we danced, we laughed. we ate. (despedida part 2)

As preparations started, I met with a woman in town to discuss the food at the party. I wanted to hire her and a couple friends to do all the cooking. She was the wife of one of my friends, but I hardly knew her, so I asked her how much she would charge. At a somewhat steep-seeming cost, we agreed and went about making the shopping list.

It was clear when making the list that she did not have a lot of experience throwing big parties. Some of the things on her list would be way too few, others, like 40 kilos of potatoes seemed pretty steep.

So I took the list to Mama Luisa, who I knew knew how to throw a party. She looked at the list and laughed and asked if I had made it alone. I explained I made it with the woman cooking for the party. Mama Luisa just looked at me blankly. Why had I hired someone to cook? Of course Mama Luisa and my other friends would be doing the cooking. I explained that I did not want any of my guests stressing about preparing the food, and that I wanted to be able to enjoy the party. Mozambican party preparation can often start at 5 the day of the event, and I wanted nothing to do with that. I wanted to blow up balloons and string them in my trees.

Mama Luisa called in Pastor Ricardo and explained what happened. He then called in a few neighbors. Soon, it was a full fledged intervention. They group decided that I was no longer the Dona (in charge) of my party, but just the coordinator of its events. They were taking charge and I had to agree. They called the lady I had spoken with and told her it was wrong to try to charge me. They organized a plan and agreed to meet the day before to make the pig's marinade and made me a good list for my shopping.

I set about making a condom piñata (made of a condom, painted to look like an oblong rainbow colored globe) and made a grab bag for guests to have a party favor. I was determined to add some American party flare.

The days before the party were busy. I had to pick up firewood from one lady and bring chairs from the Pastor's house. I helped slaughter a pig. (That in itself was a huge ordeal including but not limited to: a dog attack, painful squeals on the part of said pig, and my invitation to a usually men's only ritual of the first bites). I wanted a new dress, so I had to sit patiently as my dress lady took her time chatting with her friends while finishing my hem. I went to sleep the night before the party worried that it would pour, that no one would come, and that the rice was totally burnt.

Saturday, the day of the event, I woke up early and squeezed in a quick run before 6 when Melita was diligently on time and already getting the fire started. I joined her and started peeling the 20 kilos of potatoes. As my other friends arrived to help with the cooking we were all given one pot to man. Obviously I do not know how to cook anything right, so I was given dish duty (only after having first been given salad duty and Celeste decided I was cutting the lettuce too small). I washed dishes and set the table. Then I put up balloons in the trees and hung up the piñata. It was starting to look like a party.

Though I had told people to arrive around noon, 12 o'clock rolled around and I was still sneaking tastes of the food as we finished getting everything ready. The energy came back on around 12:30, so we went to set up the speakers I had borrowed for the event. It did not take long to realize we were missing a few cords and a DVD player to actually have music, so we divided up the errands and I sat and started to receive guests.

Eventually we got the music going and Celeste started the party off with a speech and then put me on the spot to make another. Then everyone took a turn talking about how I had truly become a Manjacaziana. Though it was hard to hear people making speeches about me leaving, it was really wonderful to have everyone together.

After a huge lunch, which everyone loved – especially the “festa rice,” rice with carrots and green peppers, and a number of other of my favorite dishes that people had brought for the pot luck (I think there was a bit of a competition to see which dish I would serve the most from, so I ended up eating a lot so as not to seem like I preferred one over the other. The ladies helping me cook knew I was partial to their special dish, which I told them to please set aside an extra bowl for me to keep this week – tihove is made from corn and peanuts and is just wonderful), we set in for the games.

I got to spin all the kids around for the piñata, and with 9 year old Aderito I regretted spinning them according to ages-and even more doing the piñata after lunch. Eventually it was broken and everyone ran at he loot. Sylvester, I am proud to say, got two full pockets worth and gladly shared a tootsie roll with me.

Then one of the guests led a fierce game of musical chairs. It got a little ugly there in the middle, but it was so fun to see everyone, kids and adults alike, laughing so much.

Then I did the grab back. A little fighting over the kids who got crayons versus those who got the water guns, but I think just cause it was so hot that day and the water guns were awesome. Irma Alice, the head nun, got the soccer ball which she thought was ironic and I found to be just perfect as I know she will share it well.

After a procession of capulanas and a little fashion show between myself and Emilia, the party evolved into a private discotheque with Mama Isaura showing off moves I didn't know could come from such a quiet, polite, and church-going woman. Eventually, Linda, the new volunteer in Manjacaze, and I were the only two left belting out to “Love is a Battlefield” with ladle microphones.

All in all, the party achieved exactly what I had hoped. We laughed, we danced, and we ate.

It is very bittersweet leaving, and I am in many ways not yet ready. But I can say that a threw a pretty awesome going away party, and I know thinking about it will make people, including myself, smile for a while. Especially when I think of Mama Isaura bustin' a serious move.

nao. nao da nada. (despedida part 1)

In Mozambique, if you are throwing a party, you better have meat.

You don't talk about how fun the party was last weekend. How much you danced. How beautiful the bride was. You talk about how there were two whole cows killed! Two! Plus chickens.

I have been thinking about having a going away party for some time now. I had to. Parties in Mozambique, like the US, need careful planning and saving. I was not about to have some mediocre party. I wanted people to really enjoy it.

At first I talked with Melita about my options. I envisioned an American style bbq, complete with checkered tablecloths.

She was not about to have us eating corn on the cob at my going away party.

After a lot of thought, I decided to buy a pig. With the addition of a couple chickens and some fries, I was on my way to having a successful party.

The problem was, the pig set me back about half of what I had planned to spend on the whole party. There was no way I could provide drinks, bathtubs full of rice, and a nice bean stew as well.

So I met the tradition halfway. As I invited people, I explained that my party was going to be a pot luck. At first people just looked at me like I was crazy. I was inviting them to a party where they had to cook something and bring it? What is this crazy girl doing now.

But eventually, enough of my friends understood that I really just wanted a fun, laid back party with lots of food and dancing. They helped me spread the word.

I started inviting people. People were not too excited that it was a despedida, but when I told them we were killing a pig, their faces lit up. Everyone seemed worried about what I would eat (the Jewish vegetarian). I explained that hopefully they would bring something delicious to share with everyone.

I invited my closest friends and my family in Manjacaze. I didn't want the whole town coming, though I knew many people would hear about it and just show up. I invited twenty or so people. I planned for about fifty.

When I invited Papa Nhampule, my guard, he looked very concerned. I explained that I was just having a party to celebrate my two years here and I wanted all of my favorite people there, so he needed to be there with his wife. He just shook his head.

