I am in that moment just above deep REM sleep. I have had 8 hours of lovely, peaceful sleep. My lids are still heavy and shut tight but I see my closet doors, double and white with silver knobs, the sheet bunched in my fist under my chin, my mahogany end table piled high with books, my blackberry dutifully resting on top of a hardback. I open my eyes. I see a drab once white concrete wall, veiled by a mosquito net. I am not in East Point any more. It takes me what seems like minutes, but was really milliseconds, to remember where I am. It is a rude awakening. I lie on my back and picture the globe and the plane route on Delta Flight 200 from Atlanta to here. I have to bring myself back here. This happens every few weeks. I sleep deep and in those first few moments of coherency I have no clue where I am. I have no clue who I am or how I got here. I quickly remind myself, cast off the sheets and start my day.
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I have now been here over three months. As I write this the power is out and I have lit a lone candle in a little glass container. There is rat poop in the wax. Or maybe it is Gecko poop. My neighbor Ruth can tell the difference. Rats live in my ceiling and the poop falls through. Geckos are everywhere. My computer screen has invited every bug and flying insect to come and inspect it. I need to find my headlamp. I want to read in bed.
Last week I went to the Mieze Milk Clinic. I love going to Mieze. It is a small village where two Iris Missionaries chose to invest and create a model of sustainable development. They have created relationship with the villagers there. I have an online article around here somewhere and will post it when I can find it. They have set women up with small businesses with goats and chickens. They have a weekly medical clinic. And they offer a milk clinic for women with twins or who are unable to produce milk. It is common here that women themselves do not have enough nutrition to produce milk or for various reasons, none of which I want to elaborate on, cannot produce milk. I got a complete education in the field of lactation. And I saw things I have never seen before. I also saw the cutest most adorable babies and weighed them in trees just like I did 13 years ago in Zimbabwe. That summer was one of my happiest and it reminded me of that time and how much I love doing things like this. We had many underweight babies but gave them all milk and bottles and they will come every Friday for more.
I found beetroot this week at the overpriced South African store and I am one happy girl.
The weeks seem to fly by here. Even slow days go by fast. This week I have sorted through the few language books I have and am mapping out lesson plans. I bought a few notebooks at a local barraca that also sold apples and oil. I didn’t buy enough. I will get them tomorrow. I would like to get index cards and start making flash cards with vocabulary. Christine sent a care package with The Little Engine that Could inside! It will be a perfect book for reading and I could use more Primary Readers. The list for things I need is growing but it took me coming here to find out precisely what we need. I am hoping to buy a projector for the school soon. There is a lot of curriculum out there in Portuguese on DVD that will be helpful for other subjects. I would like to eventually get a few basic laptops and English Language CD’s and make a little language lab where students can come and learn at their own pace. Did I tell you this already?
The plastic scooter is broken and I am taking it in to a proper mechanics shop in the morning. I can’t wait to see what that looks like. Or how much they charge.
I went and bought fabric on Monday at Natete Market. The boy selling it had a book across his lap and sat on a little wicker stool. After I made my purchase I asked what he was reading and he showed me a Portuguese/English Dictionary. I would like to get that book. It was different in that the words were culturally relevant, like Fire, Breast, Capalana. He had taken notes but I noticed at the bottom in blue ink a small heart with the words Te Amo Juanita. Love is love and 16 years old is 16 years old, from Georgia to Mozambique. I had to smile. He asked me to come back and practice English with him. I think I will. I hope Jaunita won’t mind.
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