We are foreigners here, and for us that frequently means that we make mistakes with the language, social gaffes, or misunderstand pretty much anything. Our most infamous mistakes are language ones. For example, when we lived in Portugal, Toby was enrolled at a local preschool and one day the teacher told me the kids were going on a field trip to "Quinta Amarela" or something. Now, I looked up quinta in the dictionary and it said Farm, so we spent about a week prepping Toby with all the animal names. Every afternoon, we'd look at picture books with animals and teach him the names. On the appointed day, we dressed him in his jeans and rubber boots, and sent him with a jacket and a sun hat. After we picked him up, we asked him how the farm was, and he said "We didn't go to the farm, we went to a movie!" Apparently the name of the movie house was Yellow Farm. Another time, the teacher spent some time explaining to me that Toby needed a particular thing, and I didn't know the word. Finally she wrote it down, and I went home and looked it up. A toothbrush. He needed a toothbrush (like all the other kids) at school. Sometimes we felt so dumb! She would look at me with pity because I was so stupid!
Lately, however, our knowledge of Portuguese is much better and our mistakes are funnier. Here in Mozambique we asked our guard to wash the car. We mixed up the verbs for "clean" and for "wash" and asked the guard to "wash" the inside of the truck. "Are you really sure?" he asked us about four times. We were sure. But later on, Kevin ran frantically to stop him when he saw him washing the inside of the truck with a hose! It was completely soaked. Luckily it dried out fine.
A few weeks ago Kevin was visiting the church where the boys and I regularly attend, and preached a sermon on the "peas and the goats". It had me in stitches - I could hardly manage to correct him! The others in the church were much more polite and probably would have listened to 30 minutes on how God will separate the peas from the goats, but I just had to stop him.
The social gaffes we make tend to be more serious. Unfortunately, the ones I make are the kind that start rumors. Here, suspicion of sexual promiscuity runs rampant. There are good reasons, mainly because a great many people are promiscuous. But you have to be super careful to not raise suspicions about yourself. I went over to visit my lady neighbor some months ago, and found her not at home. I was standing in the yard, about 15 feet away from her husband, chatting amicably for a few minutes for heading back home, when two men from his church came in the front gate. The looks on their faces were total shock. It was obvious that they thought something was going on, even though we were standing in an open yard. My neighbor looked very embarrassed and I went home, uncomfortable with the idea of what rumors I had just started. Another day, I invited an elderly pastor to sit on our screened-in veranda and have a cold drink and a tangerine while I did some things in the house. After about 15 minutes, I emerged and packed a box of things on the table while we chatted a bit. He looked uncomfortable and finally we decided that Kevin wasn't coming home soon, and he decided to leave. As I opened the door to let him out, I found our guard kneeling by the steps "working on some flowers" there. It was obvious to me that he was trying to keep an eye on what he thought was an inappropriate tryst going on inside the veranda. Good grief. I learned my lesson - now all visitors have to sit on a straw mat or a chair out in the garage. Better yet, make them sit in the front yard.
Of course, the situation with white men is even worse. We had a young white man staying with us and Kevin was out teaching a class. The boys and I were eating dinner with this young man, and we were talking about something funny and laughing. My guard (a different one) came to the back door for something and he looked furious, though of course he didn't say anything. Here, although I am allowed to feed my male houseguest, I mustn't enjoy his company so much. Sometimes I feel like I ought to go into purdah (isolation) and wear a burkah, but mostly I just try to follow the social rules once I am aware of them.
One mistake that I am trying very hard to remedy is an impatience on my part. Here, it is so important to greet people. You can't rush into "can you tell me what time it is?" or "How much are those carrots?". Once, I asked the teller at the Shoprite if the credit card machine was working that day and she very pointedly said "GOOD MORNING" before she answered my question. You must remember to slow down and acknowledge people before starting any business. The relationship is always more important than the task!