We are killing a pig! I explained.

He looked down. “Nao, nao da nada.” Why? I couldn't understand why this was so bad. He explained he wouldn't even want a party with a whole cow. He didn't want to go to my despedida. He didn't want me to go.

I laughed and told him I had to go. He laughed as well and assured me he would be there.

moving.

I have moved a lot in the last eight years.

Each year, at the end of the spring semester, I would sit with my roommates, have a bit too much to drink, and battle to fit all of my accumulated stuff into bags and boxes that could be stored in my sister's living room over the summer. Thanks Beck and Brian for putting up with that bag of hangers. I know it was ridiculous, but buying new hangers every year? Get real.

I find myself moving yet again, and for a number of reasons it is much harder. Instead of saying goodbye to friends for the summer, I am saying goodbye to a family. And I truly am not sure when I will return.

That is the first question people ask me these days. “Oh you are leaving?! Already! But-when will you be back.”

I have to answer honestly that I do not know. And I do not like it.

I don't like it that I won't get to see Sylvester loose his bottom teeth or Bernardo start high school. I won't get to continue to watch my REDES girls grow and become more sassy and independent. I won't get to gossip with my lady friends each morning or joke with the women about the market about how much I like cucumbers.

Leaving Manjacaze is not something I am ready to do. It does not seem like two years have already passed. Though I often sat wondering how time could pass so slowly, I am left thinking about where the time has gone.

I think Peace Corps is one of the few programs that really focuses on your integration into the community. There is great value in becoming someone's family. But it makes it that harder to leave.

Even when I left for Mozambique, I knew a time line. I was leaving for two years, but then I would find myself back with my friends having taco night and drinking IPAs. I was not really saying “good-bye” to anyone or anything.

Don't get me wrong here. In a lot of ways, it is time for me to leave Mozambique. If sustainability is what we are working toward, we have to eventually be comfortable handing our work off. And I know I am leaving my projects in good hands. But I can't help but treat certain things like my babies.

The jammin' will continue. The ladies are motivated and are excited to continue without me. But I worry that they won't know how to access the markets or utilize the profits in a productive and sustainable way.

The nutrition center just got a great grant from PEPFAR which will help it to get support groups established and perhaps some continuing nutrition education for the women who come through. As much as I know it is in a great place, I will miss shelling peanuts with ladies and playing with their babies as I get to know them, their families, and their challenges.

REDES is handed off to a new group of volunteers, similarly motivated to include Mozambicans in the planning and implementation of our projects.

I know there are people taking care of my projects, but these tasks, jobs, efforts have been my life for the past two years. I sometimes wake up thinking of a good REDES session or a new way to discuss hygiene with new mothers. I am sometimes kept up at night because of the thought that maybe we didn't boil the jars long enough and there is mold growing on them.

Someone will do it, though. Someone will stop by and kiss the kiddies at the casa de acolhimento. Someone will make sure my girls still have thread and that they are practicing their presentations for school. Someone will gossip with all my ladies. Someone will make sure the work continues.

Like any family, eventually, you do have to appreciate that everyone is personally capable. I treat my projects like my babies. It is hard to let go of your babies. Just ask my mom.

food blog

Every once in a while I consider changing this blog into a food blog. But then I would just join the ranks of hundreds, maybe more, food blogs out there. Sure-mine would have a catcher, based here in Manjacaze, but it just seems over-done.

Plus, who would be here reminding everyone about bee justice?

With that said, this is a special blog post dedicated to a couple of the most delicious things that I have made in the last two years.

I should warn everyone reading this that if you try it at home and want the same delicious results as I have had, best to really go to town with the spices. If I say 5-6 cloves of garlic, I mean it! When in doubt – spice it up.

A word about buying things in Mozambique: take advantage when you see something out of the ordinary. There are some markets that just stock things that you do not usually see. For example, in Xai Xai you can buy ginger. Inhambane is the only place I have ever seen herbs for sale. Indian lojas tend to stock things like feta cheese, raisins, cooking chocolate, lentils, black beans, garbanzo beans, interesting spices, oatmeal, and the list goes on. I have convinced a man in Manjacaze to stock butternut squash and he sometimes surprises me with some red peppers. Other than that, at markets as nice as the one here in Manjacaze you can find staples like lettuce, garlic, onions, cucumber, green peppers, and sometimes eggplant. At smaller markets you will find onions, annoyingly small garlic, tomatoes, and maybe a variety of leafy greens. Sometimes you will find ladies selling wild mushrooms from their yards (which should be thoroughly cleaned as they are really sandy and chewing sand makes even the best dishes completely inedible).

Fruits are seasonal except for bananas and papayas (the latter you can only get from people with trees, they are rarely for sale in the markets) There are more kinds of bananas than you could imagine and each one has a different purpose. Monkey bananas are great in fruit salads (as are others but these are my favorite). The small finger bananas are what you should go for if you are looking to smear some peanut butter on it. The bigger bananas go brown fast and work great if you are making muffins or banana bread. Papayas come in short and squat, orange varieties and longer yellower varieties. I like the orange ones, but to each her own. Mango season is late December to March, and you should make your jam then cause you will miss them a lot come August when all you can find is imported, over-priced oranges. Pineapples are best around March and April. Avocados are huge here and ripe around March to May, unless you live in a cooler spot and you get lucky with a longer season. Passion fruits are usually available on the EN1 (the highway) most of the year. Tangerine season is delightfully long and starts around May and goes til August or so.

Grow your own herbs! Herbs are hard to come by and make a huge difference in your meal preparation. Basil, dill, rosemary, and cilantro are the basics. Mint, oregano, and parsley are also nice. They really do not like the heat of summer, so keep them in a shady place and give them lots of water and TLC.

Once you have your groceries, look at what you are working with, Usually, you can make something delicious from about 50 mets worth of produce (about $2). If you are entertaining Mozambican guests, be sure to serve your “caril” (sauce) with rice or xima. I tend to make tasty veggies and eat them with some fresh bread or Agua e Sals (crackers found just about everywhere in Moz, thicker and less salty than a saltine, and really delicious with just about anything). Pasta salads are also really easy and though my Mozambican friends first thought of them as an incomplete meal, they are growing to enjoy them, as I throw so much in there they like the variety of tastes in each bite. If you have a friend who grows rice in their machamba, keep them close. Fresh rice makes an ordinary meal extraordinary.

