and I’ve been sick for a week now although it is finally showing signs of slowing down. We had a major cold front come through (and boy does it get chilly here) signaling the start of winter, which led to me getting a cold. This of course led to a sore throat and general achy body, which was then followed by an infection in my nose. My upper lip and right nostril is pretty swollen and sore, but the rest of me is feeling better. Of course, that was until I got out of bed the other day and strained my lower back. GETTING OUT OF BED!!! What 24 year old strains their back, especially just getting out of bed??? My nana is 93 and plays golf every week, but I can’t get up in the morning without pulling something. There is no justice…
I used to kinda enjoy getting sick in the states. Think about it…you get to miss work and watch movies all day, you get sympathy from friends and family and people bring you soup. But here, I am confined to my cold house with nothing to do but read and sleep. I found myself huddled under my blanket, the springs from my mattress jabbing into my back, dreaming of the days when I could just run out for an Egg McMuffin, or a McGriddle, or a McSOMETHING!
While I was in bed one day, my neighbor (the owner of the house) and his wife came over to have a chat. They were concerned that I wasn’t eating properly, which is what made me sick. I assured them that I cook a variety of healthy meals and that me being sick was just a passing thing. They told me that the eggs I was eating in the morning with my various scrambles weren’t as nutritious as American eggs, so I had to eat different foods to stay healthy. Then they asked me what I had for dinner the previous night and I told them I had salad with lettuce, cabbage, tomato, boiled egg and some tuna that was sent to me. "NO NO NO," they said. "You needed to eat more rice and xima with traditional Mozambican cuisine - that’s where you’ll get your vitamins!" I tried to explain that a salad like the one I had made had sufficient nutritional value, but they were convinced otherwise. So, realizing I did not have the strength to bust out my nutritional presentation at that given moment, I relented and said I would eat more Mozambican dishes and lived to educate another day. They were happy.
One positive thing in my life is my empregada. I know, I know…I wasn’t comfortable getting a housekeeper at first, figuring that I could easily wash clothes, clean dishes and carry water. In fact, several of us in training felt that way. But we came to find out that culturally it is expected that if you have the money to hire someone, you do so. There are such few jobs available, it seems greedy for you to horde money rather than pay someone to do things for you. So when I arrived to site my neighbors recommended a 15-year-old girl who was the daughter of a friend, despite my apprehensions about having someone that young. She turned out to be too afraid to talk to me so it didn’t work out. The 2nd woman they recommended was older but didn’t work out either. I won’t say why exactly, but she must have loved sweets because her fingers were very….sticky. Finally I told my neighbor’s wife, Aquima (whom I have bonded with) that I was looking for more of an older woman…a Dona, with kids, who actually needed some help and wanted the job. Turns out she knew of a woman who lives right behind them who has 3 kids and needs a job to support the family. She is a delightful woman, a hard worker and a great new addition to my life here. We sit and chat about life in Mozambique and she is starting to tell me more and more about herself. She moved to the village because of her husband, but is disappointed on how few jobs are available. She and the kids rarely see the money that her husband brings in from Xai Xai so I am trying to make sure that what money she makes from me stays with her and the kids. I can trust her to feed the pets if I am away and she has even started cooking some traditional Mozambican dishes with me. When we cook, she takes half the food for her and her family, since I really only need two nights worth of leftovers. For a beginning, we are meshing quite nicely.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
Guy Stuff And My New SPCA....
Last Saturday I arrived home from a 16-hour bus ride from the city of Chimoio in the north (of me) where I was attending a weeklong, all-male conference (JOMA) on communication with two of my theatre group students and a professor. They were learning better theatre techniques, while also discussing healthy masculinity, leadership and community change. I was lucky enough to manage a daily reflection group of students to discuss various topics, problems and feelings encountered at the conference and was really blown away by these kids. Hearing their stories was heartbreaking, but then listening to their perspective on everything and their desire to breakout of this hand that life had dealt them was inspiring. One kid in a group came out as being HIV positive which, given the stigma, is HUGE to do amongst your peers and especially so as a teenager. These kids talked about the problems in their families and communities but not once did anyone mention leaving Mozambique. The common theme was working hard in school and building their communities from within. As a person who fled his conservative home state for the liberal comforts of California, I have to say I was a bit emboldened by their courage and dedication. It gave me that 2nd wind (or 3rd…I forget which one I’m on now) and made me realize that this country will continue to change dramatically as soon as time passes and this new generation has time to show us what they can do.
