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?