Okay so for some recipes:

Garlic Eggplant
2-3 small eggplants
5-7 cloves of garlic
2 small onions
olive oil
black pepper
rock salt
10 or so basil leaves
Cut up the onions pretty small and the garlic even smaller. If you are lucky enough to have a garlic press, use it! Cut the eggplant into pinky-sized cubes. In a pan, heat up the oil a bit. Toss in the garlic and onions. Let them get going a bit, but not too long since eggplant takes a good minute to cook, and then add the eggplant. Keep an eye on this as you want it to all cook evenly (which is tough if you are working with irregular electricity or even worse if you are on charcoal). Add a pinch or two of salt pretty early on and a lot of black pepper soon thereafter. I like to just cover the whole thing with fresh ground black pepper. Once the eggplants are soft, turn off the heat and add the basil. Enjoy with Agua e Sals like a dip of sorts or with pasta or rice. If you want you can add tomatoes or some greens if you have them. This is great with greens as well (add them just before the eggplant is finished). Some like the tomatoes but I think they take away from the integrity of the eggplant.

Ginger Black Bean Dip
an inch or so of ginger root
7-8 garlic cloves
1-2 onions
2 cups of black beans
3 or 4 piri piris
olive oil
juice of 2 lemons
Soak the beans overnight. If you are looking to save energy, soak them in hot water. Cook them until they are nice and soft, breaking open a bit. Once they are finished drain any extra water. Put them into a bowl and add chopped ginger, garlic and onions. Mash it all together until its dip like. Add some lemon juice, olive oil, and piri piris (hot peppers). Enjoy with home-made tortillas or good ole Agua e Sals (who at this point should really be sponsoring this blog). I usually also chop up some carrots and cucumbers to dip in there.
You can also add an egg and a little flour to the mix and make some killer bean burgers.

Brushetta
5 tomatoes
5 cloves of garlic
2 onions
basil
olive oil
lemon juice
black pepper
salt
When tomatoes are cheap (June – August) take advantage of them! Make gazpacho, salsa, and brushetta. Cut up the tomatoes, garlic, and onions. Mix together with olive oil and the juice of a lemon. I, obviously, like to put in a lot of black pepper and a little salt. Fresh basil is key, I would say double the number of tomatoes and that's how many leaves of basil you should chop up and add (or more si quiser). Enjoy with fresh market bread. If you want to make this a full meal, boil yourself an egg. The juice that you are left with once you have eaten all of it makes an awesome salad dressing, but it will not keep more than a couple of days.

Veggie Stir Fry
4-5 garlic cloves
an inch of ginger
soy sauce
2 tsp spicy mustard
1 onion
¼ cabbage
2 carrots
a handful of green beans
1 green pepper
cashews
spaghetti pasta
olive oil
piri piris
Get the onions, garlic, and ginger going in the olive oil. Add about 5 tablespoons of soy sauce. Cut the veggies in medium sized pieces and add them all at about the same time, last for the green peppers, green beans, and piri piris. Add a little water if it seems to be dry or more soy sauce if you can afford it. Add in the mustard and make sure it gets really mixed in there, it will make your sauce thicker and give it a nice kick. Add cooked pasta in as well as a handful of cashews and mix it all up so the pasta really looks like real Chinese take out. Enjoy. If you are getting fancy you can get yourself some fresh camarão (shrimp) and add that to the mix. Also, all of these veggies can be substituted for whatever else you have on hand; I just do not recommend tomatoes. Something about soy sauce and tomatoes does not go well together.

Creole Butternut Squash
one butternut squash
olive oil
Tony's Creole Seasoning (to be sent in a care package from home)
Skin the squash and get the insides out. Cut it into just bigger than bite sized pieces (or whatever you feel like really). Put it in a pan and cover with olive oil and Tony's. Put in the oven (read: dutch oven) and cook until its soft. Try not to eat the whole thing in one sitting-one squash is really a lot for one person. Plus this is delicious cold or thrown into a salad the next day. This recipe also works with wild pumpkin and is a great way to impress your neighbors that you know how to cook abobora (pumpkin).

MSG Popcorn
cooking oil
popcorn
Benny's Caldo
This is not really a recipe, just a really great idea (thank you J-Mills). Add caldo (chicken stock) to your popcorn instead of salt. It might be bad for you (research is very unclear on this), but it tastes so good.

Granola
butter
sugar
oats
vanilla
cinnamon
cashews
raisins
This is stove-top granola, for all of you out there without ovens. Melt butter (about 4 tablespoons for a small box of jungle oats, I think 500 g, of oatmeal) and sugar (depending on how sweet you like it, I do about 2-4 tablespoons for that one box of oats). Add oats. Stir constantly so that the oats get all sticky and coated and delicious looking. Add some vanilla (I only get the cheap imitation kind so I use a lot), it will make a nice sizzling noise and make the room smell awesome. Add some cinnamon (about a tablespoon). Add raisins and cashews if you have them. Substitute roasted peanuts if you rather. Shredded coconut is also a great addition. I like to also add a little salt once it is all said and done.

I hope this gets you all thinking about the delicious food I am currently eating and a little jealous. Tonight, I made a really tasty salad with carrots, apples, raisins, cucumbers, and dill. I could probably have a whole blog just about salads, but I think now I should return to writing about justice for those with not voice beside their buzz.

what's mine is yours. what's yours you should share.

I sometimes just sit and think about my mom's pantry.

There are some things I know you can find in there today: tortilla chips and an unopened jar of quality salsa, a variety of boxed cereals, walnuts and almonds and raisins a plenty, a few shapes of pasta, black licorice, English Breakfast tea, and the list goes on. On certain days you can find a jar of artichoke hearts, some chocolates, goldfish crackers, and maybe-if I have not been home in a while- Trader Joe's trail mix.

No one in Manjacaze has a pantry like my mom.

But then again, people here do not really have pantries. The idea of having a stash of food, I have learned, is foreign to most people here. When you have extra tomatoes from your machamba, you give them to your neighbor. You might trade for their extra peanuts. You might just be thanking them for them always letting you use their well.

But it isn't just food. Americans like to have things in excess. We buy things when they are on sale, even if we do not need them. We like to have 5 different pairs of black dress shoes, because we think we need them. And plus, those patent leather ones were too cute to pass up, but I really need flats to go with that sun dress.

Mozambicans do not have things in excess. If you have two of something here, you give one to your neighbor. Melita, who does my laundry, always makes fun of how many t-shirts and skirts I have. Once she said, look I have never seen you wear this dress, you should give it to me. She was right. And I did.

This is a society of giving.

Perhaps its the traditional African tribal culture that remains or influence from years of foreign communism. Either way, Mozambicans are extremely collective. What's mine is yours. What's yours, you should share.

If you showed up at my parents house around 7 PM when I was a kid, my Mom might have sent me to answer the door. If I yelled back that it was some random neighbor kid selling popcorn for his Boy Scout troop, my Mom would have said to tell him to come back later.

