The boys and the boat.

Swimming with the boys.

Open Sails

Every day here has been so incredibly full. I admit I don't know quite what to do with myself with the vast differences in simply how to do life. At home, I have limitless opportunities and things to do and see and attend. I have always worked and always had a 9-5, it is the only life I know. I said I no longer wanted my 9-5 and instead I got a 7:00am-11pm. Here, in a place where I have no car and very limited opportunities, I have no idea where the days go.  I have done a pitiful job of journaling. A peaceful, restful, quiet morning of coffee and breakfast doesn't exist. I seem to always have a morning debrief from the day before, one on one meetings with mission school students or other missionaries. The mornings start full force with little time to ease your way into the day. The days are hot and that can wear you out. You really do have to pace yourself and eat right and drink water and take all  precautions in order to physically do the day. I rarely get in to town. I rarely sit down to journal. I rarely sit down. Or so it feels. 


I don't get to the sea near often enough. On the day I went swimming with the dolphins I noticed a lovely yacht. It was impossible not to notice her. A yacht in the midst of little wooden hand carved boats. She stood out. I said out loud to Annelie, "I want that boat". I said it loud and emphatically. She laughed and told me how her father will say, "I want cake" (or something frivolous or extravagant) and her mother will correct him like a child, saying, "Do you want it or do you need it?". And he will answer, not matter what it is, " I NEED cake". "I NEED coffee". "I NEED a yacht". We all do this. We laughed. We walked to the leaky wooden dhow and threw in our gear. 


One day this week, in the midst of a very full day, a friend had asked me to help her take a group of our boys swimming. We were supposed to go at 10. That changed to 12 and then to 1, but I had class at 2. I assisted in getting the boys to the sea. It involved one boy crying and my having to carry him on my hip the whole way, his tiny feet hitting my knee with each step, tears and snot on my shoulder. Two boys fought. One got lost (temporarily). We attempted to take a picture. A stranger noticed us. White girls with a dozen black boys. He asked if we were missionaries. He had a boy who was with him go to his boat to get his card for us so that we could contact him. He had a need. He wanted to do some "charitable work" and wanted to take 10 of us out on his boat if we wanted to go. "The one out there". "There?". "Yes, there". "THAT one"?...Oh, it's the boat that I NEED. The yacht. 

I went out on it today. It was lovely. I went with 9 other friends and we had an absolute blast. I think what I may have enjoyed more than being on the boat, was getting to see how incredibly blessed the other 9 were to be aboard. It was fun to be able to bless them. It was fun to hear the guys giggle like girls as they jumped and dove and snorkeled and played. We had packed a picnic of potato salad, couscous, chicken and rolls. We stopped and got mangos at the little roadside stand on the way. We swam until we were ravenous and then feasted. 


Now I am at this place where I feel like I simply have to speak out what I WANT. Whether it be coffee or cake, curriculum or teachers or instructors, and insight and revelation into a culture so different from my own, He knows. He knows that sometimes this all looks like way too much. He knows that the logistics and meetings and planning and preparation and research and hours of classes and discipleship and training and instruction can be exhausting. Yet, it doesn't have to be. He just asks us to co-labor and He never said it had to be 50-50. As a matter of fact, it seems a bit more like 90-10 and my only job is to ask. 

Happy Thanksgiving

In 2008, I ran a half-marathon on Thanksgiving Day. As soon as I finished the race I drove north to Hartwell and ate absolutely guilt free. In 2009, we opened the doors for Cherokee Town and Country Club's new renovation grand opening. I rang up tickets from the waitress station in the corner. I got to feast on the finest of Thanksgiving cuisine. And again in 2010, I celebrated this day of thanksgiving, serving tea and coffee, no longer mesmerized by the elaborate banquet and cornucopia set before me. I was annoyed that I actually had to work on the floor, be nice, stay as late as I did and just wanted to be with my family. But I got paid time and a half and I got to eat Chef Heather's banana pudding. When I finally got to Carla's, cranberry sauce in hand, I was too tired to even eat. Thanksgiving 2011 is certainly one I will never forget. There were no chandeliers, linen tablecloths, centerpieces with real once live turkeys, no little girls in tights, no petit fours, no butternut squash risotto, no warm chocolate bread pudding. But there WAS pumpkin pie! 


Halliburton oil and gas company is here in Pemba. Somehow they found out that we were here and about the work that we do and they wanted to help. So they gave us Thanksgiving! Obviously our kids have never had or even heard of Thanksgiving, but they feasted like professionals. Rumor has it that there were 60 turkeys and 50 hams and I saw with my own eyes the biggest vat of mashed potatoes I have ever seen. But you know me, meat feasts are not my idea of a good time. They also served hamburgers, hotdogs, corn, rolls, mangos, and pie. There was not a green vegetable in the room. I went straight for the pie, pumpkin pie! I sat with the youngest children, two and three year olds. They didn't know quite what to do with all this foreign food. They are used to rice and beans. 

