"First world horrors"

Dear Ina, 

"First world horrors." I collide with them every day now, given that I wake up in the first world every single morning. I wake up in a big bed with clean sheets not soaked with my night sweats from the insatiable heat. No nets and no mozzies on my face or biting my ankles. When I turn on the light, it comes on. Every single time. But I still rush to the wall outlets to plug in draining electronics for fear that the electricity will run out. I am used to everything running out. Because that is the way it is isn't it? Petrol today. No petrol tomorrow. No electricity Sunday's. No milk. No dairy. No cell service. No water. No berries. Impassable roads. No way to protect myself. No money in the ATM. Even though I have loads, Barclay's hasn't a single Mozambican meticai. Every shadow out of the corner of my eye is a gecko on the wall. Or rat in the corner. But neither of those of here. I get to drink my coffee in complete solitude. I don't have to check the empty cup for nightly squatters.

When I finally make it outside, everyone is busy and preoccupied. No one even notices me. No one screams "FOREIGNER" in their native tongue. No children grab my hands to walk with me. No teenagers offer to sell me their fly covered fruit. It is lonely. No one notices me and no one notices each other. We honk and pass and zoom and move so incredibly fast here. I can't keep up. I loiter and linger and long for someone to hold my hand. Their problems as you say are "pathetic". It’s embarrassing really. I try to extend them some grace and act like I care, but to be honest, I don't. Not one bit. And now I am surrounded by them. Outnumbered. By not just rich, but filthy rich who because of their money feel powerful, seem to know everything, but are clueless. And then I am stuck with the guilt of disliking them and judging them. Every day. "You stupid prick.", enters my mind every day and I know that is not kindness or goodness or love. It is me being impatient and my own close-minded prick of my own kind. They have value. They are important and they matter but I really need help seeing it. But I see them as predictable and boring- the country club set that I am now encountering daily. The shoes, the fashions- predictable society. They are fun to watch, mind you. They entertain me at the very least but there I go belittling them again. Jesus help me. So I still have a long way to go.

More first world horrors for you…Oh! Women are rail thin. Starve themselves. Plates and plates of wonderful food right in front of them and they won't eat it. Sad. Malnourished rich people. Go figure. They are all quite an ambitious bunch, I will give them that. I like being around ambitious people. They wear different outfits every single day so I have trouble remembering their names since they all look so very much alike.

One thing that is great about first world is not being so bloody afraid all the time. The police here are generally good guys who are out to save and protect me. On a given day I never have to worry about being attacked or robbed. I think that is one of my favorite parts of first world living, feeling peace so deeply I sleep better.

I miss the modesty of the third world. Maybe it was just because I lived on a mission compound or maybe it was because my cleaning lady veronica would never let me leave the house with my shins exposed. This culture acts so shocked and appalled and runs slick campaigns against sex trafficking but everyone walks around here half naked. Strutting their emaciated frames. Believing the lie that their value is in their perceived beauty and that sex is love. The other day was pasta night at the country club. There were two little girls about 9 years old stuffing their faces. Afterwards as one politely pushed her chair back to the table as she got up, nudge her friend and said, "Look." as she pushed her belly out as far as it would go. She was proud of herself and I was proud of her too. It reminded me of those tight Mozambican baby bellies full of rice and beans. Sadly, she will lose that. She will exchange that innocence for insecurity because this first world society says so. 

But you would love the roads here. They are smooth and all paved and that is nice. Everyone, for the most part, stays in their lanes and there are lines painted on the roads to identify where to drive and signs to tell you when to stop to keep you safe. There are hospitals and doctors, but I can't afford them. Those are for the rich. There are pharmacies on almost every corner with drugs for every ailment and shampoos and lotions for every possible hair type or skin condition in every fragrance under the sun. It’s enjoyable but mostly just overwhelming. The constant electricity/internet are my favorite bits by far. That and family within in driving distance. I love kissing my nephews faces as long as they will let me. 

So there you are Love. A little window into my first world horrors that aren’t so bad. How’s being pregnant in one of the hottest places in the world?

Love,

Grace

Ina is a teacher at the international school in Pemba, Mozambique and is quite international herself. Half German, half Icelandic. She's beautiful inside and out and I miss her and her pancakes. 

and her reply:

Ina Steinke Grace, you beautiful, angelic creature! STOP THAT! I'm hormonal. I can't have you writing me a blog just like that. I didn't even get a tissue! Now I'm sitting in bed with a sting of snot hanging from my nose to my chest...
I had laugh so much though. It's all true. WHAT A CRAZY DIFFERENCE!! And yet we are all human. How did we develop so far from nature's way? The constant striving for materials and skinny and profiles and careers.. Is it something they inject into the 5 kg genetically modified chicken legs? IT'S EXHAUSTING, man! I read in the Icelandic newspaper that thigh-gaps are very important now. They even have uncomfortable plastic thingies to put between the thighs to make that gap - in case you are so imperfect that your thighs dare to touch! Also, post-sex instagram pictures. Like... still in bed and all. Everyone's doing that, apparently. Also, a really long article on how to apply and what make-up to use in order to wake up with a perfectly made up face. 
Can entire nations seriously reach that point of boredom while the rest of the world spends 12 hours a day preparing "the meal" from scratch - including the fishing of it, hacking firewood, attending the crops, pumping the water and peeling the rice..