It was not that she did not want to help, but getting all of us organized for dinner was enough of a trial, you did not want to come around dinner time. It should be mentioned, that my Mom always supported the Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, school fundraisers, kids going on mission trips. She was a good door to knock on.

If a cute eight year old in a Brownie uniform showed up selling cookies in Mozambique, she would most likely not have much luck. No one really has extra cash for cookies on a random fall day. If, however, she showed up around dinner time, she would be invited in and could be guaranteed a delicious meal.

People here look after each other. If someone is sick, everyone in the neighborhood helps to do their laundry and cook for their family. There are no concerns about where the kids are, because they are somewhere, and eventually someone will send them home to have a bath. People often have to walk very far out to their farms. If you get caught in the rain, you can stop at someone's house, even if you do not know them, and be sure that you will be taken in for the night.

At first, people “pedir-ing” (asking) for things annoyed me. No you cannot have my shirt that I am wearing. I cannot give you my hair. I do not have any sweets with me and if I did I would be eating them. But then I learned to embrace it. If I am walking down the street with a snack, I offer some up. When I am in the chapa and someone next to me buys bananas, I gladly accept on. Why not? He has a whole bunch and I do not have any.

Collective societies work because people trust that everyone is in agreement about them. Its the classic commons problem. If you have commons for the cows to graze, everyone must utilize it only their fair share or the commons will become over-used and no longer feed anyone.

Here, cows and goats graze anywhere. Chickens roam around and I have no idea how the little capulana strip tied to their wings helps them get home, but that is the closest thing to a marker they have. No dogs have collars and if one wanders into the yard, it is alright for him to nibble on your scraps from last night. No one claims that the fruit from the tree near their house is theirs, kids who climb the tree get the best mangoes or the biggest coconuts.

It is pretty refreshing. In the US, you know you have a good relationship with your neighbors when you can borrow a cup of sugar or an egg. Here, everyone borrows from each other. If one person has a big pot, the whole neighborhood knows and will borrow it when their families come to visit. If you have some luxury item like an electric oven or a cake pan, you can expect it will be put to good use. It is not a huge favor, it is just life. Why wouldn't you share?

Well if it is peanut m&ms, I understand. I don't really share those either.

folsom prison blues

There are few things that I am uncomfortable talking about. As a health volunteer this has been a huge asset to me. I have no problem asking how long someone has had diarrhea, what color was the pus that came out of the infected cut on their finger, or if they had seen any worms in their kids poop lately.

People, I think, feel pretty comfortable talking to me about their health. People know I care, that I will listen and try my best to respond to their concerns or questions.

I know the men in the local jail feel that way.

I started doing health palestras at the jail a few months ago with the Portuguese volunteer in town. Much more graceful than me, Margarida was great at fielding awkward questions in a productive way. I tended to just answer them.

Both of our methods work. And together we were able to have some wonderfully productive sessions with the men in the Manjacaze jail. We have discussed hygiene, gender roles, STIs and HIV.

I think one of the things I like about the sessions at the jail is the captive audience. Unlike many of the trainings I have done, everyone was on time and no one left early. There were no crying babies and no little girls relaying messages that there was a neighbor waiting for her mom at the house. The men were attentive and participative. They had great questions and helped each other out when someone did not understand my “style” (read: I still have trouble with the gender of nouns) of Portuguese.

For me, working with the men was really fun. I am used to working with women and girls. And I love working with women and girls. I love being able to relate and comparing my own experience as a girl with women here. But I have to admit, working with men is also pretty fun. And let's be honest, if we want to change the equality among men and women, men really must be included in the discussion.

The men quickly opened up to me. I told them they could ask me anything, a promise I never regretted but that has caused me to awkwardly laugh and blush a number of times. I also allow time after each palestra for the men to come to talk with me one on one about any questions they still have.

The men had no qualms about asking why women are more susceptible to HIV. They enjoyed learning how female condoms work and that they were free at the health center. They were interested to know how circumcision reduces a man's risk of contracting HIV. They listened closely when we discussed diseases caused by a lack of hygiene and had many questions about what exactly Tuberculosis is and how can it be avoided. We had a great discussion about gender roles and they admitted that, while a man would maybe cook for himself when his wife was sick. A man will never stay home and care for the children while the woman works outside of the home.

One thing that we keep coming back to, week after week, is the question of fidelity. The group of 90 quickly agreed that men, sleeping with another woman outside of their marriage might be considered necessary. If a man works in the South African mines, for example, it is acceptable for him to have a second home with a second wife and a second set of children. I then asked if the wife is also allowed to have extra-marital relations. The men just laughed. If a woman was to sleep with someone else, she would be sent out of the house immediately.

You can start to see the delicate place in which women in live Mozambique. They exist to serve men, not to serve themselves.

In Mozambique, women sit on mats and men in chairs. Men eat first and sleep first. They wake up last. Women prepare the bath water and clean the laundry. Women work in the fields and men drink in the bars. Men can “andar fora” (sleep around) as it is their biological necessity.

I think that last point is the hardest for me to grasp. Mozambican men, almost all of them, agree that men must have sex. If a man is not able to have sex when I wants (read: needs), he could potentially get sick. It just is not an option.

The men I work with in the jail, since I meet with them weekly, are comfortable explaining these things to me, but they get very frustrated with I argue this point. Women have little to no negotiating ability within their marriages. Should they decide not to satisfy their husbands, they may get beat or yelled at or kicked out of the house. The men are honest about this.

Sometimes we end discussions in an impasse, with me explaining anyone is capable of controlling their sexual urges, that no masturbation is not illegal and it might be a good choice for some of them if they want to respect their wives when they travel for work and them just laughing at me and my silly American ideas. Nonetheless, the men always start the sessions excited and with a number of questions regarding the topic from the week before. It is somewhat reassuring. I mean, I know they couldn't really skip out on the sessions, but it makes me feel like they are really enjoying the sessions. I know it is better than sitting inside that dreary, small room.

Plus, we always start with a game. And who doesn't love some Simon Says on a Thursday morning?

noise.

I have this random memory of me as a fifteen year old. I was walking through Westroads Mall with my mom. I was wearing my Central Cheerleading uniform and an awesome pair of yellow Adidas sneakers. It was a phase. I eventually grew out of it. Anyway, I was walking, annoyed about something. Part of that phase. I was dragging my feet as evidence as to how little I cared about whatever it was I was doing. My mom kept asking me to stop dragging my feet. I think I probably continued to roll my eyes, stop for a few minutes, and then go right back on with dragging my feet. It was all part of the phase.