I think over 1000 people were served in all. It could not have been more drastically different than my last Thanksgiving, where the meal was prepared by one of the 50 Master Chefs in the United States, with perfected recipes and ingredients. The pastries were prepared by a former Top Chef contestant. My fork was real silver. This time I ate with my hands! The extremes are mind blowing. There is no place else I would rather be. The only thing that would have made it any better would be having all of you join in. 


I am going away next weekend with the girls. I have been asked to godmother two teenage girls and am very much looking forward to getting to know them and spending time with them. We only have 3 weeks of class left before we break for Christmas. 

As you can see I am having a blast. It still has not really hit me that I live here. But I am sure making the most of it. Saturday my neighbor wanted to get away for the day. It is nice to get off base, relax, take a nap, enjoy the beach and rest. So that is exactly what we did. We packed books and ipods and towels and sunscreen and water bottles. We drank Cokes and watched the sunset. We swam in the ocean. We took pictures. I am so glad I bought that camera. It is a necessity here. Even it doesn't capture the beauty. There are not words to describe.
Life on base has been hectic. My days are constantly full and I rarely sit down. Even now I must leave to go to Staff Meeting and will then have class after that and then I have a meeting with an ESL teacher and then small group. Yesterday was full too and my cell phone starts to chime first thing in the morning with text messages inquiring about one thing or another and the next thing I know my calendar is full and next week is already busy. We had a great planning meeting yesterday as we prepare for a meeting next week to set our 2012 calendar. I think it will look like this:
            Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday
9          ESL---------------------------------------------
10        Business-----------Community Health-----2:2
11        2:2-----------------------------------------------2:2
12        --------------------LUNCH-----------------------------
1          2:2-----------------------------------------------2:2
2          ESL----------------------------------------------
3          Business-------------Community Health----
4

The 2:2 is a two on two meeting, where another missionary and I will meet with two of the kids. We want to find out their dreams and interests but also use Life Coach type tools and find out more about their personalities and strengths...Eeek. Running late. More later.

a saturday sunset

Once Upon a Time

This morning I drove up the beach to a spot where friends visiting here from Northern Ireland were taking their baby for a swim.  I have actually been to the sea with this couple before, while visiting them in Northern Ireland. Their son had not been born. They were so gracious and inviting and real. They taught me how to have proper tea. We ate really good chocolate and watched “Enchanted” and sang along. We cooked together and prayed together and laughed together. They are teaching here in the mission school. They’ve started a church in Northern Ireland that started out of a small home group where they simply did life together. They want to go to Cambodia. They want to bring children out of trafficking. We caught up a little while their son wiggled and ate a breakfast roll with jam. He is a typical one year old, bites in both hands, mouth overly full. 

They left for a meeting and I realized that this was one of the first times I had been alone with the ocean view and nowhere to be for another 45 minutes. I ordered lunch; a Greek salad and a pizza. The Greek salad is mostly for the Feta cheese. I crave dairy. The olives are black with pits and rather ordinary, but are a salty treat. The pizza here is a guilty pleasure. It is simple, thin, gooey and inexpensive. I stared at the ocean and then chubby tourists in bikinis haggling with the jewelry sellers on the beach. I try to look local, so I take out my phone and actually have a few texts so I write those people back. My friends have asked for bleach. We’ve been out of water for awhile- don’t ask. I look at my watch. The shops are closed. I try a nearby barraca. They don’t have any. But they have laundry detergent and sardines, which the owner offers me in its place. At this particular barraca I didn’t even have to get off the scooter, the owner came out to me. I am just even now realizing how this scooter/motorcycle thing was a childhood dream of mine. I always pretended that my bike was so much more than what it really was. I wanted to be Ponch or John and ride my motorcycle to save good guys from bad guys. Not only did I want to BE them, I also wanted to marry them. This is one of the pleasures of being a girl, you get to be the hero and marry one. And now I laugh at the comedy of this plastic scooter and oversized helmet and how she never starts on the first push of my heel and how utterly unladylike and so not glamorous it all is or isn’t. But I scoot around like I am saving the world from bad guys even though I am just trying to find bleach for a waterless toilet.