I have to remember, too, that people are not always trying to cheat me. I've had quite a few bad experiences in the past with vendors trying to cheat me out of a few cents or more, and quite often I jump to that conclusion when change is slow in coming, or is given in many coins, or math is done creatively. I snapped at a minibus taxi driver once when I stood for awhile waiting for my change and he seemed to be ignoring me. I felt quite chastened when he finally got change for me from the person he was talking to. Although, as foreigners, we frequently are charged higher prices or someone will try to steal something from us, in general the vendors and taxi drivers are helpful and honest with us. Of course, I may not be receiving a full two pounds of the rice I bought (because the scales have been tampered with) but I do get correct change. I just have to keep in mind that things run a lot more slowly here, sometimes people are not very good at math (when we work together to come up with the amount of change, it is always correct) and generally folks are kind and friendly. Slow down, speedy American, and remember that people are more important!
Of course, trying to be too polite can be funny as well. I always say "no, thank you" to the vendors on the street (selling oranges, perfume, shoes, you name it) and I had a group of church ladies in my car one day when I said this. They thought it was the funniest thing they ever heard and explained to me that I mustn't thank the vendors when they hadn't done anything and were in fact pestering me. So, sometimes, it is ok to be rude (in my perspective)!! - C
Monday, August 31, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Kite Flying in Nacala
Last weekend we took a three-night break on the coast, which we try to do every three months. While there, we took the boys down to the beach for some kite flying, and since the wind was crazy, our kites kept crashing. These kids helped us a lot by picking them up and flinging them skyward to get them going again. They all speak Makhua and some Portuguese so communication was a bit difficult, but they were very interested in what we were up to, and especially the camera!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Kevin Turns 40!!!
Wow, look at the blaze on that cake! It is hard to believe that I first met Kevin more than 20 years ago and that he still is the most wonderful man I know. He had a great birthday, with our team prayer meeting (and cake), then lunch at friends' house (with cake), then supper at home with out-of-town friends (and cake). This morning he enjoyed a piece of the strawberry rhubarb pie I made for him. We see strawberries in shops only about once a year (and very sad-looking ones at that), and they cost the moon, but a friend tipped me off to their presence and I ran to the store to get them and then froze them. A few days later, rhubarb magically appeared at the grocery store (same friend tipped me off) and when I got there the next day, I got the LAST package! Froze that too, and resulting pie was sooooo good. Not 'cause I am such a good cook, but because it is strawberry rhubarb!
Anyway, I was going through a family photo album with a friend last night and was looking at all the photos of dear ones who have died in the last four years. I counted four grandparents, an aunt, and a great aunt, and of course Tabitha. Kevin's maternal grandmother died in April, and his paternal grandmother died on Saturday. And we didn't make it for any of the grandparent funerals. It is sad to us. We'll be thinking of Kevin's family on Friday as they say goodbye to Nana Zwart.
-Cami
And you thought service at your restaurant was slow. . .
This morning, as planned, I went off on the motorcycle about 3 miles down the road to visit one of Kevin's female students. He really can't visit her at home, so it is up to me and I am pleased to visit her because she is such a sweet, lively person. I showed up there about 9:15, and by 9:30 she had started cooking. I expected this because unfortunately there is an idea that any visitor must be fed. This is very nice for the average Mozambican with a low income, as he or she probably has eaten very little for breakfast, but for us it is a nuisance and tiresome. You'll see why in a minute. But we appreciate the generosity from which this custom comes, and people are so kind to want to feed us.