I never realized how annoying that dragging the feet sound really is.

It really is like just saying “whatever” to the whole world around you. I care so little about today, I am not even going to pick up my feet all the way when I walk. I can do whatever I want and how it affects you does not bother me.

People in Mozambique drag their feet. A lot. It drives me crazy.

People drag their feet while they walk to the market. How you drag your feet while balancing a huge pile of wood on your head is a mystery to me.

People drag their feet when they go to fetch water. Sometimes its the dragging feet that wakes me up in the morning. That scratch scratch scratch on the sand.

Kids drag their feet when they run with me. It drives me crazy. I run to escape from the world a bit, to control everything around me. I wear an ipod. But I can hear those dragging flip flops or mis-matched, four sizes too big high heals. It can drown out my American pop and remind me that I am indeed being followed by a small heard of children. I am the pied piper.

But I think the dragging feet is just the start of the unexpected noises in Mozambique.

You think about Mozambique, a “developing country” in Southern Africa, as a place where people are spending the whole day getting water, caring for their cute little babies, and living in nice straw or mud huts. It is all of that. But there is energy here. There are cell phones. There are kids who are being called from the neighbors house.

I think it might be the novelty of energy that makes people put their radios on so loud. They are proud that they have that unnecessarily big amplifier, and they are going to use it. My neighbor has one CD. He plays one song from that song on repeat most of the day. Then I get a little Avril and some Bieber before he goes back to the thumping house music.

I love it when the energy goes out.

When you walk down the street, you get to walk through a variety of music. Some people playing Changana church music, others the latest Rihanna song. When you are near the school, students play Chris Brown from their phone. They think that since they want to listen to that Westlife song, you will to. More and more I am impressed with the invention of the ipod and convinced that since the walkman never made its way here, this new form of the Will Smith boom box on your shoulder is about the best thing since the cell phone itself.

But in addition to these new sounds, there are the noises you would expect in Mozambique. There is a chorus of dogs at night and a different chorus of roosters to wake you up in the morning. Every once in a while you get to hear a pig being slaughtered. Who knew that sound would be so terrifying?

As a kid, my mom used to ask us to go call everyone down for dinner. We would just stand at the bottom of the stairs and scream as loud as possible. Mozambicans are not so different from Americans. When it is dinner time you will hear the same name being screamed, seemingly to no one in particular, until Angelina (GEL-TAH-NA!) returns from whomever's house she has been playing at.

The noise in Mozambique is unexpected. I never thought of Mozambique as a loud place. Its not the noise that comes to mind first. And, to be fair, I am sure it is not the noise I will remember. My neighbor who plays the one song over and over has the cutest baby who greets me every morning when I leave for my run, “titia!” The singing cell phones can be the best part of a too long chapa ride and often ask as an ice breaker between me and the people waiting in line at the bank.

The noise is here. It rarely goes away. But there are moments of quiet. Moments when I cannot hear anyone's footsteps. Moments that I hear crickets and am glad to just sit and be.

Usually, shortly thereafter, the energy comes back on.

TOT

Last month, REDES hosted its first annual TOTs, Training of Trainers. While it was a whole lot of work, it was also a whole lot of fun. By the end of the five three day trainings held throughout Mozambique, about one hundred REDES facilitators left motivated and excited to go back to facilitate their REDES groups.

The facilitators were a mix of seasoned veterans, who have been with REDES since it started in 2005, and new facilitators who are just now starting to think about starting groups.

Our TOT in Homoine was a small group, there were only thirteen facilitators, and it was an even split between women who were familiar with REDES and women who were just starting to get involved.

In between all of the singing and dancing that we did during the training, we also managed to be quite productive. We talked about different ways to present information to girls. We talked about the biology and transmission of HIV. We talked about decision making and goal setting. We voted for leaders among the group and we established our group's goals for the year.

While the whole training was memorable, I think what to me was the most impressive was how we were able to create a space safe for these women to discuss so many issues that are often not discussed.

We created a detailed diagram of a woman's reproductive system and the women were able to point to different parts of our bodies and talk about their form and function. We were able to answer questions about why certain things make us feel pleasure and how so many men don't understand those certain things.

We did a condom demonstration, complete with a step by step explanation about how important condoms are but also how tricky they can be. We talked about tips for the women to take home to try during condom negotiation in their own lives and we talked about how to talk about condoms with young girls who are not yet sexually active.

I think these two examples are particularly telling because even in the states we cannot talk about many of these things. We often find that talking about sex with young people is difficult, and it is. But without explaining how to be safe, young people cannot protect themselves against the reality of HIV in their communities. We talked about how in Mozambique one in five or six people is infected with HIV and almost all of us are affected by the virus. We talked about the importance of making people more aware about the ways to protect themselves from HIV and the ways that girls' empowerment is integral to handling the epidemic in Mozambique.

We also set goals. I have done goal setting exercises with my REDES group in Manjacaze, and I always love it. So seldom in Mozambique are girls asked what their goals are, where they see themselves in ten, twenty, thirty years. Even these women, who are leaders in their communities, seemed genuinely excited to share with a group what their goals were. Their faces lit up when they talked about how they wanted to go on to have a family, to become college professors, or continue working with girls in their communities.

I love I working with girls and women and encouraging them to think about their futures and the potential in their lives. But at the TOT, I got to see some of these goals being put into action. Because of the variety of participants, we also had a variety in the facilitators of the sessions. Some of the sesssions were facilitated by Peace Corps Volunteers, but the majority were facilitated by group leaders from different places. Marisa, Vilma, and Celest each did an amazing job.

Marisa has been involved with REDES for years. She knows lots of ice-breakers, she can get people talking, and has a great presence in front of a group. Vilma and Celest, new facilitators were incredible to watch.

Celest, my counterpart and close friend in Manjacaze, did an amazing job. She was really nervous the day before the training, and came in to go over her session plan with me. While I had worked with her on a few trainings in Manjacaze, she was much more excited about this material and she wanted to give it justice. Though she was younger than many of the other facilitators, she did a great job getting the women talking and was able to facilitate two wonderful sessions.

When I met Vilma I knew she was going to be amazing. She is a counterpart for a group in Inhambane, and has a lot of experience facilitating for groups as she is running a small course with another volunteer in Inhambane. She stood in the front of the room and the volunteers just looked at each other wondering who this girl was.

Vilma is the kind of woman you hope to work with as a Peace Corps volunteer. Like Celest, she is young and has lots of great ideas. She is always willing to try something new and she has this ability to gain the respect and interest of a group. She is an amazing facilitator, and REDES is lucky to have her.