I go to class where the students are studying dehydration, diarrhea and malaria.  They are taught how to make rehydration solution. They make some and taste it. They learn about fever and take my temperature. It was 36. After class I jump back on the scooter. She cranks successfully after making me look really dumb, using all that I have got to give her life, hair in face, lots of sweat. I have learned to crank her side-saddled-ish. I don’t even bother getting on until I know she is alive. I simply stand and use the foot start crank thingy and can do this a little more daintily, and powerfully, while standing. I am learning. We scoot off to find bleach. I have been given directions to a shop. The directions include “turn at tree”. I find the shop and it is open. They don’t have bleach but they do have ice cream. But it is crazy expensive and not at all natural, made with vegetable fat and expired last month. I put it back. Defeated, I bought some mango juice and left. I then scanned pedestrians on the way home for the notorious yellow vested ones. As I knew I would, I spotted one and putted up beside him and made my transaction in Portuguese without dismounting my untrusty stallion. I scootered home and met with Steve and two students helping us form curriculum and write out our long and short term goals and our objectives. And this is not make-believe. It is real world. And I live here. And our dreams are taking shape and our conversations all come down to relationship and our ultimate desires to, out of relationship, friendship, discipleship, simply turn the mirror and show these kids what we see in them. It is exciting and frightening at the same time. But I am (incredibly humbly) the hero and I am married to the Hero and the story has a very good ending.

a day at the beach

I was really hoping to add to these and will when the internet permits. This weekend was extraordinary. Just an exclamation point on the extravagant love of God and His desire for us to ENJOY! I can't believe that this is my life. I cannot believe that it took me so long to get to this place. I can't believe that what all I gave up gets turned back into the richest blessings. I used to live to get down to Sea Island or Seaside once a year. It still has not hit me that I live here on the most beautiful beach in the world. I could paint a bleak picture of my life of suffering; the heat, intermittent water and electricity, life in the 5th poorest country in the world. It is pretty spartan, a life so different than one in the West. But days like this are so lavish and so rich and so majestic that I can't not share them. 

Saturday, I woke up early and joined a boat of friends. The boat is wooden and leaks but has a motor and a Mozambican driver. I recognize him. He took me out the last time I went. I have my own snorkel and mask but I grab a pair of fins and hoist myself in. We lather each other in sunscreen and scan the horizon as we coast on water smooth as glass. It is worth getting up early. The sea at 7am is breathtaking. So still. 

We see a school of dolphin and the Captain brings our boat up next to them. We quickly put on our gear and flop out of the boat. I see them coming! I plop my face in the water and swim toward them!! They are so close. They swim right underneath me. I have trouble even keeping my eyes open because a whole school of very big mammals is swimming toward me and I want to close them tight, but they dive deeper and swim right underneath me. I can hear them! They swim off and we pull ourselves back into the boat and set off to chase them again. We found them another time or two but only got really close that first time. It was worth it. Some times they stay and play and swim in circles and let you swim with them. Not too disappointed, we then went over to the beach at Londo and snorkeled in the reef. So many fish, so many colors, so many varieties. Did you know there is a fish out there with the face of a dog and the tiniest little fins that flutter to keep his very large body afloat? I love the underwater world. 

We came back by 11 or so and showered off and gathered up our blankets and snacks and hats and more sunscreen for a beach picnic. We drove out in 4x4 Land Rovers to a very remote beach, primitive, pristine, untouched. You can have your Seaside and your Sea Island, give me Maranganha! White sand, crystal clear water, seashells by the seashore. We unloaded our baskets and pots of pasta and potatoes and joined our friends roasting chicken on a makeshift grill. While snorkeling at Londo my friend, Annelie spotted a man walking along the shore with three large lobster. She offered him 250 Mets ($10) and we rode back with lunch. We threw them on the grill too along with garlic butter bread and pulled icy Cokes in bottles from the cooler. We feasted. Bridget passed around a loaf of banana bread, sliced neatly with Johan's pocket knife, and we feasted some more. We put a kettle of coffee on. We spread out our capalanas and kikoys and napped in the shade. 

Annelie and I decided to walk off our lunch and walk back up the beach where we were meeting a large group for a birthday bonfire. We walked along the rocks and watched the sun slowly set and there are no words to describe it. Pictures won't even do it justice. We joined the bonfire and passed around cookies and sweets and sipped coffee. Then, just as the stars came out, the moon began to peek up over the ocean. It was deep red, then vibrant orange and we all stood in silent awe and wonder as we watched the moon rise to position in the sky and light a path across the sea. This was my Saturday. 

I can't help but shake my head and wonder how many more days like this will be set before me. Better is one day in Your house than thousands elsewhere. I got glimpse, a little Heaven on earth.

a damsel in distress (not really)

A few hours after I wrote that last post, I went to town on the scooter. It was actually quite funny because I took my friend Nathalia. She's in her 20's, Columbian (not South Carolina), beautiful and hilarious. We decided to go through the village to avoid having to go the very, very long way into town. The road is under construction but a cut through the village puts you out just on the other side of the construction. Chickens clucked and children squealed as we putted through the tiny dirt trails. The village is always eye opening, even though both eyes were fixed on the path in front of me and the man in a yellow hard hat on a motorcycle who told me to follow him. The poverty. The garbage. The smoke. The faces. All on the other side of the wall of where I live.

