i love old people.

I titled it this to make Monty mad. I have adored every moment of being home. One of the highlights was meeting this crowd, the Hartwell Tennis Semi-Retired/Fully Retired/And All Amazing Group. God knows just exactly what we need. And I needed this little team to hit balls with me in the cold and rain three mornings a week. I needed an escape, exercise and to laugh. The constant badgering and heckling on the courts is such comic relief and for those hours on the courts I carry no worries, no lists, no pressure, except from Monty to stay out of no man's land and make no mistakes. Thank you guys for welcoming me in and loving me despite my pitiful game at the net. Thank you, Nancy for asking me a million questions about my personal life. Thank you for the hugs, Gene. Thank you for dinner Carl. Thank you for caring about my health and my kids in Mozambique. Thank you for reading up on where I live and giving to my little dream. You guys are great. See you in the Summer!

There were a few moments I didn't adore so much. Like this one in a creepy doctor's office. Most didn't look like Sub Saharan Africa or circa 1950. All in all I am going to be okay. But I have essentially been diagnosed with a kidney stone too large to pass that has now moved to the lower pole of my kidney and cannot be treated by lithotripsy, ovarian cysts and uterine fibroids. The only one I am concerned about is the stone, should it decide to try to move or shrink just enough to be able to. It could leave me in "pain worse than childbirth". I would not have access to intravenous pain medication, a hospital ER. So I am praying with faith like the Mozambicans for it to just go away and everything else with it. I am not used to sharing all my personal business with the whole world but there are no secrets in Hartwell. So there you go.  Thank you, Dr. Jeff Williams for taking such good care of me. 8 more days.

i am not a wuss.

This really is so not blog worthy and I may regret every word of this. Yet, I have found in the past that sometimes it is best to just come here to say what I need to say and I find it to be my therapy in a way. I get it out. I say it and then it is said and I can leave it here to linger and no longer sit in my mind, bothering me, and waking me up. 

So here it goes. 

I am 35. Single. For most of my adult life I have lived alone. Maybe it is because I grew up in a quintessential, small Southern town, or maybe I am just naive, but I have never been afraid. Staying here now I have often left the key in the front door. I don't lock my car. I am not paranoid. However, I have never had the ever-living daylights scared out of me. I do know living in Africa has made me more jittery and I always assume every flutter, shadow or quick movement in the room are lizards or rats. But I am not a wuss.

Yet, the other night I woke up from a deep sleep to the distinct noise of furniture moving downstairs. I bolt upright. My heart starts pounding in my ears. My mouth goes dry. It sounds like a chair moving across the hardwood floors. Then I hear the teacups. The pretty white ones on the shelf. They rattle. It's raining outside. I think that perhaps it is a bird but there is no fluttering and these are loud thuds, furniture moving across the floor and dishes being used...or taken? I know that I have to dial 911 but I can't help but think, "This is going to be in the Police Report", the awful, comical, embarrassing Hartwell Sun Police Report. I adore The Hartwell Sun. They are champions. But I cannot be in the Police Report. It's such a joke. But, if you've read it then you would know, you can't make this stuff up. 

Then a hear the "beep" of the microwave. I completely, totally, utterly freak out. I grab the phone and dial 911. I whisper the words, "I think someone is in my house" with horrific fear and trembling. I try to rationalize who in the world would rob a house with not much in it really, the TV is circa 1995, and do it in the rain? Did they want things or did they want me? I am not a wuss. But there is someone or some thing downstairs. I hide behind a chair in my room out of absolute terror someone stranger is about to walk into my room any second. I put on a Patagonia fleece, my solution to not having to put on a bra, and fly down the stairs when the policeman arrives at the door. I expect to find it open, ajar, but it is locked and the key is not in the door this time, but safely inside. The brave policeman comes inside and walks over most of the house. Nothing. A teacup holding chocolates is overturned on the shelf. His phone rings, his ringtone, the Andy Griffith Show theme song. I am still too terrified to even laugh at that. He tells the guy on the other end that the house is clear and there is no need to send out the troops. (My words, not his). He tells me it must have been a mouse, but I want to say 1. This house does not have mice and 2. Mice don't drink tea and use the microwave oven or move chairs. I am still pretty much a big mess. I glance at myself in the mirror. I look awful. Sometimes eye makeup removal is just too big a task for me at night and I will forgo it until the morning. A joy of being single. I need not do this. A mouse? No way. It couldn't be. As he walks out the door I yell behind him, "Please don't put this in the Police Report". I don't think he knew what I meant. 

Before he could drive off, I hear noises again. This time they are coming from upstairs. It sounds like slow, steady, footsteps. At this point I am wide awake and all the lights are on and I am now almost certain it is not a person but my heart won't slow down enough so that my brain can even think. I sit on the sofa. I wipe mascara from my forehead. I listen. I swallow. I breath in and out. The noise gets louder and louder. Out of the corner of my now trained eye I see it. A flying squirrel, bouncing down the wooden staircase, each hollow step echoing throughout the cabin. My heart moves from my throat back into my fleece.