As we were going around discussing goals, all three of these facilitators explained how they hoped to continue working with girls and women and continue facilitating REDES groups. It could not have been more inspiring had it been scripted. Talk about thinking toward sustainability-without being prompted these women were thinking about it on their own, and it was something they wanted. Their goals would become our motivators.

diarrhea.

As a Peace Corps Volunteer I have become pretty open talking about my bodily functions. Although, those of you who know me, I actually have never been particularly sensitive to talking about things others would consider taboo. Maybe its because “snot” was a regular topic of conversation at the dinner table when I was a kid. Its easy to blame things like this on my parents.

Either way, Peace Corps volunteers share their poop stories pretty regularly. Last week, a group of us was together and an American expat joined our table. At first I was a little embarassed for him. He had to just sit there and listen to class young women like myself talk about that time they had to run off the chapa for the bushes with the who chapa watching them suffer. We each have stories like this, and we each try to outdo each other. I say with some confidence, that I am not the star of the best poop story I have heard among volunteers, and since it isn't my story, it remains untold until she, the guilty pooper, is ready to share such a story.

We joke about pooping. We joke about it because to us its this pretty obnoxious bodily function that comes and goes. To us, its not something that we are concerned about. Its not something that can take our lives.

But to Mozambicans, it is.

Last week, two of my babies from the nutrition center passed away after a week of bad diarrhea.

Vaselina was on her way out of the center. The doctors had finally said she had reached a healthy enough weight to go home. She had been with us at the center for four months and I had watched as her cheeks got plumper and plumper and the concern on her mom's face went away.

Rosa had only arrived at the center two weeks before. She was the smallest 20 month old baby I have ever seen. Her mother spoke no Portuguese and we worked hard with her about her personal hygiene and the basic nutrition for a baby living with HIV. She was not gaining weight as she was not eating and her mother wasn't insistent. Feeding a baby who throws a fit each time you get a spoon near her mouth is pretty discouraging, especially for a young, sick mother who lacks energy otherwise.

Since all of the kids in the nutrition center stay with their moms, hygiene is both extremely important and extremely difficult. Once we had a little girl with scabies who had we had to really watch to make sure her mother was washing her and her clothes regularly and not sharing with the other kids in the center.

As far as we can tell, Rosa came down with diarrhea first, and it quickly spread to the other kids in the center. The moms all cook together and the kids all play together, so you can imagine diarrheal disease has the potential to spread quickly. Despite the fact that we had explained the importance of hand washing and bathing to the moms, these kids got sick. And it didn't help that both Vaselina and Rosa were so small and struggling to begin with.

But that is usually how it is with diarrheal disease. Its a nasty, sad way to die, but it targets sick people whose immune systems are not as strong as ours. It, bacteria that causes diarrhea, looks for people within whom it can thrive because otherwise we pass it after a couple of days.

After Vaselina and Rosa passed away, we decided to make hygiene a weekly theme at the nutrition center. This week I played the part of a fly in a role-play. I explained how much I loved sitting on poop and then sitting on food and on people's skin. It made people laugh-talking about poop usually does. But I think they also got the point. I saw one of the moms wave off the flies that afternoon. Its small actions like this that have the potential to prevent deaths from diarrheal disease. More than waving off flies though, we did a hand washing demonstration and showed how to set up a “tippy tap,” a hands-free hand washing station made using local materials. I am not sure if the mothers will go home and continue these types of hygiene practices, but I can hope they will.

In the meantime, I am pretty sure I will continue to talk about poop. We all do it. But we all should be able to do it without it causing our mothers to really worry.

jenga.

I have always been a pretty easily amused person. I have a radio playing in my head, so when it seems like people are bored on a backpacking trip or long drive, I just start singing. I also know lots of games that can be played in all kinds of venues and that seem to entertain a variety of people, who can get bored when someone is doing a "veggie off?"

This ability to amuse has been useful here in Mozambique.

There are days when not a lot goes on. I have learned to always travel with a couple things to amuse myself with while I wait for meetings to start or for the chapa to leave. My purse is filled with half finished friendship bracelets, a deck of cards, folded up and ready to read magizine articles, and I never leave home without a book and a bottle of water. I could probably survive with what is in my purse for about a week before I got bored, and I probably will not even get hungry as I am usually carrying cashews and a pack of gum.

But this bag of entertainment is an extension of my American self. Mozambicans do not find the necessity to travel around with big bags full of stuff. Moms do not even carry diaper bags, which in the US I think you will be hard pressed to find a mom who does not travel with not just diapers and wipes, but rattles, games, blankets, and crayons. Mozambicans use spare time for small talk. You can strike up conversation with just about anyone, whether or not you know them. You can talk about how hot it is, how rainy it is, how the price of tomatoes went up again – just about anything.

I certainly believe I have learned the art of small talk, while here in Mozambique, but I still carry my Mary Poppins-esc bag of goodies.

And most of my Mozambican friends know about my bag. They know if they want to look at some great pictures of jungle frogs, I have a hoard of National Geographic cut outs in my planner. They know if their kids did well in school, I usually reward them with a whistle or a piece of candy.

They also know, if they meet me at my house, I have no end to new things to entertain them.

A few weeks ago, I invited a bunch of the moms from the nutrition rehab center over to have tea and a snack. I was really excited to host them because I have grown to love the little family in the rehab center. Though there is a revolving door of moms coming and going as their babies get better, the center has a special way of making all of the people there feel very much at home. The moms become an important support system to each other and I have been able to become a part of that support system. They were excited to see what a “mulungo” house looked like, and I was excited to play some games with them.

As we finished our popcorn and juice, I set up a Jenga set. The girls all just looked at me like I was crazy. But as they each got a turn to take a piece out of our tower, I watched them become mesmerized in the simple game so many of us know. When the tower finally fell, they laughed and then were so excited to play again.

I had them hooked.

From then on, when I wanted to get work done, I would bring Jenga along as a motivator. “If someone can tell me five foods that have Vitamin A we can play Jenga!” “Whoever can tell me the reason you should breastfeed babies under six months can set up the Jenga set!” “We can put up Jenga as soon as you all can explain why ARVs need to be taken with a balanced diet.”

It was a way to get the women to respond to my sometimes redundant, but important and sometimes difficult questions. It was a way to get everyone in the room, because no one would miss Jenga, but sometimes people “had headaches” or “needed to shower” when I just wanted to have an HIV discussion.

Was I bribing the moms?

Yes.

Did they mind?

No.

Did they learn about the things I was trying to teach?

Yes.

Did they get better at not knocking down the tower?

Verdict is still out, but I think they are.