Anyways, after my 16-hour bus ride, I arrive home to find that my neighbor has recently acquired a puppy…Leon. Chissy was curious about the new addition and was generally open to the idea till the little bugger jump up between her legs and bit her right in the vagina. Scared that damn girl so bad she leapt in the air and ran 20 feet. That unfortunate incident aside, the two seem to be playing well together. Leon is a fighter and a little too big for his britches, but Chissy is establishing the obvious…that she is the bigger dog.
Two dogs and four cats later, I have yet to get a damn animal that produces food rather than just consumes it.
ZS
Anyways, after my 16-hour bus ride, I arrive home to find that my neighbor has recently acquired a puppy…Leon. Chissy was curious about the new addition and was generally open to the idea till the little bugger jump up between her legs and bit her right in the vagina. Scared that damn girl so bad she leapt in the air and ran 20 feet. That unfortunate incident aside, the two seem to be playing well together. Leon is a fighter and a little too big for his britches, but Chissy is establishing the obvious…that she is the bigger dog.
Two dogs and four cats later, I have yet to get a damn animal that produces food rather than just consumes it.
ZS
My growing sense of humor…
Some of you know that I went through a rough patch for about 4 weeks between February and March where I was pretty frustrated with things in my life and lonely for the people not in my life. Thankfully, with the help of other volunteers, a little yoga and a LOT of reflection I worked through it and am in a much better headspace now. However as a result, I learned that I have to sit back and seek humor in the situations in which I find myself; looking for little equations of reality that equal out to a pretty funny moment.
Like when your chapa blows a tire at 70 kilometers an hour, propelling you into oncoming traffic and veering away just as an 18-wheeler roars past. And then when the cobrador (money collector) opens the door to check on the damage, the entire door falls off onto the ground. Funny, right? Like something you’d see in a National Lampoon movie.
Or when the local children all shout “Mulungo! (white-person)” whenever they see you coming even before they have learned words like “mai” and “pai”.
Or when you set a meeting for 1pm and people start to trickle in at 2:30.
Or when your barber asks you why the hair on your back is not on your head?
But my favorite chuckle always comes from the music videos produced in Mozambique. These are classic and oddly fascinating. You can see them in barracas or sometimes in a really tricked-out chapa where the owner has made the wise decision to invest a portion of his limited profits into installing a TV and DVD player. This of course enables him to watch these music videos while swerving to miss potholes and driving at a safe 65 miles an hour down the EN1. Anyways, I notice that there is such a dichotomy between what the Mozambicans want to mimic in surrounding cultures and the limited available talent and resources to do so. Like trying to pimp-out your mother’s station wagon in high school, or trying to make an American flag out of red, orange and green pieces of cloth. Difficult, right? Mostly these videos are people standing in a field or on a farm with animals in the background, and swaying back and forth while the camera zooms in and out in the attempt to make it look like there is some action and excitement going on. The sound editing is pretty bad with people mouthing words that just aren’t quite there yet. The choreography is relatively basic with the idea that as long as you put at least 2 girls showing their stomachs and shaking their hips people will watch. However, my favorite move thus far has been the “slow-motion-jump-from-rock.” Sort of like what you would see in the music videos of the 1980’s where a performer would leap into the air from a structure in slow motion at a critical point in the song. Alas, in this particular video the director apparently forgot to explain to the performer the concept and simply said, “Just jump off the rock.” The result is a middle-aged man slumping off a rock like you would step off a stool in your kitchen….only now it’s in slow motion.
This isn’t meant to laugh AT this facet of Mozambican culture, as there are MANY examples at which my Mozambican friends can (and do) laugh at ours (like the idea that you would ever kiss a dog or let it lick your face…that can kill you, you know?). But finding humor in everyday life is helpful in getting past moments that would normally derive stress and frustration. In other words, it keeps this Mulungo sane.
ZS
Like when your chapa blows a tire at 70 kilometers an hour, propelling you into oncoming traffic and veering away just as an 18-wheeler roars past. And then when the cobrador (money collector) opens the door to check on the damage, the entire door falls off onto the ground. Funny, right? Like something you’d see in a National Lampoon movie.
Or when the local children all shout “Mulungo! (white-person)” whenever they see you coming even before they have learned words like “mai” and “pai”.
Or when you set a meeting for 1pm and people start to trickle in at 2:30.
Or when your barber asks you why the hair on your back is not on your head?