I try to go back upstairs and sleep. I know there is simply no way I can catch a flying rodent barehanded. I crawl in bed only to hear him coming back up the steps. Thump. Thump. Across the sea grass flooring. He then flattens himself and comes right under the door. Now we are in an enclosed space. Alone. Together. The intruder and I. The reason Jan. 17 A woman on Shae Drive reported a flying squirrel with Lindt chocolate on his chin had her trapped in her bedroom.

a few things i have treasured

Vocational School Promo Video

done it again

i said i wouldn't do this. that i would rest and relax and take it easy and not stay in the car and in a constant state of going from one place to the next. but i have yet to learn the balance between seeing everyone i want to see and quality time with family and speaking engagements. i can't say no because these speaking engagements are how i am able to do what i do. i love sharing the vision and i love bringing others into the dream. but i am tired.

i have booked my flight back and will be leaving Georgia on Feb 1st. i am slowly gathering all the things i need to take back, which is embarrassingly long. i guess we all have our lists of "must haves" and mine includes walnuts, quinoa, a one of every lotion and body wash Target has to offer. a 6 month supply of toothbrushes and razor blades. i buy and store and pack and categorize. it may be an obsession. it's not easy to go from having access to not. but i stockpile and make lists and plan to arrive fully equipped.

it is time to go back. i miss the kids and life is too busy here. i am still hoping for a few more pajama days and time to rest. to watch brainless television. read a book. i have loved being home but there is so much work to be done. i will be back before we know it. sadly, coming home the hottest time of the year, August, which won't be fun at all. a cruel joke really, to finally reach a season of tolerance in Mozambique to enter hot Hartwell. and only to depart again as we reach fall and Pemba's temperatures rise.

thank you all for giving, praying and loving. -G

let us hear from ya

I'm practicing my Southern. Someone asked me just yesterday where I was from and I gave him a quick drawled Hartwullll like a local. I'm home and loving it but few moments go by without my wondering what's going on without me in Mozambique. Twice now I have mistaken a screaming child for a bleating goat and once I thought I spotted Ishmael in The Dollar Tree. I have not stopped since I got off the plane and even though I told myself not to stay so busy I kinda am. But it is a good busy and it is an entertaining rest, kinda like Granny McCarley's "wet rain".

My most treasured moments are just sitting on the sofa with friends, so close we touch. I have twice now visited friends and taken a nap during the visit. This either means my friends are very close or maybe they are just old. Myself included. I treasure the naps and the closeness of those relationships. I am sitting with a friend now. It has been my only moment with Internet and uninterrupted time. The only reason I can write instead of visit is because she is napping. We are under bad fluorescent lights and poor thing is in a hospital gown about to have her gall bladder removed. I am perfectly happy. Just glad I can be here for her. Glad to have friends like this. Kinda enjoying the quiet and watching her sleep and happy I can help.

I recently overheard two Hartwell locals catching up across the dinner table. They knew each other so well. Apparently went to high school together 45 years ago or so. They asked about each others kids and grandkids, calling everyone by name and knowing each other so deeply. I thought, "What a gift". To know each other so well, to have grown up together, to raise your children alongside each other, grandchildren. To enter each others' homes and go to the fridge like it is your own.

I adore being in Hartwell. But I absolutely don't belong. Just simply not where I am supposed to be. Sometimes I can almost hear the audible voice, "you don't belong here". The belonging of somewhere else is greater. For now, Mozambique is my home. Now that I am in this life, I see how it will forever be a part of me and home may never be America and I am completely at ease with that. Where He leads I will follow. The adventure with God is way better than all I could ever hope or imagine.

I am playing tennis three days a week with the retirees and having an absolute blast. They have welcomed me into their little group with open arms. It blesses my soul. We have fun and they are all very good and wear me out. I will miss them.

I am sending photos of all I see and do here and am sending back to my friends in Mozambique, things I know they will love seeing, like good food and Fall weather. Here's a sampling...

HOME

It feels amazing to be home. I love that I made it in time to see these autumn leaves. I took a day to rest under a big blanket on the sofa, read magazines and get on the INTERNET! I get excited about hot baths and getting to drive on smooth roads. Every meal is a delicacy.

I met my sister and her family at 211 Main in Lavonia for lunch.  A stranger couple watched me pull in and jump out of the car and hug my family all waiting outside their van. They stood and watched as I planted kisses on everyone and hugged them tight, spun them around. They asked if they could have a hug too. Christine and Axel came and Laura, in Kentucky, called ahead to have them present me with gourmet cupcakes announcing the sex of her baby.

Of course I miss my family back in Mozambique and I am already distracted with so much to see and do here. But I am simply elated to be home, in a big bed, under a big quilt, with free wifi, coffee in my cup. I am going into town today with the top down. I will blare the radio and sing to the top of my lungs. We are so so blessed to live in this country. You have no idea and I can never explain it to you. My gratitude is deep and my appreciation never more sincere. I am still processing and taking it all in.

I guess the one thing that I want to say is to encourage you to do the same. Drink it in.

coming and going

i'm in joburg, departing for home tonight. mixed emotions of leaving my mozambican family behind and my amazing students. looking forward to the easy life of running water and internet and good food. but i know i will miss my students, my friends and the sea. it is hard to go back in many ways that are impossible to explain. you all have been living life without me for a year now. i know you but you are not a part of my life and i'm not a part of yours. i feel disconnected from what used to be my home, but want to wedge myself right back into it all as if i never left. living among poverty changes you. i live in such an extreme world of contrasts. it is also a hot, hectic, rough, intense atmosphere. coming home is relaxing to my entire being. but i also feel unknown. i live a very different life in africa. mozambique has forever changed my lens of how i view life.

i am elated to come home to you. i have updates and pictures and videos to post. and hope to see you all. thank you for everything.

forgot to mention

i will be landing in johannesburg this time next week for a quick overnight stay before my saturday afternoon departure and sunday morning arrival in ATLANTA!

jail...again.

