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.