Simple things like Jenga were my key to success at the nutrition center. Though the moms had a great support system for each other, I am a young, white, childless America. What can I possibly be able to teach these ladies about caring for their babies? Once they gave me a chance, I found out that there actually were a number of things I could work with them on.

We have started twice weekly trainings with the moms. Sometimes I bring a nutrition-related game. Sometimes I bring a set of questions that we discuss. Sometimes we make fortified cereals and talk about their ingredients. Always I bring a motivator. Jenga is a favorite, but sewing projects, bubbles, balloons, UNO, and crayons also seem to work.

I think if Mozambican moms walked around with the entertainment armory that American moms have, my little motivators might not have as much success. Lucky for me, Jenga is a little more exciting than the weather.

But don't get me wrong, I never start a session before I comment on the weather. Its just such an obvious way to start.

the lemonade principal.

I have now planned and facilitated two separate trainings on financial management and business skills. I am qualified to do these kinds of trainings? Not really. Do I fake it? So well.

At the first training, I thought I would start off with a personal story. Since I do not really have any business experience. I thought back to what I could use. My best example was a lemonade stand.

If you lived near 58th and Webster about fifteen years ago, you may have seen my lemonade stand. I like to think it was the best on the block. Caitlin and I always borrowed frozen Minute Maid lemonade from my freezer, mixed it with water and ice, and sat outside waiting for the dog walkers and babysitters to stop by and buy or icy cold, 25 cent drink (I do not think we ever paid back this loan but when I used the story as a learning example, we of course reimbursed my mom the two dollars for the initial investment). We had pretty good success. I even remember one guy stopped in his car and paid us ten bucks, and he only wanted one cup.

Anyway, we always ran into a bit of trouble when my Dad came home from work. With the information that I never paid back the initial investment, maybe his free cups of lemonade were justified, but I always felt like I was wasting good product on a non-paying customer.

This was a perfect example for the Mozambican students in my lessons. Mozambique is a very community-based society. You help your neighbors out. If I cannot afford to pay you for my onions, you might let me have them on credit. You usually will never see that credit repaid. But then you will go and buy tomatoes in the same way.

While this is a good system if you are bartering, if you are really trying to run a business and make profits, this is a losing system. In our sessions we talked about ways around this, and decided it was best, since it is almost unavoidable, to decide on a certain amount of product or service that can be given out for free each month. Once this amount is reached, you must start saying “no” to people who want something on “good faith.”

As we discussed what I now call the “lemonade principal” one of the students raised his hand. He said that he had never even considered the option of saying no to people, but now that he knows that is what he should do, he thinks he may start turning a profit. He explained that as a community leader (most of the students in the class are pastors or other church leaders), people often come to him and ask to borrow money or products and then at the end of the month he has very little to show for his work. He had never thought about how a business is different from a charity and that he must conduct his work in his business differently from his work in his church.

It was after this converstaion the I realized this group may need more than just financial management training, they may need professionalism lessons. Professionalism is something we learn in the states at a young age. We know how we should dress for a job interview and how to address collegues and the importance of networking.

So, with that in mind, my second training focused a lot on these skills. We talked about the importance of publicity, of timeliness, and about why a variety of products is necessary. During the seminar we had talked about how customer loyalty works. I am a perfect example for this, as I have clear and known favorites in the market whom I always patronize. These ladies know me and always give me a good deal. Even if I am not buying anything, they greet me by name and ask how I am doing.

Mama Mequilina, who runs a clothes selling business in the market explained that she appreciated me talking about being nice to customers because it had always bothered her when people would come to her stall and try on all kinds of things and then not buy anything. She said, honestly, that she was often very rude if someone did this because, justifiable so, it was so annoying to wait on someone so long to have them not buy anything. She had never thought about the possibility of them coming back to buy something later on.

I suppose that also fits within the lemonade principal. If I had been rude to my dad when he asked, and sometimes just took, free lemonade, he may not have referred the neighbors to my lemonade stand.

You never know when a customer is a potential regular, and you never know when someone might come back and hand you a ten dollar bill.

What is weird is that no one has yet opened a lemonade stand in town.

I made it pretty clear how delicious it is on a hot day.

jam session.

When I was in high school I hung out with a bunch of boys in a band. I admit, I had [read: have] a thing for musicians.

As much as I love going to see live music, I think my favorite part about being “friends of the band” is that I was also included in low key “jam sessions.” This is where the magic happened. An off-handed comment became the name of a hit song, a video game theme song became the background for another. Though I was a part in the sense that I was around and participated in the “process” I was never part of a band. I was never part of the “jam.”

Which is why, I am now proud to say I have been leading a new series of jam sessions for Mozambican ladies.

Okay, we don't have a drummer, or a bassist, or a guitar, or any instruments for that matter. What we do have is lots of fruit, a bunch of empty jars, and Cereijo.

Our jam sessions are a bit more literal.

I came to Cereijo, some time last year about starting a food processing project with Mozaic's nutrition team. After some years of work, the nutrition team had become a bit jaded with Mozaic's work, for a number of reasons, most unimportant at this point. They explained that if they have a project that motivated their work with the community, they would be more likely continue doing house visits and expanding the program to include more people.

At first I resisted this request. Activistas are often volunteers, and as I volunteer I thought it was important for the nutrition team to see the value of their work despite receiving a subsidy. They were helping vulnerable populations in the areas of food security and nutrition, wasn't that enough motivation?

But after a number of conversations, it became clear that that was not enough motivation. Cereijo, a friend of Geraldo's who has extensive knowledge in agriculture had always said he would be happy to work with me, gave me lots of ideas for ways to tie in the food security and nutrition aspect into a fun and worthwhile project for the team. Jam, dried fruits and vegetables, and other healthy food preservation techniques.

The ladies love it. Our jam sessions are a few hours each week and we are very productive. So far we have made over fifty jars of jam, preserving mangos, pineapples, papaya, and banana to be used during other parts of the year when these fruits no longer exist. They have come up with a business plan, that includes exporting the jam to some of Mozaic's partner churches in South Africa (where they can earn a much higher profit) as well as selling the jam locally. We are thinking of ways to divide the work and the profits, and it is a wonderful learning experience for the women. Yesterday one of the team came to me and asked if I would want to work with her teaching the jam techniques to another group she works with. This group is in the process of opening a bakery in Manjacaze and she had the great idea of selling the jam at the bakery.

Income generation projects seem to be all the rage among Peace Corps volunteers in Mozambique. Many activista groups complain of the same lack of motivation due to a lack of funding. In the US, volunteerism is a huge part of our culture. But we can afford to do work without getting paid.