The other day I hired two of my students to repair the bamboo fence behind my house. It was in the heat of the day and they carried large bundles of bamboo all the way from the village to my house and poured sweat and spent a whole day repairing my fence. I gave them bottles of water and sodas and paid them for their work. I had asked them to help me clean my front porch which has been littered with clutter and junk for months. It was all just boxes chewed up by rats, filled with ants, old plastic bottles and items I had failed to properly throw away from clearing out the house when I moved in. We went through it all together and Jose found a 9 meter length of chain. I knew this to be a valuable, important item here but I had no need for it, so I gave it to him.

He had offered to clean the school the next day at 10:00. I showed up at 10:30 and he wasn't there. I had a feeling something was wrong. The next day he showed up in class with a red eye. He tells me he had spent the night in jail and that the police caught him walking home with the chain the night before, accused him of stealing, punched him in the face and put him in jail. Yesterday we went to the jail to settle the dispute.

We had to walk about two miles. It was hot and my shirt was drenched by the time we arrived. I was a novelty in the little village as we walked along the dirt path underneath coconut trees. All the little children yelled, excited to see the stranger in their village. I yelled back in my very best Makua, shouting my appreciation and they giggled. We finally got to the police station. It is a tiny concrete building, wooden door. There is a government issued metal desk, an out of date calendar on the wall and a poster of a cartoon condom. The police is a man in plain clothes with handcuffs on his belt. An argument ensues as my student tries to tell him that we are here for the chain, nine meters. It belongs to me he says and refers to me as "a Dona", the female boss. I think it also implies, older woman in charge. I stand there and listen and nod and grunt as if I understand every word. I hear "Dona" "nine meters" , "wait". So we wait. Mozambicans have mastered this. I am learning. My saving grace this time was a magazine. Instead of being annoyed and impatient, I whipped out my magazine and was grateful they were giving me the opportunity to sit and rest a spell.

You've met Jose' before, he helped us make pizza. Just a boy.

Before I could get past the editorials, a woman arrived who also looked like a Dona. My student stood up so I did too and we all crammed into the tiny police station once again. Apparently the person with the keys has arrived. They bantered back and forth and the one guy raised his voice and called my student crazy. I was already very upset with them for mistreating him and for making this innocent boy spend the night in jail. I was astounded at how respectfully and patiently he treated the policemen who had done him wrong. He showed no temper, no animosity. He told me he didn't like them but in talking to them he was respectful and even laughed at a few of their jokes. I didn't crack I smile. I resumed my boss lady role and crossed my arms. They wanted me to pay. No way, Jose. Funny, that's the name of my student and that is what I said and the joke was totally lost. So they keep saying they want me to pay and he tells me "only" 150 mets. Then they lower it to 100. I find the Portuguese to tell them how ridiculous that is and I am not going to pay for something that is already mine and I am not happy that my student had to spend the night in jail unjustly. She gets on the phone with a guy who she asks if it is alright to release the chain and he says yes.  Then the Dona takes a look at the chain and offers me 150 mets for it. I refuse her offer and tell Jose' to get it and let's go.

This was my fifth visit to an African jail. I am learning what to do. Pray. Without having to understand their words, I could hear the nonsense coming from their lips and simply spoke truth and justice over the situation. I declared peace. Greater is He that is in me. I had prayed this as I flipped through my magazine and as I did the atmosphere shifted and we got our things and left.

Sweet Jose' could tell I was hot and tired and didn't want to walk the 2 miles back home. I honestly would not have minded if I had not had my laptop with me. I had taken it to school to show a video to the students and it was hot, heavy and expensive. I also didn't have the 30 minutes that it takes to walk back. Without having to explain myself, Jose' hailed a cab for me, a stranger with a car and no where to go. When we got back to the school, Jose' pulled 50 mets from his pocket to pay the driver. Southern Gentlemen do exist here! Be still my heart. Sweet Jose' was willing to pay half of a days work for me to not have to walk. I handed him the fare from my bag and thanked him.

This culture astounds me. The hardships are everywhere, as is true kindness and compassion. I am forever learning and forever being taught.

FYI

Not this Sunday or the next but the next I will be sleeping in my big bed, soaking in a tub of hot water, and waking to coffee with Mom and Dad! Departing for Georgia on November 9th, arriving in the ATL November 11th.

I told the kids this week about my departure. Sweet Cesar buried his face in his hands and said over and over, "I cannot believe this". I assured him I would be back. It is nice to know that I will be missed. I will miss him too and all his friends, more than they will know.

mozambican sky. rooftop. chocolate. friends. 

mana grace

My little family of students and I are becoming close now that it is just us. I’m a single mom now. I am very protective of them and am adamant about spending our time in the classroom wisely. They walk very far to be there and I want to teach them something valuable while they are with me. Occasionally we have visitors come to volunteer. I very much want visitors there as they are vital to what we do. But I find that we Westerners often don’t have a clue. Last week I had three guests in the classroom and earlier had felt so threatened and judged by them. They came in asking tons of questions on how I do things and what types of books do I use and what curriculum and what types of programs do I do and even offered suggestions. They had been there 30 minutes and were trying to tell me what to do. They came in using all their English words and phrases and my students just looked at them all wide-eyed. They could not understand them. 

