Puppies, banking, and men- oh my!!

When my APCD came by last week for a site visit, she remarked, "Wow, your dog looks like a goat!" Poor pregnant Mel just gets no love. I left for a beach weekend in Tofo with Erica and Alycia and when I came back, I did a double take upon seeing skinny Mel. "Where's your BELLY??" I exclaimed, touching her underside just to make sure I wasn't imagining things. I followed her out of the house where, under the bushes behind my neighbor's outdoor kitchen, she plopped down proudly next to a pile of rats- er, puppies. I'm a grandma!!!
I threw all eight squirming pups (I found a 9th puppy dead at the bottom of the dogpile) into a basket and carried them into my house, where I let mom and babies set up camp under my living room table. (Until their constant squeaking and crying throughout the night forced me to move them into the kitchen, further away from my bedroom. The puppies are still blind and can't walk well, so they'll often roll away from the pack and then cry when they can't find their way back. So pathetic.) Their father must have been that one black and white dog that came by in the evening a few times, because four of the puppies are dark, dark black with white bellies, and the other four are brown like mom. It's been an exciting week for our family!

Work has slowed down… if not skidded to a complete halt. Tsembeka hasn't received funding from EGPAF in a few months so some people, including my main counterpart the coordinator, don't even have money to get to work. Which means I usually just sit around for an hour, listening to the activists chatter away in Changana, until I decide to go home. "You're leaving?? So soon?" They ask when they see me stand up, as if they're surprised that being ignored is not my idea of a good time. Once they asked, "What do you do when you go home? Just…sit?" I could see they were mystified by my desire to sit at home and do nothing, versus sitting at the office and doing nothing. "Well, I'm in the middle of a lot of projects right now," I explain, and it's true.
My REDES girls haven begun their capulana earrings project, and it's going well. They come in small groups to my house and we sit under the shade of a mango tree and sew. They're all eager to learn, but less patient to get it right. "The quality of the product that we're selling needs to be consistent," I tell them when they turn in one neatly sewn, and its identical pair hastily and messily finished. For some reason, the first of the pair always turns out nicer than the second.
I'm also planning a REDES exchange with three other groups in Gaza Province. Planning a full day event for about 80 people (including girls, facilitators, volunteers, government officials and misc visitors) is a lot of work! I've been scurrying back and forth from Xai Xai to run errands and to meet with the other volunteers.
After spending 3 ½ hours at the bank on Thursday to get a new bank card, I decided that Internet Banking is the way to go. (Especially next year, when I am Financial Coordinator for the REDES program and will constantly need to make transfers and deposits.) You'd be surprised at how INefficient banking can be in Mozambique.
As I stood in a line that seemed to be getting longer ahead of me the longer I stood there, I felt a sharp nostalgia for my bank back home. Ah, clean, air conditioned, efficient Wells Fargo with friendly bankers that know what they're doing… How I miss thee. Weird, right? Of all the things to miss.
But really, it wasn't my imagination that was fluctuating the line at Barclays Mozambique. People walk in the door, get in line to grab a form from the bankers behind the desk (because the forms need to be regulated so that people don't grab multiple forms and don't start a new form every time they mess up), sit down to fill out the form (and believe me, it takes forever for them to do even a simple one), and then get back in line in their previous spot. At any time, people are stepping out and getting back in line at arbitrary spots. I snapped at a man who tried to slide in front of me, and he protested, "But I was here behind this guy!" "What, forty minutes ago?" I asked, and made him get behind me.
Once you get to the front and are standing before the counter, the banker will help you when he/she is good and ready. So you could, for example, be standing there helplessly for a good ten minutes before they even so much as look at you. "You didn't write out the amount in words," The banker grumbled at me the first time I filled out a withdrawal form. I asked for a pen. "You need to step out of line and fill it out and then come back," He grouched I took two steps to the right, scribbled the amount, and slammed the form on his desk again four seconds later. Did I mention that I hate going to the bank in Mozambique?
Fortunately, Mozambique hasn't taken any of the sassiness out of me. The other day while I was sitting in the front seat of a chapa (my favorite seat, because I get to open my window and no one can complain), a man knocked on the window and wanted to get in. Instead of scooting over to the middle seat (which, to be honest, isn't a seat at all. It's the middle armrest with a cushion on top and no backrest so essentially, the bitch seat of all bitch seats.) I started to get out of the car so he could get in first. "They say the woman always sits in the middle, and the man next to the window," He said sullenly. "The man can sit in the middle too," I responded as I motioned for him to enter. "Me?? A man? Sit in the middle?" He protested. "Yup. Get in." He climbed in and for a sec I thought he was going to be an asshole and refuse to move from the window seat, but he kept going and sat in the middle, even though he was practically pouting. "Who's going to catch you from falling out the window if the chapa gets in an accident?" He asked, and the thing that most made me want to laugh was the fact that he was actually being serious. "I don't need the help of any man," I informed him, as I got into the passenger seat after him and slammed the door shut.