We finally reached asphalt and whipped into the bank, got bread at the bakery, YOGURT!, apple cider vinegar, crackers, and olives. All at Whole Foods prices and Save Rite quality. All except for bread. It's cheap. I had noticed that we kinda puttered to a stop and tried to start the scooter when we left the bank. No dice. So we decided to call a cab, just in case. Sure enough, she would not start. The barefooted man selling mangos nor the mcel boy in the bright yellow vest selling phone credit, could not start it either. I always appreciate their efforts to do exactly what I had just done 10 times, but men are men all over the world and I appreciate their kindness and tolerate their belief in being the superior sex.

The cab driver was incredibly nice and patient and even attempted, much to my absolute shock and then awe and then full entertainment, put the scooter in the trunk of his car! Surprisingly, that didn't work. It just spilled gas all over the place. But then I heard him negotiate and ask the yellow vest boy to push the scooter for me. I had told him that I simply wanted to get it back to the place I bought it and actually said all that in Portuguese. The boy agreed to do it for 50 Mets ($2). Genius. But then there was the trust issue of him doing it and not just pushing it home. So we followed him there at a snails pace as cars whizzed by us, not at all perturbed or surprised, as if this happens every day- a boy pushing a scooter in the middle of the road while one white girl and one brown girl sit in the back of a cab that reeks of gasoline going two miles an hour, texting our friends to let them know we were going to be a little late. I called the scooter shop owner and let him know I was coming. He served me coffee while I waited for what I knew would be the inevitable. The mechanic could not fix the bike right away but he would work on it tomorrow and bring it to me. Tomorrow was yesterday. The shop owner offered for his "driver" to take me home. I realized I needed eggs and, in Portuguese asked him to stop at a barraca and I got eggs. I could not have done that on the scooter, so I was pleased that something worked out. He got out with me and even carried my purchase of eggs in a plastic bag back to the beat up truck that didn't start on the first or second try. A perfect gentleman, he delivered my 12 eggs  and overly-caffeinated self safely back to my little house, redeeming the male species.

Footnote: Promised yesterday, I still have no bike and am awaiting Luis, the mechanic's arrival.

It's Fall you say?

It is hot today. The air seems still and I cannot find a breeze. There is no power today so a fan is futile. I have fast (by Moz standards) internet now but that won’t work either. Tomorrow marks my one month anniversary. We will have class today at 2, English and then Business. I look forward to their arrival. A mission school student is going to speak on Hospitality and Tourism. We met yesterday with the ministry director and walked over the school property. They are hoping to build on to the current building. We would like an additional classroom, office/meeting room and maybe bathroom but at the moment the property has no sceptic tank so that may not be a possibility. The offices are almost finished and I even have a key now. My neighbor gave me her desk! There is a large veranda off the back of the building and it backs up to the front gate of the property. We would like to put a bamboo gate on both sides and close off the veranda, plant bougainvillea, and grass, put chairs and rope beds to use as lounge chairs and sofas and make a garden space. We could even have a classroom there. A church in California donated cans of chalkboard and dry erase board paint. Now I am on the search for plants, pots, planters, a gardener, bamboo, doors, locks and back to the market where I got the big bruise for rope beds and mats. I left that part out I think. It was not a highlight but Mom wrote last week concerned about me. Evidently in the photo of Robin and me you can see a bruise on my arm. It was kinda big. A result of riding to the market in the bed of the truck. A drunk guy tried to get in the back with me and the driver slammed on brakes. It only thrust him into the back and me against the cab. But now I know how to get there and can get rope beds and mats and fabric and door locks. 

I am scootering around like I have been doing it all my life. Not that I would ever want to have one under any other circumstances but for here, it works. I scootered out to a friends house last night and played cards. I actually need to scooter up to the gas station as I have almost gone through a tank of gas now. 

I am elated to have fast-ish internet and even got to ichat for a few minutes with Laura. Words cannot describe getting to see her face. She was all bundled up in a sweatshirt. Fall? I got an email for Black Friday Ads and thought how silly, only to realize that Thanksgiving is this month! There is a large company, Texas based, working here in Pemba. They have discovered us. They’ve made friends with some of the staff and see the work that we do. They are going to throw us a proper Thanksgiving feast. I have heard they purchased something like 50 hams, 70 turkeys, 150 pies. They lost me at pie and I can hardly wait!

As I write this, I have three visitors. I wish I had a camera. They have come to play the one game on my cheap cell phone. Something like Bedazzled, something about gems in rows. They are patiently watching the ring leader play on the tiny screen. One boy has very long eyelashes. They are all about 8 or 9. I wish Carson were here to play with them. They construct handmade sling shots and are all soccer stars. 

Steve dropped by and we are making plans. He is working to coordinate letting all the students know about class today. I am to meet with them today and schedule appointments with the Business students. We have some ideas for small businesses and want to see what their interests are and ways we could merge the two. 

the window seat

1st Days of Class

Teacher's Pets- Every one of them. They are all my favorites.