But my favorite chuckle always comes from the music videos produced in Mozambique. These are classic and oddly fascinating. You can see them in barracas or sometimes in a really tricked-out chapa where the owner has made the wise decision to invest a portion of his limited profits into installing a TV and DVD player. This of course enables him to watch these music videos while swerving to miss potholes and driving at a safe 65 miles an hour down the EN1. Anyways, I notice that there is such a dichotomy between what the Mozambicans want to mimic in surrounding cultures and the limited available talent and resources to do so. Like trying to pimp-out your mother’s station wagon in high school, or trying to make an American flag out of red, orange and green pieces of cloth. Difficult, right? Mostly these videos are people standing in a field or on a farm with animals in the background, and swaying back and forth while the camera zooms in and out in the attempt to make it look like there is some action and excitement going on. The sound editing is pretty bad with people mouthing words that just aren’t quite there yet. The choreography is relatively basic with the idea that as long as you put at least 2 girls showing their stomachs and shaking their hips people will watch. However, my favorite move thus far has been the “slow-motion-jump-from-rock.” Sort of like what you would see in the music videos of the 1980’s where a performer would leap into the air from a structure in slow motion at a critical point in the song. Alas, in this particular video the director apparently forgot to explain to the performer the concept and simply said, “Just jump off the rock.” The result is a middle-aged man slumping off a rock like you would step off a stool in your kitchen….only now it’s in slow motion.
This isn’t meant to laugh AT this facet of Mozambican culture, as there are MANY examples at which my Mozambican friends can (and do) laugh at ours (like the idea that you would ever kiss a dog or let it lick your face…that can kill you, you know?). But finding humor in everyday life is helpful in getting past moments that would normally derive stress and frustration. In other words, it keeps this Mulungo sane.
ZS
Monday, April 14, 2008
That's it!
I've reached my breaking point! I can handle the cute e-mails, the pictures you guys send of everyone having a good time, and the care packages that remind me of my life back home, but Joe Clapsaddle has gone too far! Upon receiving his package this week, I opened it up to find an array of adorable bowties, fabulous skin care products and….a bottle of Hendricks Gin. Hendricks Gin!!! I mean, the nerve! It's hard enough being away from you all without Joe taunting me with the luxuries and memories of home. It's just cruel! I cursed his name and vowed to donate the bottle to charity.
Well while I was in such a fussy, I noticed that by a FLUKE I just so happened to have one random cucumber in my fridge and by ACCIDENT I happened to have a glass available and by SHEER COINCIDENCE there was ice ready. So what's a boy to do other than indulge himself just a teeny tinny sip, right?
Joe Clapsaddle, a man after my own heart and a fellow sporter of bowties, and the gang at the WeHo Chamber managed to bring a moment of style, taste and panache to an unshaven boy in a village halfway around the world.
Thanks.
Z
Well while I was in such a fussy, I noticed that by a FLUKE I just so happened to have one random cucumber in my fridge and by ACCIDENT I happened to have a glass available and by SHEER COINCIDENCE there was ice ready. So what's a boy to do other than indulge himself just a teeny tinny sip, right?
Joe Clapsaddle, a man after my own heart and a fellow sporter of bowties, and the gang at the WeHo Chamber managed to bring a moment of style, taste and panache to an unshaven boy in a village halfway around the world.
Thanks.
Z
Thursday, April 3, 2008
I need to learn to just stop talking….
The other day I was sitting outside with my co-workers helping prepare lunch for the activistas participating in a health seminar. I was playing and giggling with a toddler when I made the offhanded comment about wanting to have kids one day (I have been feeling RIDICULOUSLY maternal lately, so don’t be surprised if I come home with a troupe of children accompanying me). Upon hearing my comment, the women said that I needed to find a good woman first to have kids. Having gotten quite good at skirting the girlfriend/marriage issue, I posed the idea that I could simply adopt a child and raise them as my own. This is when I should have stopped talking…
They proceeded to tell me that I could adopt, but A) had to have a wife, and B) had to have at least one biological child. Why, I asked, couldn’t I simply just adopt? I mean there are plenty of orphan children in Mozambique and America in need of good families. Why was it so important that I have a biological child? Well, you would have thought I had that black was white and up was down! I have never seen them so galvanized around a single issue! They were adamant that I could not call an adopted child my son or daughter. One woman even went so far as to say if I gave the child my last name I would be stealing it! She called me a robber!
