Days of Grace

I can’t believe I have been here just over a week and I am already a few shades darker than when I came. I have gotten more sun on the past few days than in the last several months. My freckles are blending together and my nose is pink. Today is a Holiday in Mozambique. I don’t have internet enough to Google it, so I am not sure what we are celebrating. The kids do not have school and I can’t go into town to return my broken lamp. I got it at China Dong, or as the kids here say “China” pronounced “Sheeeeeena”. The Sheena Store has the market on everything. It is sad that everything here is imported and, with all due respect, is junk. I paid $11 yesterday for a plastic shelving unit that wouldn’t be fit for the Dollar Tree. It’s Africa. But it is just not right that cheap China goods dominate what there is to buy and that the prices are insane. We need a Plastics company. I had a very productive day yesterday, still settling in and getting things I need from town. Yesterday we went to Nateti or something like that. It is a little section between the base and town where you can buy tools and fabrics and more of a local market, hidden away off the main road in to town. I have been before with my friend Mark, but he made me stay inside the truck and locked the doors. This time I was riding in the bed of the truck, hot African Sun on my Irish freckled skin. Thank goodness I wore long sleeves. I am typing this with light pink knuckles. I jumped out and took surveillance. There were lots of tools, hammers, saws, all poor quality and very expensive. I could use things like this, but plan to borrow from the base. I was told there was a good fabric place at the end of the road. The shops are made of wood and straw and bamboo and thatch. Fabrics for Capalana’s (traditional women’s attire) are draped neatly along the walls. Mozambican fabrics are nice, brightly colored, and often comical. I have seem them with prints of US Dollar Bills, President George Bush, beetle bugs, and more. The fabrics are fun and pretty and rich in color, but not me. I like soft pastels and solids. I scanned them all and found over in the bolts of men’s suit fabrics of grey pinstripes, a pale orange sherbet cotton dress shirt fabric. I want to make a bedskirt. Every bed, no matter the location, needs a skirt. Plus, it will allow for storage of my suitcases and books and duffle bags turned medicine cabinets underneath. I was pleased with my find. Next, I found, and unsuccessfully attempted to bargain for, grass mats. These are used everywhere here. I love them. They are large approximately 3x5 hand tied grass mats used for bedding, lounging, flooring, walls, anything. It is the closest thing I can find to Seagrass flooring. I bought 2 at $3 each. We jumped back in the truck and a drunk guy tried to get in the back of the truck with me. The woman driving slammed on brakes to try to throw him off, but only sent me slapping up against the back of the truck, where I hit my shoulder and the back of my head. I am fine, but for a moment I saw stars. After some yelling in languages neither of us understood, drunk guy took the hint that he was not wanted and let go of the tailgate and was left in our dust. 

Not speaking the language here is hard. Even though I understand some Portuguese, they speak tribal languages, Makua and Makonde. You really have to pay close attention to other things, peoples faces and body language to determine if they are safe or not. Pay attention and pray. I want to make friends here and want to learn. Mozambicans are so kind and friendly and generous and helpful. I don’t want to offend them by being unkind or trying to protect myself from someone who is just trying to help. Because of this, you have to constantly be on guard, attentive, alert, watching, listening and praying. I don’t like being a novelty. Pemba is growing quite familiar with Westerners, but I still stand out. Some child always yells, Akunha! (white girl) and I know I have been spotted. We stopped again where I was told there were rope beds for sale. There was only one and it was just being finished. A boy, about 12, without an ounce of body fat, pulled on each rope and tied it tightly. He hoisted the bed up over his head and put it into our truck. It later took two of us to unload it. They sold mats there two and I wanted two more. Sue, the Australian visitor, bought them for me! They were 30 cents cheaper. Now I know. We stopped again at the vegetable market where Robin waltzed into the chaos like a pro though having only been once before. She emerged, a good 30 minutes later, with eggplant, tomatoes, cucumber, oranges, and tiny limes. Bananas were also on the list but they wanted too much. We were told to walk away and get them somewhere else. If anyone else is willing to pay that price, the venders stick to their guns, so we have to stick to ours. But it is a huge pain to bargain shop here. Going elsewhere, doesn’t mean just going to the shop next door, it can often be across town, they could be closed, out of what you need, have poor quality and/or be selling the same product for even more. My new theory is: just get it. 

While the ladies shopped for vegetables, I scorched in the hot African sun protecting my new rope bed. I had lathered my face earlier in Neutrogena 50+, but I could feel my skin getting red hot. I didn’t really get burned but for sure got incredibly hot, most likely a little dehydrated and quickly realized that I will need to do more here to protect myself. I am on the lookout for a straw hat. It makes one wonder, was I made for this? We stopped at a typical little open shop. I don’t know what to call them. Kiosk sounds so modern. But they are little open shops, made of wood, for some reason often painted baby blue inside. The walls are high and full of goods. You can always find matches, detergent, canned goods of various sorts, small not-very-good candies, soap, powdered milk. I bought detergent, a kilo was about $5, and a small bottle of bleach. Then for less than dollar I bought a bag of bread rolls from a boy selling them on the street. They turned out to be a little chewy and I could not help but wonder about this boys’ health score rating. It looked clean enough, maybe an 88? 

We stopped yet again for me to return that bloomin’ lamp back to Sheena, but they were closed for Siesta or whatever they call it. I don’t know why the Chinese close for the Muslim tradition, unless they too are Muslim or maybe they are just taking advantage of the chance to get a nap in the middle of the afternoon. I would. But I was able to go back to a little open shop where I had seen some of the most pitiful excuse for plastic shelving you have ever seen. I drove a hard bargain and talked him town to $11 (about the same price I paid for the rope bed). I did not want to pay that, but my groceries are in a cardboard box on the floor. I clenched my teeth and put my cheap bright red made in Sheena shelf under my arm and jumped in the back with my new bed and three hours later, we went home. Now, of course, the cardboard box was all sufficient. I have walked through this scenario in my own life and in being among the poor. I have absolutely been guilty of judging Westerners for their extravagant lifestyles, of not using and appreciating what they have and always having to have more and the best. Somehow in this moment of making this purchase, I did ask myself if the cardboard box would suffice. The answer was no. So I got it.

I was tired and hungry and thirsty. We put the bed on the porch and it feels glorious. There always seems to be a breeze there and the bed is the perfect place to lounge. Mozambicans here use it to sleep on. Sometimes they cover it with a mat, but it is the traditional way of sleeping, for those who can afford one. I pray mine is still on the porch this morning. 

I then took all my groceries, overpriced olive oil and other goods and sorted them on my shelf. Robin helped me. We put down the mats on the floor in my room for comfort and texture and they are perfect. I can still smell them. I am just waking up and trying to decide if I want to dip into my real coffee stash or just use Ricoffy, the instant kind that pales in comparison. I already know the answer. I need to ration the good stuff. 

Last night after dinner we sat out on the rope bed on the porch and Enselmo came over to visit. He is 10. He is my newest friend and a frequent guest. I adore him. The mission school was meeting under the pavilion. We listened in. We walked down further to hear a bit better and heard one of the missionaries from Brasil share about her life there. It was great. She’s amazing. I want to meet her. 

I need to attempt to get on internet today to send this. I am still huddled under my net, but about to scurry out for instant coffee and instant oatmeal sans bananas. We never found them any where else. Oh well. 

Perhaps we can get to work on the bedskirt today and you are going to love it. I am too. It is the small things. 

I just walked out on the porch with my instant coffee and chewy bread roll. The bed is still there but apparently Enselmo etched the letters G and L into the frame. I am going to ring his neck. :) Ok, maybe not. But give him a really good talking to.