Will from Georgia teaching English

scootering

The internet has, once again, been down or slow and I have not been able to write. But I do try. Even now as I write this, it is going on and off and I am hoping that by the time I finish I will have a tiny signal, enough to hit send. I scootered into town yesterday! The road to town is under construction and it could take a very long time before it is repaired. I had to go the long way. Up a big hill and over by the airport. The road into town from that was has one of my favorite views. It is a little valley full of huts and mud houses with thatch and sometimes metal roofs, Boabob trees all in the mix and then the ocean. I stayed hugged on my side of the road, the left. Motorcycles and flatbed trucks rumbled past me as the engine on my little scooter whined as I revved her up to 40km/hr. That was as fast as we've been and we were going down a hill. I can't see out of the side mirrors unless I duck down and lean to the right and even then the mirror is so tiny. I have learned that the helmet will fit if I wear my hair in a bun. The wad of tangled bun takes up the slack and the helmet stays in place. I drove intently to mcel to buy the overpriced internet stick. I proudly parked my scooter in front of the store, removed my helmet and shook out my hair like they do on TV. Far from a Charlie's Angel, I was dripping with sweat, and my tailbone hurt from the very bumpy ride, wearing my college backpack, I limped inside. Surprisingly no one was in there and I walked right up to the counter and got what I needed. I attempted to make the purchase entirely in Portuguese but the guy looked at me, annoyed and asked me to speak in English. I thought I had done quite well. Maybe it is the Southern accent? :) I got the stick and the SIM card which I didn't even think about will have to also be registered which means yet another trip back to town. Here they register your card with your Passport. I am not sure who is keeping up with all of that; who owns cell phones in this country and where they live and how old they are, but I reckon it is important for some reason.
After mcel I drove up to the bakery, then to the store that is supposed to have cheese but they didn't so I bought a candy bar instead. Then I went to find apple cider vinegar but saw boys selling limes and got those and then saw more boys selling tomatoes and cucumbers and even though they were more expensive, I didn't want to go back to the vegetable market so I just bought from them. There is a rhythm and a dance to Pemba shopping. I am horrible at it. I suddenly feel like I am doing 100 things at one time and you have to be creative and think on your feet because the chances of actually finding what you set out to get are slim to none. At home, I peruse the aisles and see what looks good and make a meal from that. You can't really do that here. The options seem limited, random, poor quality, and/or expensive. I am grateful for my daily meal of hot rice and beans here on Base. But I am determined to learn how to do this, to find Feta for cheap and prepare a whole meal with all food groups from my in town purchases.
I scootered back, the long way home, having transitioned to my large army back pack Laura gave me, full of bread, raw vegetables, a can of black beans, melted chocolate bar, milk and my unregistered mcel stick. I nervously avoided the massive potholes or really just chunks of missing road and gave my angels a thrill as trucks narrowly passed by me. I forgot sunscreen on my arms and now I have a little farmer's tan from the excursion.
I then went and scootered through the deep sand out to the beach and met with some of the other missionaries. I ate a pimento cheese sandwich I brought from home. Home. Home? Yep, my little home on the hill of Joy Base. In Pemba. Mozambique. Afreeeka.

"I feel like a prisoner on furlough". - Perry Gaspard

I am really at a loss for words. My life has so drastically changed in such a short period of time.  A year ago I sat in an office in a suit in a concrete city and attended boring meetings and prayed to be rescued. Now I am sitting on a concrete porch in a plastic chair. A mangey dog has wandered up and is digging in the red dirt. I have not spotted a lizard yet, but I know he is watching me. Men are singing and clapping in the classroom down the hill and a baby is crying in the Clinic and the South African nurse is telling him how cute he is. The Indian Ocean is over my shoulder. How did I ever truly live in that other life?
The school is up and running until mid December and will resume full force next year. Our curriculum director will arrive in January and we are hoping to have more classes to offer in more advanced stages. We also anticipate visiting teachers, constantly coming and going.
My days are filling up with lots of activity and I am slowly learning to step to the rhythm of life here. Meetings happen when they happen and I always seem to bump into the right person at the right time despite no emails or Blackberry's. It all comes together organically and eventually. It is an hourly lesson in patience.
This morning I am making attendance charts and will do my best to round up the kids before class this afternoon. This is new to them and they are not used to having it on their schedule. I should have an office soon. It is tiny, but has a great breeze and two windows and a door that locks and a tile floor. I will post more photos soon. I feel your prayers.

It's happening!

November 1st marked our first day of classes in an unfinished building. The workers there were baffled and asked why we were meeting in a building that was not finished. The students who arrived on time got lollipops. Every student got a notebook, a pen and a pencil. A recently ESL trained mission school student from Athens, GA named Will, taught for 50 minutes. They practiced greetings and numbers. The students were respectful, attentive and eager to learn. They live in a city driven by tourism and they see the impact that English fluency can have on their lives. We then began our Intro to Business course. Steve shared his dreams to see these students grow and flourish in the talents that God has placed in them. Then Frank, a mission school student, CPA and successful business consultant from California, brought baseball caps as an examples of product marketing, desirability and branding. They loved it. They thanked our teachers for coming. Today is another day of ESL from 2-3 following by Intro to Community Health. I am going to introduce the course. We are then going to begin a 6 week course in training Community Health workers from curriculum developed by Community Health Evangelism (www.che.org). These courses merge teaching and instruction on healthcare with Biblical teachings. I am curious to see this teaching in action and how the curriculum merges the two. 