Now I am certain it was never the intent of the visitors to attack the work that I am doing and perhaps they thought I wanted their constructive criticism, but they haven’t a clue how things work around here and how none of their ideas even apply to this culture. Our most recent technology is a dry erase board. So I am sitting in my plastic chair trying to love and work that out all in my heart and see where they are coming from and trying to understand Westerners in spite of being one. I instruct them all to sit in a circle so that the visitors can hear from the students and listen to their English and try to understand each other. I am so, so protective of these kids. The westerners start telling the kids how “they” do things. My kids are already insecure in so many ways, I don’t want them to feel different or inferior by pointing out all the ways they are different. I work hard to try to tell them that we are the same. A visitor finally compliments them on their English after some pretty decent back and forth conversation. She asks where they learned to speak like that. Then Cesar, precious, adorable Cesar doesn’t miss a beat and says, “Of course, I learned my English from Mana Grace”. I was radiating. That’s my boy! The visitors walked away impressed and gave me a nod of approval. 

Here and there

Summer sun and Fall leaves.

Breakfast on the Beach. A first.

While I am there, Laura is here in Kentucky. Fall leaves and Baby Feet. I love this!

Murreubue

my student brought rubies to school to sell to me. i didn't buy them. should i?

the boy on the left wants to be a doctor. they were putting together this small wooden puzzle. it took them awhile but they figured it out. i love watching them learn. 

ongoing grace

The other day during the second half of class we  were in our circle of plastic chairs, conversing. I try not to do all of the talking and just ask them questions in various tenses and we practice the vocabulary we are learning. On this day I ask the boys to give me a subject, my little evangelist, Chawale says, “Jesus”. So I wonder how in the world we are going to use our vocabulary about “directions”, “city centers”, “fruits and vegetables”, “the bakery”, and “the butcher” to include Jesus. But I just go with it. It sparks a good conversation as I try to convey to the boys how Jesus is my everything. I tell them a tiny bit about how Jesus arranged to bring me here with them and how much I love my new career. I want them to tell me about how Jesus has worked in their lives. I try to show them how to trust God in all things and want to know how He takes care of them. I am quite certain there are Muslim boys around the circle too. All of a sudden I remember that Chawale had told me he had a friend in prison and I feel compelled to ask him about him. He laughs and points to Jackson and says, “It was him”. I had been in Zambia when all this first happened and never put it all together that Chawale’s friend was one of my students! Our students come and go and it is not unusual for some to be missing for weeks at time and reappear. Jackson stands up and begins his story. He laughs a lot throughout the whole story and tells bits of it in three different languages but here is what I got:

He went to school to take a test and didn’t finish the test but was hungry so he went home and they tell him he could finish the test the next day (I still have no idea why he told this part). He was at home and apparently his neighbor came over and was angry and violent and accused him of stealing some flip-flops and two cell phones and some other things. Then Jackson fought him. Apparently the police come and Jackson goes to jail. During that time Chawale goes to see him in jail and brings him food. He tells me that the prison food is horrible. And for him to say that, it must be. These guys eat pretty much anything and never complain. It is not really in their vocabulary to “like” or “not like” a food. Food is sustenance. He says he is in jail for 20 days. He says it is awful and he is very afraid. He demonstrates what he does as he gets down on his knees, raises his hands to heaven and says, “Jesus, help me. Get me out of here”. That night he has a dream where a “white angel” walks up to him and says in English, “You will leave here tomorrow”. The following morning Jackson is called before Tribunal Court. (The same court I went to and before the same judge). He tells the judge that he is innocent and that he didn’t steal. Jackson says his fines total over 7,000 mets. That’s over $250. Most people make about 100-200 mets a day. This is a lot of money. The judge asks him, “Where do you go to school?”. Jackson tells him he goes to the Iris Vocational School. Then the judge says, “This is the first time I have seen you here and I want it to be the last. Go to the Vocational School and stay out of trouble”. He then waives Jacksons fines and lets him go. Jackson got set free! He was found not guilty. The judge set him free. He says he again dropped to his knees and thanked God right there in front of everyone. He told us that that judge knows God too. 

My mouth was wide open during the whole telling of this story. I am trying to listen as he goes from Portuguese to Makua to English and I am processing the words that he said and the story begins to translate. The judge let him go. I can’t know for sure but this same judge I stood before let my student go. I know the judge knows what I do and where I work. He sent his clerk to my office door to give me my summons. He let Jackson go! He had mercy on him. The judge had mercy on my innocent little Jackson. I will never know if my actions a few months ago impacted this judge, but all I know is Jackson had an encounter and was given grace in the same room where I gave what little I had and it’s changed him. I remain just blown away by this majestic God we serve. He takes care of his children. He sets the captives free. He restores justice. He is good. 

my anniversary

I celebrated my one year anniversary this weekend. I have been living in Mozambique for one year. I went to back to Georgia for 7 weeks and had that little respite just a few weeks ago, but other than that, I have been here. I celebrated a day early by packing a bag on Saturday morning and taking my iPod and orange juice to the beach. It was the perfect way to spend a big part of the day. There are only a handful of public places that exist here and obviously I never go completely alone anymore, because I promised Mother. So now I just go and sit beside strangers. I went and sat and soaked in one of the most beautiful views on Earth. The tide was way out. The little Mozambican girls were there gathering food in their little tin pots. They stare and I wave. It seems so out of place, as if they are looking through time, only their plastic flip flops reveal the decade, and the woman in the “Obama Girl” t-shirt. 

