours later, we were still waiting for the car to fill up so we could go. Unfortunately, when it comes to chapa-ing, 24 people in a minibus is the absolute minimum. While I sat in the front seat and waved away vendors coming to my window, selling everything from toothbrushes, to jewelry, to potato chips, to sneakers and capulanas, I considered asking for my money back from the cobrador so that I could get on another chapa. I have never seen this done, even when everyone on the chapa is visibly frustrated. I wondered if batting my eyelashes and asking nicely would do the trick, but also considered the probability that since I’d already handed over the money, the only way I’d get it back would be to pry it from the cobrador’s cold, dead hands.
The day following my return to Chicumbane was a rainy one, so I decided not to go to work. (Don’t you wish your schedule were quite so flexible?) I stayed inside and watched movies all day, accompanied by XimaXima who, as I’ve discovered, is terrified of getting wet. When I let her out, she climbed on top of a plastic chair, whining, and wouldn’t come down.
Recently, I suspected the presence of a rat in my house and asked my empregada to help me move around the furniture in the kitchen. Sure enough, something gray and furry dashed into the living room when we moved aside my cupboards. Armed with a rake and a giant stick, we pursued the rat but it disappeared under the fridge… where, I’m pretty sure, it found a safe haven by crawling up into the wires and motor. Disgusting.
I bought some rat poison at the market and sprinkled it over a slice of tomato (which, my guard assured me, would lure the rat out like fish for a cat) that I then slid under the fridge. The very next day, I almost stepped on a rat corpse in my kitchen. Success! Another dead rat was later found next to the fridge. Hopefully that takes care of the problem, but I’ve continued to leave out another poisoned tomato slice on my kitchen counter just in case.
Cooking in the evening is still a feat, due to the dimming of electricity. Sometimes I wonder if it would be faster to heat water if I held the pot over a candle...
The electricians came one evening (after failing to show up on the scheduled day) to change my credit machine but didn’t transfer my credit like they had promised me. So, this month, I not only had to pay for a new fuse, I needed to pay for electricity twice (3x my monthly budget for electricity).
It’s so frustrating how some things work around here. The cultural power distance is vast- I can’t just call up the chefe of electricity to complain about how I just got robbed of all my prepaid electricity credit. To reach him (and I have no doubt it’s a “him”), I’d have to go to the XaiXai office, talk to the next higher up, who would then talk to their boss, who might then bring it to the chefe… Unlike America, not just anyone can talk to anybody. You have to go through the proper channels and, in my opinion, it becomes too much of a hassle than it’s worth. Maybe that’s why they continue to get away with this crap.
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Thanks so much for your continued letters and packages! They really brighten up my day. The latest package I received included maple syrup, which I did not delay in using for French toast!
My updated wish list:
- Coloring books
- Simple watercolor set(s)
- Daily planner
- Dog flea meds
- Dog treats
- Scented candles
Next week... More details on my work in Chicumbane and current projects, July conferences, and hosting a MOZ16 site visit! Stay tuned!
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