We have Iris Staff Meeting today at 11 and our Community Health/ESL Vocational Class from 2-4 today and tomorrow. I am still shocked at how quickly things have fallen in to place. We have a school, students, teachers, and curriculum and I have not even been here one month. I am certainly not saying it is all here because of me, it is a team effort for sure, but it is so fun to see my dreams coming true. I am rushing to keep up! 

A Generation of Leaders in Mozambique!

Airport tears

Iris School of Vocational Training

Today is the day. The scooter is up and running and I have even been scooting to base one for meetings and to the beach for a dip yesterday. I love each and every message from home and photos of your babies in costume. I love hearing about apple picking and cool weather. It is hot here. I find myself inadvertently applying deodorant before crawling into bed. I have a meeting in 30 minutes to make final arrangements for the Grand Opening today. We will start classes tomorrow!

Grand Opening!

 Good things are happening with the school. Monday is our Grand Opening. It is nothing like what one would do in the States for such an event. There will be no mayor, city official, no ribbon that I know of. But there will be SEVENTY teenagers, SEVENTY cokes in bottles, cookies and cake, dancing and music and THAT makes a pretty grand opening to me. We will also do skits and will have speakers from the community come and share how an education and knowing English has opened doors for them. The plan for now is to have courses for the next 7 weeks. We will teach Business/Hospitality courses on Monday and Tuesday. These students will do their concentration class first and then have an hour of English. Then students who want to take Community Health will meet on Thursday and Friday for an hour and then they too will have English for an hour following their Health courses. We are using current missionary staff, our mission school students and visitors to help teach. We honestly thought it would be months before we could begin so we are rushing to get things in place to be able to do this coursework over the next 7 weeks.  I just got back from town where Tanya and I purchased the cokes and cookies, 70 pencils, pens, notebooks and a chalkboard. A group donated $500 for supplies and that took about half so we are waiting to see what is most essential. We will need chairs but they are $10 each. We will find a way. Considering wooden benches, but just need to find them and get a truck to go and get them...

The scooter is pure junk, but it is now my pure junk. I ran into the shop owner yesterday and he asked about it and I was quick to tell him that it was not even running. He has offered to send over a mechanic. But the shop closes in the afternoon and I am waiting on them to reopen at 2:30 before calling. I remember when shops in Hartwell would close on Wednesday afternoons. Or maybe that is just the bank. Entire cities in France shut down for months on holiday and whole towns across every continent take afternoon siesta’s, but I am still not used to it. Nor am I quite used to snot rockets or picking your nose in public, but some things are good to be left to ones own cultural beliefs and/or social norms. 

I am also not used to not having internet. I don’t know how I ever lived life or got a complete K-12 education without it, but I did. Here, it is slow to non-existent. There are certain “hotspots” on the base that still remain illusive. All this is to say, if you don’t hear from me, it is because I can’t get online. Even this message I will write in advance and simply cut and paste when the wind seems to be blowing just the right way. 

I said goodbye to Robin this week and it broke my heart. I loved having a mom here to just sit with me, offer advice, take a  good hard look around and encourage me in spite of it all. And sew curtains. And make me French Toast! Mom’s are great. Robin came just for me and endured the rough life here just for me. I will never forget the huge sacrifice she made. She and her husband, for giving her to me for three weeks. It was a priceless, selfless gift and I pray rich blessings over you both for what you did for me. This would have been a very hard three weeks without a familiar face. I really can’t even talk about it. (lump in throat). Let’s talk about something else.

To all my donors I want to again say thank you. I was able to come here and get what I need and still have money left over. I was able to buy the scooter for transportation and my driver’s license and license plate a good stock of overpriced groceries and a desk and storage bins for my things. I am anxious to get started and teach 70 children in Africa to say y’all. I could not get to live this dream without you. I am blown away by your generosity and faithful support. I wish you all could be here to see it unfold. I will do my best, internet permitting, to keep you up to date, informed and hopefully, entertained. 