The first 45 minutes, I sat on a chair in the shade by myself, visited occasionally by the lady, Faurita. We chatted about this and that and she would go back into the cooking area in front of her mud house (a chest-high wall in front of the house with roof over it) to poke at the fire. I wondered what would be to eat, as Kevin is frequently fed dried tiny shrimp that still have their shells on, a crunchy and gritty though tasty meal. I don't like shrimp, so I was hoping this wasn't it. Anyway, after about 20 minutes I suggested I would like to learn how to cook mozambican-style. Of course, I've seen a fair amount of mozambican cooking and can do quite a bit already, but this was a way to get me out of the chair and sitting near the lady so we could talk more. And I was bored. About 30 minutes later, she invited me into the "kitchen", where she was sitting on a sideways plastic jug and gave me one too. She was putting the rice in to cook. Now here, we eat fresh rice. Believe me, you will never go back to what we eat in America after eating fresh. It is indeed dried, but less than 6 months old and has a flavor you won't believe. Kevin bought some of the regular imported kind last week and we could hardly eat it. We are so spoiled now. Anyway, the second hour I was there was involved in cooking rice. Then she started cutting up greens - big leafy vegetable, while sitting sideways on a 7-inch high stool. She did this without a cutting board, simply slicing up toward her thumb while the leaves were rolled up tight. Yikes. Then time to cut some tomatoes, then some onions, same way. Meanwhile, we had moved back into the yard and watched the ducks wander around, along with the chickens and some babies came and went from the neighbors.
She has a little shop where she sells dried fish and shrimp, tomatoes and onions, and oil. It looks like something you'd see on Giligan's Island and to us would be "cute" but is just normal here. Built of bamboo, straw roof, countertop made of mud topped with cement to display the wares. It was very interesting to watch the neighbor ladies come and ask to buy a bit of cornflour, a little pile of fish, a few tomatoes, a half-cup of oil. Everything is bought in tiny amounts. One of the children knocked a green papaya off the tree and cut it up with a huge knife. Another of Kevin's students (another lady) showed up with a huge pile of peanuts and we shelled some of them while we waited for the water to boil to cook the greens (rice was now finished). As we passed the 2 1/2 hour mark, they started pounding peanuts in the big mortar and pestle thing (don't know English name!) and shaking out the powder through a sieve. Eventually, at about hour 3, this was done and all put into the pot. I sent Kevin a message saying "we are going to eat now." Another 30 minutes passed. Much banging around in the cooking area and inside the house where I believe dishes were being procured. I was asked to sit on a straw mat in the shade. Finally, lunch. Some very tough chicken pieces in about 3 cups of oil (no joke) with a nice curry flavor, plain rice to mix it with, and the greens in peanut sauce. A delicious lunch, really, and Faurita was so generous in making it for me. But wow did it take a long time. I thought that a 9 am visit would avoid a meal, but instead it meant 3 1/2 hours prep time! Which is understandable since each item must be cooked in its entirety, then set aside to cook the next thing. She needs a three-rock (actually 9 rock) "cookstove" instead of a one-rock.
We used the time to talk about how she became a Christian, who were the various children around (her husband's 9 year old son from a former marriage, her 12-year old niece whose mother died last year), which neighbor had a new husband or wife (people leave and "marry" again more casually than you would think). One of the students said to me that people thought it was very funny I was sitting there talking with them because "white people don't come and visit us" and I thought "That's because it takes 4 hours!!!!" but was glad I had come. Finally, after we finished eating and chasing the ducks away from our food, I announced we really ought to go and would she like a ride to my house (she walks all the way into the city to buy things for her little shop)? Yes, of course. She brings out the gifts. About 5 pounds of fresh rice for us, and a huge pile of peanuts from the other student. Then she catches the chicken running around the yard. I looked at her and said "Oh no. I can't take that on the motorcycle. Please, I have chickens at home." "No," she insisted "I bought this for Toby". Wow, Toby will NOT be thrilled, I think, but luckily he can be told to pretend to be happy and he will be.
So, we wrap up all the gifts (minus chicken) and tie them to the back of the bike, then we both climb on and said chicken is held by its wings by Faurita. Now, on a normal day I am quite a sight to see on the bike (more on that in another post) but today is a very SPECIAL sight. I am so thankful I don't have to go through the city. Off we go. Chicken arrives looking half-dead but some water will perk him up. And I check the clock - 1:30. Man, I'm beat.