Not wanting to back down (and loving a good argument) I started posing questions to get them to think about their opinion. Why was a biological child so important? What were they differences between adopted and biological children? They said that I could treat the children the same, but then why was it a necessity that I have one over the other? Then I started to ask them what they thought about women not wanting to go through the ordeal of pregnancy but still wanting to raise children - or women who were unable to have children but were willing to adopt. In the end, no matter what direction I approached the issue they refused to look at it any differently; stating that it would be unconscionable for me to simply raise a child as my own without naturally spawning another Zachery Junior. They kept going back to say that their view on the issue was because of their culture. But I reminded them that cultures change and that even a few years ago, they probably wouldn’t have had the jobs they currently hold because of a particular cultural view. That gave them pause.
I can’t wait to send them a Christmas card in 5 years of me, my husband, and little Gabriel or Annabelle sitting around a Christmas tree. One big unnatural happy family. We should all be so lucky.
One Love (some kid said that to me the other day...)
Z
They proceeded to tell me that I could adopt, but A) had to have a wife, and B) had to have at least one biological child. Why, I asked, couldn’t I simply just adopt? I mean there are plenty of orphan children in Mozambique and America in need of good families. Why was it so important that I have a biological child? Well, you would have thought I had that black was white and up was down! I have never seen them so galvanized around a single issue! They were adamant that I could not call an adopted child my son or daughter. One woman even went so far as to say if I gave the child my last name I would be stealing it! She called me a robber!
Not wanting to back down (and loving a good argument) I started posing questions to get them to think about their opinion. Why was a biological child so important? What were they differences between adopted and biological children? They said that I could treat the children the same, but then why was it a necessity that I have one over the other? Then I started to ask them what they thought about women not wanting to go through the ordeal of pregnancy but still wanting to raise children - or women who were unable to have children but were willing to adopt. In the end, no matter what direction I approached the issue they refused to look at it any differently; stating that it would be unconscionable for me to simply raise a child as my own without naturally spawning another Zachery Junior. They kept going back to say that their view on the issue was because of their culture. But I reminded them that cultures change and that even a few years ago, they probably wouldn’t have had the jobs they currently hold because of a particular cultural view. That gave them pause.
I can’t wait to send them a Christmas card in 5 years of me, my husband, and little Gabriel or Annabelle sitting around a Christmas tree. One big unnatural happy family. We should all be so lucky.
One Love (some kid said that to me the other day...)
Z
Dona Gina
So when I arrived back from Maputo I was told that Dona Gina was sick. You remember that Dona Gina was the lovely widow who cooked me my first meals at site and with whom I have been trading recipes and baked goods ever since. She has been the most welcoming and comforting person to me thus far at site and always makes me laugh. Well I found out this week that she was indeed not sick, but had just arrived back from the Provencal hospital and was recovering from being attacked by bandits at her house. Apparently she was taking a bano (bath) when someone came up behind her and took a machete to her head and then stole items from her loja (store). When I found this out I was horrified. Of course I did what any good southerner does when confronted with tragedy…I cooked. I brought her over some meals and checked to see if she was feeling better. Thankfully she was and we both prayed and thanked God that she was alive and not permanently injured. What is even more troubling is that she saw and knew who the attacker was and he broke into her loja again a week later to try and steal more stuff. The police apprehended the man, but then for some reason they left the cell open and he escaped! I was shocked when she told me this, not only because of the incompetence of the duty officer, but also for the danger that this puts back on her. But the overall thing to remember is that she is OK and recovering well. Keep her in your prayers and hopefully she will be back to work soon. A new, bigger loja just opened up right around the corner from her and the owner has a connection in Maputo and is able to beat her prices. She is losing customers so I am going to sit down with her and look at another business model to see if she can’t find another niche in the community.
I live in a relatively well-lit and populated area so I don’t feel anymore in danger because of this, but have been more aware of my surroundings lately. Months ago, upon request, dad sent me an awesome hunting knife which I keep right by my bed, giving me a GREAT sense of false security…lol. But it helps me sleep at night, dreaming of the intruder that breaks into the house, to which I can go all Chuck Norris on his ass.
xoxo
Z
I live in a relatively well-lit and populated area so I don’t feel anymore in danger because of this, but have been more aware of my surroundings lately. Months ago, upon request, dad sent me an awesome hunting knife which I keep right by my bed, giving me a GREAT sense of false security…lol. But it helps me sleep at night, dreaming of the intruder that breaks into the house, to which I can go all Chuck Norris on his ass.
xoxo
Z
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