I drank in the sun and the sea as I often feel that even if I live here another year or ten, 365 or 3,650 it is not enough time to look at this view. I am rarely here as it is. Monday through Friday the view is quite different. There is work to do, classes and running around. But it is the weekend and the morning and early afternoon are all mine. 

By 4:00 I was washing lettuce and tomatoes from a bucket of water and preparing salad. Rodrigo is leaving. It was his farewell party. The boys were making pizza from our brick oven. Nick had prepared 40 balls of dough. The boys had prepped by cutting up vegetables and hauling water and started the fire. It was dark and hard to see. We finally found light and borrowed headlamps and the boys created an assembly line. With focused determination Jackson and Tinente added roasted chicken and cheese and vegetables and the boys outside master the brick oven after only two slightly burned mistakes. They come out beautifully and the missionaries raved and the boys beamed.  It was a lot of work. But the plan is to continue training the boys until they can run the business on their own, with as little monitoring as possible. It is fun to look back at the big picture and see how just a little instruction and a little  education can go such a long way in giving someone a skill that can literally be life-changing. I love this model and being able to play a part in this. It is a lot about just waking up the dreamers. It is not about awakening a passion of making pizza but opening their eyes to the awareness that they can do, create, make, build and equip themselves with what they need. 

My students are becoming my best audience. They absolutely love an animated, goofy sense of humor. Who knew? They laugh when I act out words and explain words and phrases with dramatic overemphasis. Mr. Bean is popular here. I am learning that goofy wit in the classroom works. The kids sit on the edge of their seats when I explain “slang” and popular phrases. They listen to Western music and a few weeks ago one asked me, “Mana Grace, what does ‘welcome to my ‘hood’” mean? I am always a little wary of just what they will ask me next. They bring out their memorized lyrics and I try to explain the meaning of these songs. They bring phrases from television and more and more I catch them mimicking me in saying, “Wow! Good job. Very nice.” to one other. After Monday’s lesson Amilcar said, “Mana Grace, you are my favorite English teacher”. Granted I am his only English teacher and his only teacher at that since he dropped out of school. But it made my year. He will never know what that meant. Thanks Amilcar. Thanks for welcoming me to your ‘hood. 

brick oven pizza

a holiday

It is a holiday in Mozambique and my brother-in-law’s birthday. October 4th. According to my students we are celebrating a day of peace. We had a holiday last week too. I love Mozambican holidays. I think they have more than the State of Georgia and that’s a lot. 

I am on my way to my tennis friend’s house on the sea for a day of R&R. I have stopped at a little local backpacker lodge to sit and write and for a change of scenery. 

Something about being here makes me crave the creative. I devour anything beautiful, artistic, unique. I daydream about maybe becoming a designer or writer and moving back to America to work for Ann Mashburn (Atlanta clothing designer) and just create beautiful things.  I wanted to be surrounded my color and linen, Egyptian cotton, Dupioni, gingham and seersucker. I am shocked at how badly I miss the South. Of course I miss my family and my friends on a level I could never truly explain but I miss the South in a way I never knew. I didn’t realize how closely I was attached to her. I never knew how Southern I really am. I miss all the flavors at her table. I miss her voice and her hospitality. When I was just in Cape Town a guy asked me about where I was from and 30 minutes later, when I had finished my monologue said, “Wow. I didn’t realize Georgia was that amazing. You should write about all that”.  It is hard to write about it when you are not there, so I escape when I can via a Southern Living magazine. I only have 6 and I have read 3 and am saving the others for the next national holiday or Sunday afternoon on the beach. 

I asked my kids the other day about the whole Congress thing. About how they spent the reported $4 million dollars on a conference. I got blank stares back at me. I asked if they agreed with this decision. I got silence. Then I got a head nod, yes and a head nod, no and asked them to explain but they just cocked their heads at me with looks of confusion on their faces. Maybe it was my broken, rubbish Portuguese or maybe they don’t know that they can have an opinion. Or maybe they don’t know how poor they really are. They don’t know their schools are bad and their hospitals decrepit. 

So I have absolutely no plans to return to the Western world and work in a job to make someone else's dream come true. I am living right in the middle of my own. My students need me and I need them. I take pleasure in teaching them about my world as they teach me about theirs. Every day they make me appreciate every blessing. In just one year they have made me different. I hope they can say the same. 

a communist democracy and Canadian doubles

It is Sunday. I am waiting on the power to shut off and hoping it doesn’t. We have been having the 10th Congress here and the power was left on last weekend. Apparently it is a meeting of national leaders primarily from the ruling political party and a few invited guests, prime ministers from other countries. I only read one article online so I am still confused as to just exactly what they were doing. But having worked in politics for ten years, I have a general idea. The flood of 4000 people into this city was noticed as was the fact that they fixed all the potholes in the road for the event and put police with real guns and on real motorcycles at the end of every street. They built an entire compound with housing and meeting facilities to host this event. It cost millions. You’re the 11th poorest country in the whole wide world and you spend a reported $4 million, or maybe it was 8, on a conference. My students come to class hungry. Your health care and education system are pitiful. $4 million could do a lot here and 8 would do more. But once again I am reminded to love no matter what. Despite my opinions of leadership, I came here to love. Poverty is incredibly unfair. Corruption is too. I will enjoy the newly patched roads and keep doing what I do. 