On a more serious note, you can keep Faurita in your prayers. Her husband has been running around with other women and the only thing she can do is leave him. If she tries, she'll probably lose anything she has, and she doesn't make enough money to support herself. Her family might help her, but it would be rough as none of them have much money. She doesn't know what to do and he is also sometimes violent. Unfortunately, this is an all-too-common story here and we hear many stories of women being victimized by their husbands in various ways. She is a faithful Christian who wants to do the right thing. - Cami
The first 45 minutes, I sat on a chair in the shade by myself, visited occasionally by the lady, Faurita. We chatted about this and that and she would go back into the cooking area in front of her mud house (a chest-high wall in front of the house with roof over it) to poke at the fire. I wondered what would be to eat, as Kevin is frequently fed dried tiny shrimp that still have their shells on, a crunchy and gritty though tasty meal. I don't like shrimp, so I was hoping this wasn't it. Anyway, after about 20 minutes I suggested I would like to learn how to cook mozambican-style. Of course, I've seen a fair amount of mozambican cooking and can do quite a bit already, but this was a way to get me out of the chair and sitting near the lady so we could talk more. And I was bored. About 30 minutes later, she invited me into the "kitchen", where she was sitting on a sideways plastic jug and gave me one too. She was putting the rice in to cook. Now here, we eat fresh rice. Believe me, you will never go back to what we eat in America after eating fresh. It is indeed dried, but less than 6 months old and has a flavor you won't believe. Kevin bought some of the regular imported kind last week and we could hardly eat it. We are so spoiled now. Anyway, the second hour I was there was involved in cooking rice. Then she started cutting up greens - big leafy vegetable, while sitting sideways on a 7-inch high stool. She did this without a cutting board, simply slicing up toward her thumb while the leaves were rolled up tight. Yikes. Then time to cut some tomatoes, then some onions, same way. Meanwhile, we had moved back into the yard and watched the ducks wander around, along with the chickens and some babies came and went from the neighbors.
She has a little shop where she sells dried fish and shrimp, tomatoes and onions, and oil. It looks like something you'd see on Giligan's Island and to us would be "cute" but is just normal here. Built of bamboo, straw roof, countertop made of mud topped with cement to display the wares. It was very interesting to watch the neighbor ladies come and ask to buy a bit of cornflour, a little pile of fish, a few tomatoes, a half-cup of oil. Everything is bought in tiny amounts. One of the children knocked a green papaya off the tree and cut it up with a huge knife. Another of Kevin's students (another lady) showed up with a huge pile of peanuts and we shelled some of them while we waited for the water to boil to cook the greens (rice was now finished). As we passed the 2 1/2 hour mark, they started pounding peanuts in the big mortar and pestle thing (don't know English name!) and shaking out the powder through a sieve. Eventually, at about hour 3, this was done and all put into the pot. I sent Kevin a message saying "we are going to eat now." Another 30 minutes passed. Much banging around in the cooking area and inside the house where I believe dishes were being procured. I was asked to sit on a straw mat in the shade. Finally, lunch. Some very tough chicken pieces in about 3 cups of oil (no joke) with a nice curry flavor, plain rice to mix it with, and the greens in peanut sauce. A delicious lunch, really, and Faurita was so generous in making it for me. But wow did it take a long time. I thought that a 9 am visit would avoid a meal, but instead it meant 3 1/2 hours prep time! Which is understandable since each item must be cooked in its entirety, then set aside to cook the next thing. She needs a three-rock (actually 9 rock) "cookstove" instead of a one-rock.
We used the time to talk about how she became a Christian, who were the various children around (her husband's 9 year old son from a former marriage, her 12-year old niece whose mother died last year), which neighbor had a new husband or wife (people leave and "marry" again more casually than you would think). One of the students said to me that people thought it was very funny I was sitting there talking with them because "white people don't come and visit us" and I thought "That's because it takes 4 hours!!!!" but was glad I had come. Finally, after we finished eating and chasing the ducks away from our food, I announced we really ought to go and would she like a ride to my house (she walks all the way into the city to buy things for her little shop)? Yes, of course. She brings out the gifts. About 5 pounds of fresh rice for us, and a huge pile of peanuts from the other student. Then she catches the chicken running around the yard. I looked at her and said "Oh no. I can't take that on the motorcycle. Please, I have chickens at home." "No," she insisted "I bought this for Toby". Wow, Toby will NOT be thrilled, I think, but luckily he can be told to pretend to be happy and he will be.
