Not in Kansas anymore

It's been hands down the craziest week of my Peace Corps experience, and I think that's saying something.

PART I: THE STORM
Tropical storm Dando bore down on the coast of Mozambique on Monday, wreaking havoc and destruction in the provinces of Maputo, Gaza, and Inhambane. I woke up to a text from the Peace Corps Safety and Security officer, warning us of heavy wind and rain, and reminding us to lock windows and doors and "secure any flying objects in the yard." I found this rather funny until several hours later, as the wind threatened to tear off my roof and bring trees crashing over my head, it suddenly didn't seem so funny anymore. In my 15 months+ in Mozambique, I've experienced rainy season... But not like this. I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz and wondered if my shaking house might be pulled up entirely by its roots.
The rain was slanted almost horizontal by the wind, coming down from unusual directions and angles. I had to put out two basins to catch water leaking from the roof. My front veranda was soaked, so for the first time in many months I let my whining wet dogs inside. It was nice to have their company later in the evening though when the power didn't come back on and I could hear rats, also driven inside by the weather, scuttling around in my kitchen. I slept with a candle lit most of the evening.
In the morning, the rain had subsided but I found the two basins almost full of water. My neighbor's kitchen had not fared so well. The roof had come off and the cement fortifying the reed had crumbled. All over Chicumbane, trees and branches had fallen. The avocado tree in the yard had surrendered all 40 or so of its fist-sized, not yet ripened avocados. The mango trees were similarly bare. The power didn't come back at my house for over three days.
On the second night, afraid of the pitch black and the rats, I locked myself in my bedroom, only to discover one of the rats residing there with me. It kept scurrying around the room and trying to climb the window behind my bed (right next to my head), so I slept with a flashlight in one hand and a tinfoil roll in the other (This wouldn't be the first time I've beaten a rat to death in Mozambique) It was, however, too quick for me and I got up in the morning deprived of sleep and defeated by a tiny rodent.
On the third day, I sent my empregada in search of charcoal to cook with, as I had run out of food for the dogs. She was sweet enough to cook me two eggs as well, because I hadn't had a hot meal in days.
My phone had run out of battery completely, so when Peace Corps tried to call to check in with me, they were unable to reach me. Fortunately, I was with my counterpart Sam when they called him next, and I was able to assure them that nothing terrible had happened.
The final night before electricity returned, I discovered a nest of squeaking baby rats in one of my kitchen cupboards, each one of which was about an inch long, bald and disgustingly gummy, like some kind of grotesque plastic toy you'd put a quarter into a gumball machine for. I swept them outside for my dogs to eat.
When the power finally came back on, I could feel the electric current running through my walls in the form of little shocks every time I touched or leaned against them. The next day, my neighbors ran over to tell me that my electrical wires were burning. When I went outside, I could see that indeed, the wires above my house were smoking. I called my landlord, who called the electricians, who never showed up. Having dealt with the Chicumbane electricians before, I wasted no time in also calling my friend Calvino, who is just as knowledgeable and far more dependable. He came over with a group of boys and they set about cutting and rearranging the electricity lines while standing on my roof. Their work also included having to trim down some overgrown tree branches in the way of the lines, which they hacked down with a machete. (Note: This is the equivalent of calling your neighbor during a power outage, and having him come over with rubber gloves, a pair of pliers, a machete, and flip flops, and mess around with a power line. Only in Mozambique.)
Furthermore, Saturday, the day before all of Moz15 was supposed to travel to our Midservice conference, the road to Maputo flooded. I repeat: the ONE route to the national capitol became completely impassable. Which leads to...

PART II: THE RESCUE

The conference was to begin Monday. Most volunteers were flown to Maputo on Sunday while we, the Gaza volunteers, were expected to travel overland. With the National Highway washed out, we were suddenly faced with a big dilemma: How to get to Maputo?
Peace Corps came up with an emergency plan. On Sunday, all 10 or so of us were consolidated at two provincial points: Xai Xai and Macia, and Peace Corps sent three cars into the great Mozambican wilderness to try to reach us by alternative route. (Note: There is no established alternate route. Basically, the drivers went off-roading for over six hours in "bush country.") My group met at KFC in Xai Xai to take advantage of the air conditioning and wait for the car to show up. By 5pm, our hopes had been ignited and doused several times. We received sporadic communication from Peace Corps but no confirmation one way or another. One text message we received from one of the drivers said: "Dear volunteers, please hold on. We are still fighting to get to you. It is not easy but we are fighting." The whole situation seemed surreal, straight out of an action movie. We joked about how ironic it was that we, the closest volunteers to Maputo, were suddenly stranded with no way of getting out and had to be rescured.
As we waited and waited, the other five volunteers and I began discussing alternate ways for us to get to Midservice (including raft, boat, airplane, and helicopter... although our ideas became more and more outlandish as time progressed) and taking bets on what time the car would arrive. Finally, we got another text from the drivers: "Mission Impossible 4 has become impossible." The final attempt to reach us had culminated in the car driving into a forest. We went home incredibly disappointed.
The next day we received new instructions: Get to the train station in Chowke. And off we went, on Mission Get To Maputo day 2. Getting to Chokwe took 2 hours, and then another 5 hours before the train actually arrived. We hung out in front of the ticket counter waiting for it to open, and succeeded in buying our tickets. When the train arrived, however, it was madness. All hell broke loose as people rushed to climb aboard. We had to fight out way on with our big bags, elbowing and jostling other people and getting elbowed and jostled ourselves. Half the people on board had seats, the other half had to stand. A good majority didn't even have tickets- but the fine is only twice the price of a ticket, and still barely more than a regular chapa fare.. well worth it to get to Maputo during a time in which 12 kilometers of cars are backed up at the flood area, and people are sleeping on the side of the road waiting for an illegal boat or for the bridge to be fixed.
The train ride itself has taken about four hours, and we're still not there yet (as of 7pm Jan 23) but we should, finally finally finally, be getting to our destination soon.

PART III: THE CYCLONE

Cyclone Funso, currently in the central regions of Mozambique, is expected to head down South this week. As if our region hasn't been battered enough, we're going to deal with another crazy ridiculous storm that may not spare my house this time. As it stands, I expect to be stuck in Maputo for quite a while.
To be continued...