Despite their popularity, income generation projects have a huge failure rate. There are a number of reasons for this. One, many of the projects resemble existing businesses and services in a community, there is too much competition and no variety. For example, chicken projects are extremely popular among Mozambicans, but how many chickens does one town really need? Especially when so many people in town just raise their own chickens. I have spoken a number of times about the tomato ladies, all sitting in the same part of town, all selling tomatoes. No broccoli in sight.

Jam, on the other hand, is only sold in special stores in the markets. The jam you can buy in most towns in Mozambique is mostly sugar and lacks any real flavor. It is called, “Jamo – Fruto Variado.” The jam I have been making with the nutrition team is packed with flavor and low in sugar. With each type that we make, we talk about the value of the fruit and the ladies are starting to catch on that less sugar is more. We also talk about how important it is to preserve these fruits now, when they are in excess, so that we can consume them later.

In coming months, we hope to dry vegetables, make flour from mandioca (yucca), and I would love to maybe even do some baking lessons with the ladies (imagine how well a peanut butter cookie or a chocolate brownie would sell next to all those bland fried dough ball things). Eventually, I would love to see this project grow-perhaps these women can each teach their own group of women the techniques we are using. The process of making jam makes it easy to teach hygiene and nutrition, and these concepts are very important for many of our beneficiaries. Furthermore, if the project continues to be successful in generating income, there is room to include more women in the making of the jam to also benefit from the new income.

Though we do not yet have any groupies, we do have a waiting list for our jam. I cannot say that my desire to truly take part in a jam session has been fulfilled, but I love being able to say, “oh I can't on Tuesday, I have a jam session.”

it could always be worse.

If you have not read “It Could Always be Worse.” Go to your local bookstore, find the children's section, and read it. It is one of my Mom's favorites and it translates incredibly well. I tell it to kids in Manjacaze often, and I think the lesson is one that we unfortunately learn again and again.

The weekend after the cyclone, I was supposed to head to Maputo for a conference. However, just as I was leaving, I got a message that the road had been flooded.

I know I complain about transportation in Mozambique a lot, but to me a flooded road meant it might be a bit slow. The road to Manjacaze floods all the time, and is still “passable” and this is the main road in Mozambique, heading right to the capital. There was just no way that the road was completely unpassable.

But about ninety kilometers from Maputo, Macia, a regular truck stop town, was filled with buses of all sizes. Buses coming down from Nampula, Quelimane, and Beira, had been stopped in Macia. Hundreds of people sat in the shade of the buses and opportunists sold mangos to the stranded travelers. I called a volunteer who lived in Macia to stay with her for the night.

As did three other volunteers heading down for the conference. That night we all spent together, excited to be reunited with all our friends the next day. We just did not believe that this road would lay unfixed any longer, how could a country function without access to its capital?

But the next day, it was clear that the road was not going to be fixed that day, or the next, or perhaps for a week.

We weighed our options and decided rather than take a boat across the flooded road (the boats were apparently way over-filled and did not seem like a great idea) and decided to take the train.

The train runs from Maputo to Zimbabawe and back again and goes passed where the floods ended (the road was flooded because a dam to the west had been opened, the train was far enough south that it was unaffected but no roads followed the train's route). One of the volunteers had taken the train and warned us that it is by no means a comfortable endevour, but we decided it was worth it, and as long as we were together we would be fine. The distance from Chokwe (where the train left) to Maputo, would have taken about four hours tops in a car, how bad could it be?

We left at around 9 PM and were assured at the train station that the train was not going to stop to load and unload cargo as it usually did, this was a train especially for all of the stranded passengers trying to get to Maputo.

We should have known better than to believe the men at the train station. Ten hours after we left, we pulled into the station in Maputo, sweaty, tired, and annoyed we arrived at our hotel around 7 AM, just
in time for breakfast before the conference.

Needless to say, I was once again reminded of the challenges of traveling in Mozambique, just when I think I have the system figured out, something happens and I get to learn it all over again. On the way back, I decided to take a chapa back rather than bolea (the road was fixed after six days), and I had never felt so comfortable in a chapa.

It could always be worse.

when life gives you lemons.

On the first Saturday of every month in Omaha summers the tornado alarm sounds just to test to make sure it is still working. Other cities have similar “preparedness” tests. These tests are important, they make us feel better about the possibility of a coming natural disaster. Americans, often, go above and beyond many preparedness measures, stocking up canned food and bottled water in the case of an incident.

Mozambicans have a different approach.

Two weeks ago, two major cyclones hit in Mozambique, one in Gaza and the other further north in Quelimane area.

Though we had discussed the possibility of cyclones during training, I had never been too concerned about it. I was at work on a Monday morning when Dando hit.

It was a dark, rainy day, but not at all out of the ordinary for January. But around noon, the wind started to pick up. The energy went out and the cell network failed and I decided to head home. I made some tea and sat with a book on my hammock in my kitchen. Not fifteen minutes later, I heard a loud crack and saw the huge cashew tree in front of my kitchen fall to the ground, a little more than ten feet from my head.

I got up and looked at the situation. It was pouring and I was locked in the kitchen. The tree landed right in front of the door, blocking the entrance. I climbed over it and got a machete to cut off some of the branches so I could slide underneath it. Then I went back to my book.

It was not until the next day that I realized the significance of that big tree falling. I went for a run when it looked like I would have a short break between the rains. Trees had fallen throughout town. People were outside hanging up belongings on clothes lines that had gotten went due to flooding inside. Others were desperately trying to find some sort of solution to a destroyed roof.

In the states after a big storm, people wait around until the tree-chopper-dude can come and handle the mess in the yard. Snow-blowers and wood-chippers facilitate the clean up. In Mozambique, a machete and a hand saw do the trick, and the morning after the storm, you would not have found anyone sitting around. Everyone helped clean up the mess. Neighbors got together and attacked one fallen tree at a time until, after a few days, the roads were more or less passable and the sun was back out. When you asked how people were doing after the storm, people barely complained, with one exception. Anyone who had a big tree fall in their yard did not complain about the damage, or the hard work that the fallen tree made for them. Almost everyone I spoke to complained about the loss of “nosso sombra, pah!” In Manjacaze, a good shade tree is just as valuable, if not more valuable, than most of the structures that people build. Without shade there are no afternoon naps, no community meetings, no place to wait in line for your turn at the water pump.

While the loss of many of the big shade trees set in, people handled the situation. The storm did some good damage, but the town was able to recover quickly. The afternoon after the worst of the wind, a car drove through the neighborhoods with a man yelling that there was a possibility for more wind. The “town crier” was a bit late, the second part of the storm was relatively quite mild, but maybe next time the crier will warn us before the storm.

Maybe he should practice on Saturday mornings.