Rodrigo is leaving in two weeks with no plans to return in the immediate future. He met a girl. Andrea is arriving from England in four. She is coming to help take over while I am gone. I will have one week to train her. I am ecstatic that she is coming. Just as with Rodrigo, I feel that she is hand-picked for this job and I am elated that she is coming to join our team. 

Hopefully this week some of our kids will be joining the older women in our Iris sewing school. And in the near future making handmade items for us to sell. In a few weeks, Baptista, our young farmer will return from his training program. And this weekend John left for Kenya to attend a month long training in organic farming that will offer funding for him to return and develop farms in rural areas. Great things are happening, even though they never happen as fast or quite like I had planned. The Mozambicans are teaching me. You all played a part in these triumphs and I am grateful. 

I am trying this “relaxing” thing and it seems to be working. It sure beats working myself into a tizzy and putting undue pressure on myself. Our classroom numbers seem to be dwindling again and I put pressure on myself to perform and give them what they want so that they will keep coming. I want to return with a product to show you. I want you to know you are investing in worthwhile projects by investing in me. But this business of changing a culture is not easy. 500 years of captivity. I can’t change it in a day or in a two year commitment. Our director talks a lot about “going low and slow”. It doesn’t sound one bit productive but it really is the only way here. It works. I am learning how. 

I am learning that creating plans and programs and businesses is all in vain without the foundation of true relationship. I am simply being sent here to love. I have been sent to be a safe place and to do my very best to point these children into the direction of hope, joy, peace and all the things relationship with Christ brings. I want to plug them into my source, my hope, my joy and my peace. I am here to show them how I walk out my faith and to share my experience of the unfailing, ever constant love of God in my life. It seems like a very tall order for a girl like me. Relationship means deep friendship. It means family and commitment and the “trough” is messy. (Proverbs 14:4) It is not easy to love these kids through their lying and stealing. It is not always easy to love my most trustworthy neighbor. I am not always good at it. As a matter of fact I am kinda bad at it most of the time. But these kids don’t point out my weaknesses but take me as I am. 

I have recently been invited into the little expat group of tennis players. Now for one hour, three days a week I am no longer Mana Graca the missionary teacher. I get to shed my dress below the knee and put on shorts (once I get there of course) and play tennis. I’ve promised Mother I will not walk or run alone so this sport is an answer to prayer. We gather our pale worn out balls and flip for the court that doesn’t have grass growing through the cracks. Language teachers, a veterinarian, oil worker wives and me. The hour is up before I know it and I wrap my capalana around my waist and walk with a short stride back to the scooter and pray each and every time that she cranks so I won’t be embarrassed. 

Nick, another missionary, is working with some of our boys making brick oven pizza. A long time ago other missionaries built the oven on the base. Nick has decided to put it to work. The plan is to sell them to the 300 students who come here for our ten week mission school twice a year. Their coming provides lot of opportunities for us to create small entrepreneurial based training programs. This little business will teach our students about money management, marketing, customer service and how to make pizza. I have invested some of our funding to help get the business up and running and will be helping as we make and sell twice a week. A few of our students are also involved in this business. I love working alongside our kids in ways like this, having fun and creating something together and teaching one another. 

acclimating

I don’t know why I continue to believe that I can make a seamless transition from the Western world to here. This place is changing daily and growing and amazing things are happening in this nation, but it is still so very different. I am excited to be home and am back where I belong and I am certain the life of living in someone else’s house by the sea and walking the streets of Simon’s Town would have eventually gotten old. It was the perfect amount of time and a glorious rest.

I had time to sit and think and quiet my mind and spirit. As I listened to myself talk and I felt the bone tiredness of my mind, body and spirit I realized that I could not continue at this pace. As I looked back over the past few years that now all seem to be a little blurred together, I realize how drastically my life has changed in really a short period of time. I have been running full speed. It is hard not to catch the vision, see the need and run with it. During my quiet time I asked myself just how I planned to continue at this fast pace. I sat across the table from a wise man at dinner who already knew the answer when he asked me if I worked too hard and took on too much and planned to just run myself to the ground for the next year and then crash and spend a year in recovery. His question and the other voices I had been hearing woke me up to the truth. I cannot solve every problem. I cannot make everything happen in a day or a week. I can’t create something new overnight. And I am of no good tired, ragged, worn out and exhausted.  I need to slow down. I need to live out of a place of peace and rest. I don’t need to spend my life constantly reacting to all that is being thrown at me. I don’t want to lose my peace. 

My kids were excited to see me and I them. Two asked me for money. They applauded after my English lesson. I think this means they missed me. We had our last Alpha course class on Saturday. I took the students to the hotel down the street for refrescas. The lesson had been on knowing what is sin, right from wrong. So we had a discussion on discernment and Holy Spirit. I asked them about how they are tempted and if it is difficult to be a Christian in a Muslim town.  They told me everyone believes in God but most people don’t believe in Jesus and they scoff at Him and don’t want Him. 2000 years ago. Today. America. Mozambique. So the boys got out their tiny little New Testaments and showed me scripture about being salt of the earth and the light of the world. I see them as being set apart, so blessed and so different than others around them, full of joy and life, trustworthy and honorable. I envision them studying their New Testaments while the Mosques broadcast chanting prayers throughout the night. I ask Sebastian how he knows that Jesus is God. He tells me he has seen the lame walk because he prayed for them in Jesus’ name. He prayed for a guy in the hospital who could not stand up and now he can run. 2000 years ago. Today. America. Mozambique. One boy starts to tell me the story of Zaccheus. I am not sure where that fit in and only understood about 50% but I went with it. We talked about how the Kingdom is upside down and how to die is to gain. I felt my little lessons and testimonies paled in comparison to what these boys know about dying and sacrifice. The boys gawked at the hotel and its’ beauty and the stuffed wild game hanging in the bar. I took them on a tour of the hotel and told them that everything belongs to God and everything belongs to us, His children. I want them to take dominion over this nation and ownership of what belongs to them as Mozambicans. I want them to see in the spirit who they are in Christ. Princes not paupers. 