From my heart, 

Grace

This whole place comes alive when the sun comes up. At the crack of dawn is already rush hour here. I awaken to sounds of children running off to breakfast and then school, employees showing up for work. A carpenter knocked on my door at 7:30 raring to go. I let him in and showed him what needed to be done and paid him to come back in 30 minutes to put a rod under the sink to cover all the rubbish, refuse and water bins. I waited and waited and had plans to go pick up the furniture at 9. He never showed, so I went to the transportation office and waited some more. I was told to wait for Joe and I did that for an hour and then told I was just waiting on some paperwork and waited a bit more. Steve and Cassandra showed up because the whole entire cellphone world in the whole entire country was evidently not working. mcel was completely down and still is. Can you imagine? If all of AT&T just didn’t work for a whole day? I heard not one complaint, other than my own. Finally, at 11 we were off. We had to stop and get gas and we all piled out as we do around here and went in the gas station for a drink. We all got a Ceres Litchi juice for $1 and some off brand Fig Newtons. 

We drove to the furniture place named Maxara (Mashara) but had then decided we were in the area where our friend had told us we could get a motorcycle driver’s license. We are in desperate need of a car, but don’t have $15,000, so we are considering a scooter. Steve wants us to get a motorcycle because it is cooler but the girls have veto power. I hate motorcycles. I think it comes from the horrific burn I got from the exhausted as a little girl at Papa Davis’ birthday party. But I still just think they are loud and dangerous. Maybe if they had Goldwings here but they don’t. They have Figo’s and these really cheap made in China motorcycles and scooters. They are made of the cheapest plastic you ever did see. The one on the showroom floor in Osman’s had screws missing and decal stickers misplaced and uneven. But I just spent the good part of an entire day getting a license to drive one. Once in Maxara we asked where to go to the drivers license place and I saw my table being made, hours from being finished. We drove down a long bumpy dirt road and as always it feels a bit like a parade. I will never forget the drive out to Ibo Island where a dirt road hours off a paved road became more and more desolate, where the sound of a car brought everyone out of the house and the discovery of white people sent children into high squeals. They always give the thumbs up, we make eye contact and we keep going. I pray this poverty stirs me every time. I want to always be compassionate and always be seeking answers.

We drive out to this small painted building, single level, glass windows, several broken. The yard is all dirt but there are rocks in a circle where Mozambican flag is still against a pole. We are told this is the place and we go inside. There are four men there. There is a desk with a notebook and a calculator and a pencil and a few sheets of paper. There is a man with dirty glasses that are crooked on his face. There is a tall thin man with a starched white shirt and a nice smile, the words John Deere in cursive on the collar. There is a tiny little man in a bright yellow golf shirt that hangs almost to his knees, navy pants. A younger man greets us and immediately informs us that the man who we need is not there but he is at home and we can go to his house to get what we need. We don’t want to do that so we ask if they can go and get him. He agrees to this right away, if we pay 50 Mets for him to get the gas necessary to go and get the boss. We are told it is a 20 minute ride away and we realize we are to hunker down for an hour or so. It was longer than that. We sat in this room and talked to the men. They were quite candid and told us that they really never see white people, they asked us if white people married black people. I already knew where this conversation was going. If I had made eye contact I would have gotten four marriage proposals today. They were sweet. They were funny. One guy had been working at that empty office for over 30 years. It is sad that they feel racism, that they have seen a few white people, but never spoken to them. But then again, there are not a lot of white people here TO talk to. We moved out to the porch and lingered, then came inside again. Finally we heard the sound of the motorcycle, where the boy revealed the paperwork without the boss. The men argued over price and we completely got taken for a ride. But we are told that doing this in town takes weeks. This just took most of a day. We paid twice what our friend had paid when he went there. 

The men were all a buzz in the back office filing out our paperwork and discussing our surnames and saying our names over and over. Cassandra went back to see what was taking so long and insisted I come back to look. The office was a bathroom, turned office. Complete with exposed piping and white tiled walls. Smack in the middle of that bathroom was a large metal military type desk where those four men peered over our Passports and International Driver’s Licenses and tiny color photos we had made in town yesterday. 650 Mets each and almost 3 hours later, we were leaving as fully certified scooter drivers.

We then went back into Maxura to get my furniture. The little tables were still wet and he missed a whole lot of spots varnishing them and dirt is mixed in with the varnish, but I took them anyway and didn’t haggle. It is not worth it. They are here in my room now and they are fine. I can touch them up and the look nice and are functional and they work for what I need. The desk remained unfinished but I left promising to come back later. It was about 3:30 at this point and we were all tired and hungry. It could be weeks before I can get a ride back out there and months before I can muster up the patience.

We then went into town to find the bikes. We found one in a fabric store, wall to wall capalana fabric and one motorcycle and one scooter, bright yellow. She told us the shop owner would be there tomorrow and could negotiate a price. It had a helmet case on the back that was broken. We found a similar one in another store where I was then sent to a huge warehouse full of cement and paint and thousands of square feet of major building supplies and somewhere in the middle of all that was a cardboard box. The man opened it up and lots of plastic fell out to reveal a burgundy Made in China scooter. $550. It will get me from point A to point B. We are thinking about it. Because of safety reasons, I cannot walk outside of the base alone. All three of us need means to get to one another, to town, to businesses and to the school. I may be a Shopaholic, but I am not an impulse buyer. We may go again to look at them tomorrow. 