So, we wrap up all the gifts (minus chicken) and tie them to the back of the bike, then we both climb on and said chicken is held by its wings by Faurita. Now, on a normal day I am quite a sight to see on the bike (more on that in another post) but today is a very SPECIAL sight. I am so thankful I don't have to go through the city. Off we go. Chicken arrives looking half-dead but some water will perk him up. And I check the clock - 1:30. Man, I'm beat.
On a more serious note, you can keep Faurita in your prayers. Her husband has been running around with other women and the only thing she can do is leave him. If she tries, she'll probably lose anything she has, and she doesn't make enough money to support herself. Her family might help her, but it would be rough as none of them have much money. She doesn't know what to do and he is also sometimes violent. Unfortunately, this is an all-too-common story here and we hear many stories of women being victimized by their husbands in various ways. She is a faithful Christian who wants to do the right thing. - Cami
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The Old Man and the Cat
This week had some interesting events. I have been wanting to have some excuses to meet more of my neighbors (wandering around, poking your head into their yards, isn't considered appropriate) and this week my wish was granted.
Last Sunday, we got a new addition to the family. We had Molly when she was a kitten, for about a week before various circumstances sent her off to another home. She returned to us this week (despite our "no receipt, no returns" policy) and good ole stinky butt is somewhat unhappily installed on our veranda. She really is a nice little cat, but being here with two very loud, active boys, three dogs and another cat who keeps trying to be her friend despite her fervent attempts to avoid acquaintance, has been rather traumatic for her.
Anyway, on Thursday she was put into the yard while the dogs were locked up, and took off. We searched high and low for her but no sign. So, I started the rounds to the neighbors looking for her. People think cats are valuable around here, because they keep the rats and snakes at bay, so were concerned that i find my cat. I ran into a group of children behind my yard (we have a 10 foot wall, so it is like another world back there, full of gardens and mud houses) and told them I would give them a present if they found my cat. Now, there is nobody better than a pack of 10 year old boys to scour the bushes for a missing cat. If they can't find it, nobody can. Within 15 minutes they were back at my house reporting success. Unfortunately, it was a dead cat they had found. They led me on winding paths for about 1/4 mile before we came to a cat that looked exactly like Molly. My heart just sank. But after inspecting said cat for about 5 minutes, I realized that she didn't have Molly's tail. Molly has a very distinctive serpentine tail, and this one was short and fluffy. Phew. I was fortunate to run into a neighbor that I'd met before, and she confirmed that said dead cat had been running around for several days before.
Later that night, a tremendous ruckus in the yard brought us out to find Molly, cornered by the three dogs. She had come home. We are so thankful.
That same night, our neighbor from across the street called to tell us there was a "strange person" in our front yard. He and Kevin met outside to discuss the situation and decided that the old man was drunk and, since it was a warm night, to just leave him be and see if he moved on after he recovered himself. Next morning, he was still outside, albeit a bit farther down the sidewalk in front of another neighbor's house. Clothed in rags, he was a pitiful sight. A neighbor gave him some breakfast, and we wondered what he would do. Not drunk, but mentally ill or senile. I waited to see what the community would do about the situation.
Unfortunately, they just left him there. By two pm, when the sun was hot, we was lying on his back on the sidewalk, naked to the waist and looking pathetic. People just walked around him and I began to wonder if I was in America where people ignore those in distress. So, I told my guard that we were going to move him into our front yard and put him on a straw mat under a shady tree while the community president decided what to do with him. My guard looked horrified. But he's crazy, he protested. Well, tough luck. We can't leave him out there to die. Reluctantly, he brought out the straw mat and we went out to inspect the victim. I went next door to find someone to help us pick up this six-foot tall man (who probably weighed 110 pounds) and they looked uncomfortable. Did not want to touch him. As I walked back to my guard and the old man on the sidewalk, there were a couple of passersby standing there, and I asked them to help us. They readily agreed, and we all lifted him up and helped him walk to the shade. He was wet with urine and staggered. His clothes were rags and he was missing most of his teeth, and thin as a rail. We laid him on the mat, and people started coming. There must have been 20 people in my yard, discussing the situation and what to do. The neighbor brought cornmeal to make some porridge, and my guard agreed to feed him something since I was late for a meeting. It was so odd - nobody wanted anything to do with him while he lay out there, but once he was in my yard they all had advice and agreed that it was good that we were caring for him. Why? Probably because they didn't want responsibility for him (for reasons explained below) and were glad I had taken it on.