Afterwards, I went to the beach with friends. I only go about once a month and want that to change. We sat in a clear tide pool and laughed, little wooden d’hows and children gathering mussels and fish surround us. Every time I see this vast expanse of Indian Ocean I remind myself to soak it in and soak it in good. I know I won’t be here forever and I want to drink it in. I got pink on my thighs and tops of my feet and shoulders. We pulled out sandwiches from our bags we have left with a guard. I ate and watched this massive scene in front of me. Mozambicans unaware of my presence comb the beach, women carrying baskets on their heads. No one stakes an umbrella in the sand and opens a cooler. They are all working. They are going from one place to another or gathering food to eat or sell. No one applies sunscreen or pulls out an In Style Magazine. A few women rested in the tide pools as we had, with their catch in baskets beside them. They chattered. I wondered what about. 

I “scooted” home to a cold shower, excited to have running water. A few hours later I discover Scoot had a flat tire. The following day and $20 later, it is kinda sorta fixed. 

I got to see whales on Sunday, slapping their tales over and over on the surface of the water and spraying way off in the distance. I just stood and watched for a very long time as they played and I shook my head at how huge they are. There was more than one and they continued to flap their massive tails over and over. In class this morning we read a book about Jonah and the Whale. We only have 4 books so we don’t have a lot of choices. We talked about how crazy that would be, to be swallowed by a whale and vomited onto dry land. We have made that story such a story for children. A parable almost. But surely it is true and someone somewhere has researched this and Jonah's whereabouts where marked in some form or another. I am glad God chose a different route for me. God loved Ninevah and really wanted someone to go and tell them so. God loves Mozambique. America. 2000 years ago. Today. 

the sea and me

I must start at the beginning. I just want to reiterate, I HAD to leave the country. My 180 day visa was no longer valid as the guy at immigration decided he would no longer illegally stamp it. The nerve. They also decided they would no longer accept 180 day visas or so I understand. I had purchased a 30 day visitor visa but was unable to renew it so I had to go. It was an absolute miracle that Alpha contacted me and asked me to fly to Zambia at their expense. Miracle. I knew I would have to stay until my visa expired which gave me an extra week to spend out of the country. I had acquaintances in South Africa. I sent out an email and had two sweet, generous people graciously answer me. I met Hilary and Lisa in 2011, when I was in Cape Town studying the Warehouse and looking at their organization as a model for sustainable development and how to do it within ministry. Hilary was in London and offered me the room in her house. Lisa offered to collect me at the airport. I knew then quite clearly that going to Cape Town was simply what I was supposed to do. Little did I know. I knew I needed a time of rest. I admit that the more I thought about going to a modern city to rest, the more impatient I got with the heat and lack of water and days of intermittent electricity in Mozambique. I longed for a hot bath and deep rest. I knew I needed to get away and I knew I needed deep, peaceful, good for the soul, rest. 

Through a friend of Lisa I was given the cottage on the hill in Simon’s Town. Just like that. “Hey I have a friend here who needs a place to rest”. “Ok, sure I will take her there”. And within less than 24 hours I am standing in the living room, enamored by the view. Upon arrival,  I can spy a full size bed out of the corner of my eye. It has a down comforter. I can bet money there is a bath somewhere in this house. The owner leaves and I walk straight to the bed, remove my shoes and fall face first onto the bed. I wake two hours later. Then, I hit Simon’s Town. I had seen lots of colorful storefront windows full of antiques and clothing and displays with postcards on sidewalks. I pulled on my boots and grabbed my backpack and went to town. I hit up every single shop, even those that looked junky, just to go inside and have something different to see. I don’t know why living in the middle of nowhere makes me so insane but it does. I miss architecture and pretty things. I miss reading magazine covers at the checkout counter. I miss checkout counters. I went into the quaint little pharmacy where they only have a limited stock of supplies and a girl insists on helping you and I let her. I got Vaseline (eye make-up remover) and fingernail polish remover and cotton balls and little tins of lipgloss for Catherine and Emma Grace. I went into the antique shop and touched vintage linens. I love linens. I went in a great gift shop called Craftart. I normally would never just stop and look and touch and stare at every little single solitary thing, but I did. It was so blissfully entertaining. Everything seemed so pretty, artistic and creative. I chatted it up with the owner. Most of the time  I try to hide my American accent. I don’t talk and just look and don’t make eye contact, but she asked a question and the American accent fell out. She and her staff were friendly and genuine. I bought a set of cotton/linen blend towels that are soft, durable, quick drying and absorbent. Sounds impossible to be all of that in one towel but they are that good. I saw a Chalkboard sign that said Veggie Burgers 39R and went up wooden steps to a large bright white restaurant called The Meeting Place. All in all this place was just okay. It is your quintessential lunch spot with large sofa and magazines and whitewashed walls. There are pastries under glass domes. But they didn’t have the veggie burger. I ordered a salad with hummus but they were out of hummus. Instead they sent a really bad dip that looked like it should have been pimento cheese but it was not. Don’t put a Southern staple in front of me and mask it with cream cheese and who knows what. I wasn’t impressed. Downstairs they have a gift shop but I saw nothing I could not live without and even the pastry menu was not appealing and that says a whole lot because I am a sucker for dessert. 