The view as I waited under a Boabab tree on the truck.

The boy who insisted on coming with us carried this bag.

The view on the way there.

The Office

The view on the way back.

Confessions of a Shopaholic

Once on a plane ride, I actually think it was to Mozambique, I read a paperback book titled Confessions of a Shopaholic. I was embarrassed to be reading such a book and wished I could have hidden it underneath War and Peace. But, I was surprised at how good it was and how it made me laugh and how I had done so much of what the girl in the book had done. How she rationalized all her purchases and could “shop” anywhere. She always found something useful, rare, unique or absolutely necessary to buy. Sadly, I am a little like this.

 So now here I am in northern Mozambique and I am attempting to “shop” for my tiny narrow bedroom. This ain’t Buckhead. But oh what fun I am having and determined to do this well. It is a challenge, it makes shopping way more difficult, new prices, new currency, new terrain, new language. I am in my element. Shopping is shopping. Paris or Pemba. After measuring my room and the space that I had, I realized I was going to have to forgo my sketches (yes, I drew sketches) and reconfigure in my head. I had wanted an L-shaped sofa/bed since my bedroom will also serving as “living” quarters as well. I had torn out furniture pictures from Pottery Barn and Restoration Hardware and Horchow and Ballards, just to give the carpenters here ideas of what I wanted. I found a picture of a bench with cushions and three nooks underneath. I need storage and shelf space. I need places to put things that cannot be hung on the sagging rod in my closet. 

I bought hooks at Wal-Mart before I came and even drawer pulls at Anthropologie, in anticipation of my new space. I bought a set of 4 basic black hooks for $1.50 and Robin screwed them in my door for necklaces, a straw handbag, my nightgown and snorkel and mask. 

I found some great straw square baskets for cheap and decided not to do the bedskirt and bought enough to go around the edges of my bed. They are already filled with ibuprofen, sunscreen, insect repellent, and a 6 month supply of toothpaste, shampoo and deodorant. I am still in need of a desk for working and a place to sit other than underneath my mosquito net on my bed. I had asked around and was told there was only one place to go and it was out of town. I went this morning. All I remember is that the destination started with an M, despite the driver telling me more than once. It was kind of far out.  I think my left arm got sunburned. There were two places on the side of the road, across the street from one another. There were beds made of heavy wood and thickly stained. All the decorative trim was bulky and a few of the beds came with built in little boxes on the sides with locks! They were huge and hilarious. I overlooked what was on display and searched behind it all at the raw wood, in hopes of something different. I saw an unfinished door that might have made a unique headboard but I really don’t need a headboard. I crossed the street. My friend, Sophia came too. There I found identical, big, stained chunky furniture with drawers that stick. I didn’t ask about the beds but the chest of drawers were about $150. I am hoping my baskets will suffice. Plus, I have such a small space and don’t have room for much. I dug around a little deeper, mostly because we had driven so far and this place was my last and only hope. I would not get to borrow a truck again and this is the only place there is, unless you hire a carpenter and I still had yet to get a number or address or any way to contact one. I spotted a small end table. Unfinished and apparently left outside often. There were leaves and dirt in the compartment underneath and the drawer had no bottom and the back was made of plywood. The remaining wood was rare and unstained. She had potential. There were two. I asked the guy who came over and stood beside me, unsure of what to say to me, but patiently there in case I broke out in Portuguese.  And I did. Sorta. I asked if he had more. There were two more, overturned in the dirt, the drawers would not close. Sophia quickly joined the discussion. I tried to share my vision of the bench and told her how I liked the drawers and pulled out my brass Anthropologie knob and she laughed at me. Then we commenced to bargaining and got no where. They would not budge. The promised to fix all three of them and stain them and have them ready in 3 hours. I didn’t have three hours.  They were asking a little less then $20 each. They were pretty rubbish, but wood here evidently is expensive and takes a lot of labor to produce. So I have surmised. He will not budge. He ignores my bargaining pleas, just repeating his price and ignoring mine. His persistence won. I agreed to buy all three, with bottoms in the drawers, drawers that close and stained dark brown. Then I pulled out a piece of paper and sketched a desk- yay tall, yay wide, using his tape measure to determine just how many centimeters in would need to be. I sketched a drawer, without pulls, and showed him my pull from my purse. He didn’t laugh but he took it in his hands and looked at it long and hard before handing it back to me. He wanted 1500Mets. I talked him down to 1200. So I am hoping to have a desk custom made for $44 to just fit in the space between my bed and the wall.

I plan to use the three end tables in the space at the foot of my bed for a bench, and even brought fabric from home for seat cushions. Now I am on the lookout for foam. And tall vases. And a full length mirror. I can’t wait to see if this all turns out or not and if he is true to his word and does precisely what my broken Portuguese and spot on Charades instructed him to do. 

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.

a view that will bring you to tears

my friend Enselmo