Later that night, the president of the community still hadn't done anything and I suggested that we bring out the rope bed and let the man sleep on my front veranda or inside the backyard. My neighbor and guard became very upset. No, they said. If he dies here you are going to have major problems. I could see their point - there would be a police investigation and it is quite likely that, as a foreigner, I might be charged with murder. Rumors would fly about what we had done to the old man and there would be all kinds of unpleasant repercussions. But I suspect that there were other "problems" they were concerned about, like bad spirits attacking my house, funeral arrangements and ceremonies, etc. I suggested we take him to the hospital, as he was obviously ill. No, my neighbor said, they'll just give him an injection to kill him since he doesn't have anyone to advocate for him. So, in the end we took him to the police station at 8 pm, and they were surprisingly helpful. They were respectful to him, and accepted him without hesitation after asking for my neighbor's details like name, address and occupation. She looked very frightened and did not want to give this information because, as she told me later, they might come back to her with problems. I was surprised to hear this since her husband is a transit cop. In the end, they let us go after only about 10 minutes and the old man waited there for a transport to take him to the hospital. I don't know what happened to him, since he wouldn't tell us his name or who his family is, and without family it is not likely he'll end up anywhere very good. The police station was a broken-down old building with a couple of benches, a desk, and an old couch where the police watch tv while they wait for a call. They seemed quite competent and professional though, and none of the bad things I expected happened (requests for bribes, harrassment of the foreigner for dragging sick people around and dumping them at police stations, inspection of the foreigner's documents with threats of confiscating them, etc.).
All in all, satisfactory endings to both situations, and some interesting insights into the behavior of people in this culture. I do hope the old man ended up with good treatment, and with the intervention of the police that is quite possible. Meanwhile, it was sad to see how fear prevented the community from caring for him. - Cami
Last Sunday, we got a new addition to the family. We had Molly when she was a kitten, for about a week before various circumstances sent her off to another home. She returned to us this week (despite our "no receipt, no returns" policy) and good ole stinky butt is somewhat unhappily installed on our veranda. She really is a nice little cat, but being here with two very loud, active boys, three dogs and another cat who keeps trying to be her friend despite her fervent attempts to avoid acquaintance, has been rather traumatic for her.
Anyway, on Thursday she was put into the yard while the dogs were locked up, and took off. We searched high and low for her but no sign. So, I started the rounds to the neighbors looking for her. People think cats are valuable around here, because they keep the rats and snakes at bay, so were concerned that i find my cat. I ran into a group of children behind my yard (we have a 10 foot wall, so it is like another world back there, full of gardens and mud houses) and told them I would give them a present if they found my cat. Now, there is nobody better than a pack of 10 year old boys to scour the bushes for a missing cat. If they can't find it, nobody can. Within 15 minutes they were back at my house reporting success. Unfortunately, it was a dead cat they had found. They led me on winding paths for about 1/4 mile before we came to a cat that looked exactly like Molly. My heart just sank. But after inspecting said cat for about 5 minutes, I realized that she didn't have Molly's tail. Molly has a very distinctive serpentine tail, and this one was short and fluffy. Phew. I was fortunate to run into a neighbor that I'd met before, and she confirmed that said dead cat had been running around for several days before.
Later that night, a tremendous ruckus in the yard brought us out to find Molly, cornered by the three dogs. She had come home. We are so thankful.