I stopped outside a Postcard carousel and picked out a variety. Sweet Granny McCarley still has a postcard of a sheep in a green field from my 2008 visit to Northern Ireland on her fridge. I figured she needed a replacement. I then went into a little convenience store that advertised stamps and asked where I could find the post office. A sweet little old man with a newspaper tucked under his arm who addressed the old Indian checkout lady as “Honey” told me he was going there and he would show me. It does not get more quintessential than that. So idyllic. Not to mention this whole experience is underneath a bright blue sky, beside the expanse of a bright blue sea and echoed by sounds of bleating PENGUINS. As he escorts me across the street he hears the American accent too and tells me how much he didn’t like Bush and how much he does like Obama. I smile and nod and thank him. Everybody has an opinion about pretty much everything, even little South African men about US Politics. By this time I have broken a little sweat and am anxious to get back to my cottage. I open the door and have to sigh out loud. This view is just amazing. This little cottage glistens and I am so incredibly undone that I get to stay here. I run a hot bath and real tears come to my eyes. Absolutely incredibly mind-blowing amazed that I get to stay here! Everything about this house just feels normal. Dishwasher, washing machine, normal bed, electricity, hot water, bath tub, TV! I didn’t realize how the lack of these things impact me. And I am not quite sure it is their lack that is the problem it is just their presence that leaves me completely happy. So blissfully happy. So I hope I don’t come across as being the most unlikely missionary ever but more like the most appreciative.  Over and over I ask, “What did I do to deserve such love?” and each time I hear a vacant pause and then, “Nothing”. 

That night a friend of a friend came over, we went to a local sushi place. It was on a very touristy little corner and is above a very family friendly blue carpet touristy restaurant called Bertha’s or something like that. It looked like a Shoney’s in a really good location. So the sushi dive won out. I can’t say I recommend it either. The service was odd, atmosphere confusing. But the sushi was good and that is what we where there for. 

All the mornings were the same, me waking up really early, running a tub bath. Fixing a huge French Press of coffee, poached eggs and toast, rye, with rocket and tomatoes. I sat on that front porch and stared at the ocean and breathed in and out and drank it all in.  I put on Rita Springer and blared it from the kitchen. I took my Bible and Kindle and read as the Spirit moved. 

I went back to town to pick up where I left off. There was not much else to see. I was looking for the perfect place for lunch. I bumped into a man on the sidewalk outside a coffee shop in a white chef’s jacket and asked him what he had and he asked me what I wanted. I told him and he made it. I sat there and read chapters out of books until I found the right one and ate spinach with such passion that the chef noticed and asked me if I wanted more. 

About the third day I discovered the big screen television in the corner of the living room and kept it on E! entertainment TV and got filled up with all the celebrity gossip. It’s a guilty pleasure. It is a brainless, beautiful escape into another world.  

I spent Saturday morning with the Penguins! African Penguins! It was surreal, stunning, amazing, beautiful but also kinda loud and stinky. But hands down one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. The penguin is fascinating. They are monogamous and take turns taking care of the children. There are no words to describe the beach. I got a lunch special of fish and chips and a little beach side restaurant with linen tablecloths. 

I went back to the Craftart gift shop and bought another linen cotton blend towel because I dyed my new one purple because although my pajama bottoms have been washed a whole lot they have only been hand washed in cold water and I didn’t even think about it and threw them in with everything else.  Anyway, I learned that the owners have been to Mozambique and her husband, an engineer, is coming there to work on a dock at the hotel in a few weeks. He bought me a cup of coffee and showed me pottery he had purchased in Pemba. They are a handsome couple in their late 60‘s. She is blonde and beautiful and he is tall with big hands and bright blue eyes. He said he would look me up when he comes. She told me I could take pictures of anything I wanted when I told her I wanted to start a gift shop. She showed me local products and gave me ideas. It was a fun random connection and I am curious just what will come of it. 

I spent my last day on the porch still enamored with the view. And that this happened to little me. Always undone by the kindness of our Savior. 

almost home

I am in Johannesburg for the night and leaving early in the morning for Pemba. My sweet friends Mark and Jen are here and I am with them now. They are coming to Pemba too! It will be so so good to have them there back home with all of us where they belong. They were missionaries in Pemba for three years and are in Asia now but coming for the school. I drove to Pretoria today and got my Visa! So I am all set and will be able to renew it in 30 days and will be back in Georgia on November 11th as scheduled. This break has been just heaven. I am ready to go home though. I miss the kids, my friends, my routine and have a lot of work to do. XO

a culinary tour of simon's town.

coming soon!

leaving simon's town

I left Simon's Town this afternoon. I am flying out in the morning and will spend two days in Johannesburg. I will spend a day going to Pretoria to get a new visa and arrive in Pemba on the 19th. A full sermon on Simon's Town is in me. I will deliver when I can. I've been told there's no internet in Pemba today.

Shopping Simon's Town

Apparently you aren't supposed to take pictures, but how else am I supposed to show you?