That same night, our neighbor from across the street called to tell us there was a "strange person" in our front yard. He and Kevin met outside to discuss the situation and decided that the old man was drunk and, since it was a warm night, to just leave him be and see if he moved on after he recovered himself. Next morning, he was still outside, albeit a bit farther down the sidewalk in front of another neighbor's house. Clothed in rags, he was a pitiful sight. A neighbor gave him some breakfast, and we wondered what he would do. Not drunk, but mentally ill or senile. I waited to see what the community would do about the situation.
Unfortunately, they just left him there. By two pm, when the sun was hot, we was lying on his back on the sidewalk, naked to the waist and looking pathetic. People just walked around him and I began to wonder if I was in America where people ignore those in distress. So, I told my guard that we were going to move him into our front yard and put him on a straw mat under a shady tree while the community president decided what to do with him. My guard looked horrified. But he's crazy, he protested. Well, tough luck. We can't leave him out there to die. Reluctantly, he brought out the straw mat and we went out to inspect the victim. I went next door to find someone to help us pick up this six-foot tall man (who probably weighed 110 pounds) and they looked uncomfortable. Did not want to touch him. As I walked back to my guard and the old man on the sidewalk, there were a couple of passersby standing there, and I asked them to help us. They readily agreed, and we all lifted him up and helped him walk to the shade. He was wet with urine and staggered. His clothes were rags and he was missing most of his teeth, and thin as a rail. We laid him on the mat, and people started coming. There must have been 20 people in my yard, discussing the situation and what to do. The neighbor brought cornmeal to make some porridge, and my guard agreed to feed him something since I was late for a meeting. It was so odd - nobody wanted anything to do with him while he lay out there, but once he was in my yard they all had advice and agreed that it was good that we were caring for him. Why? Probably because they didn't want responsibility for him (for reasons explained below) and were glad I had taken it on.
Later that night, the president of the community still hadn't done anything and I suggested that we bring out the rope bed and let the man sleep on my front veranda or inside the backyard. My neighbor and guard became very upset. No, they said. If he dies here you are going to have major problems. I could see their point - there would be a police investigation and it is quite likely that, as a foreigner, I might be charged with murder. Rumors would fly about what we had done to the old man and there would be all kinds of unpleasant repercussions. But I suspect that there were other "problems" they were concerned about, like bad spirits attacking my house, funeral arrangements and ceremonies, etc. I suggested we take him to the hospital, as he was obviously ill. No, my neighbor said, they'll just give him an injection to kill him since he doesn't have anyone to advocate for him. So, in the end we took him to the police station at 8 pm, and they were surprisingly helpful. They were respectful to him, and accepted him without hesitation after asking for my neighbor's details like name, address and occupation. She looked very frightened and did not want to give this information because, as she told me later, they might come back to her with problems. I was surprised to hear this since her husband is a transit cop. In the end, they let us go after only about 10 minutes and the old man waited there for a transport to take him to the hospital. I don't know what happened to him, since he wouldn't tell us his name or who his family is, and without family it is not likely he'll end up anywhere very good. The police station was a broken-down old building with a couple of benches, a desk, and an old couch where the police watch tv while they wait for a call. They seemed quite competent and professional though, and none of the bad things I expected happened (requests for bribes, harrassment of the foreigner for dragging sick people around and dumping them at police stations, inspection of the foreigner's documents with threats of confiscating them, etc.).
All in all, satisfactory endings to both situations, and some interesting insights into the behavior of people in this culture. I do hope the old man ended up with good treatment, and with the intervention of the police that is quite possible. Meanwhile, it was sad to see how fear prevented the community from caring for him. - Cami
Friday, August 7, 2009
Public Transport
Just had to post this photo I took on the main highway (which is 2 lanes) out to the coast. This is just the back of the truck, which is chock-full of people. Space ran out, so guys are hanging off the back. This truck is going about 60 miles per hour. i won't go into a million details about traffic accidents and such here - suffice it to say that they are more frequent than they ought to be and that people are severely hurt or killed when they are involved. Few have seat belts and many travel just like this. Head-ons on these two-lane highways (which have curves and hills) are all too common. Makes me think twice about taking public transport anywhere. Of course, having someone throw up on my shoes (which happened to a colleague), riding next to a blaring speaker for 6 hours (another colleague), having a baby changed on your lap (colleague), smelling dried fish for hour after hour (colleague) or getting worms in your backside from the wet seat you are sitting on (which happened to a friend) are other deterrents. - Cami
Chocas Mar
Wow, the internet is SO fast today that I'm uploading photos wherever I can. We've had quite a few days where we could hardly send an email, internet was so slow. Other days it is out completely.
Here is a photo of the beach we spent one night at this week, to celebrate our 17th anniversary. Of course, we were with the kids and another family as well, but that's a longer story! It was really so pleasant and enjoyable. The beaches here in Mozambique are gorgeous. Unfortunately for the tourists, there are quite a few beaches that are used as public toilet (I am totally serious, and no you do not want to see it), so most beaches are not ones you want to bathe at, or even walk on the sand at. But this beach does not have local people living close by, and so is pristine and beautiful. We did a little snorkeling and found some coral and little fishies about 300 feet offshore, which was nice. We have tons of tourists visiting in the south and once transport and tourist attractions improve in the north, I think there will be a lot more visitors to these beautiful beaches with powdery sand. -C
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Last Day of School
Last Friday was the end of the school year for Morningstar School, where Toby attends. He is sooo excited to now be a second grader, and no longer the littlest kid in the school. There were two others in his first grade class, but they were both taller than him.
Friday was field day, and there were races and relays, "sword fighting" (object to knock the frisbee off your opponent's hand) and a pinata. All the parents came and it was great fun watching the dads participate in some of the relays.
What a blessing this little school is to us. Each of the teachers has actually raised her own support to come and teach our kids (one is already a missionary here with her husband and children). Can you believe it? it is amazing to me that they would go through all that and move so far from friends and family to teach my kid! Life for a single white lady here in Nampula is not easy and they are harrassed pretty much every time they go out. We are so thankful for these kind and dedicated women who have sacrified so much so that our children can receive a quality education. Here is a photo of Toby with his teacher, Miss Jarvis. He started off the year with Miss Dancey, who went home for a short furlough and will be back teaching second grade in September.
Toby received the award for "most enthusiastic" in his class of first and second graders, which everyone laughed at. No lie! He loves school and is sad that he has five weeks off. He has been learning so much and is doing very well - we can't imagine a more positive school experience for him and it is wonderful to see him learning scripture and applying it in his life as a result of what he is taught. There is no bullying at the school and there are high standards for behavior- as a result the atmosphere is truly so pleasant. Toby will be back in September - please join with us in thanking God for providing this "haven of peace" for Toby and such a great start to his schooling. - Cami
Friday was field day, and there were races and relays, "sword fighting" (object to knock the frisbee off your opponent's hand) and a pinata. All the parents came and it was great fun watching the dads participate in some of the relays.
What a blessing this little school is to us. Each of the teachers has actually raised her own support to come and teach our kids (one is already a missionary here with her husband and children). Can you believe it? it is amazing to me that they would go through all that and move so far from friends and family to teach my kid! Life for a single white lady here in Nampula is not easy and they are harrassed pretty much every time they go out. We are so thankful for these kind and dedicated women who have sacrified so much so that our children can receive a quality education. Here is a photo of Toby with his teacher, Miss Jarvis. He started off the year with Miss Dancey, who went home for a short furlough and will be back teaching second grade in September.
Toby received the award for "most enthusiastic" in his class of first and second graders, which everyone laughed at. No lie! He loves school and is sad that he has five weeks off. He has been learning so much and is doing very well - we can't imagine a more positive school experience for him and it is wonderful to see him learning scripture and applying it in his life as a result of what he is taught. There is no bullying at the school and there are high standards for behavior- as a result the atmosphere is truly so pleasant. Toby will be back in September - please join with us in thanking God for providing this "haven of peace" for Toby and such a great start to his schooling. - Cami
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