Bom dia (a Portuguese hello)!

Temperatures have warmed up a bit. A week ago I was walking about the house clothed in 3 layers and a blanket for a cape downing copious amounts of hot chocolate in efforts of warming myself and now I sit outside in the half sun in a mere t-shirt (and pants, of course, rolled up in capri-like fashion, secured in place with the ever-functional safety pin). Apparently, it's quite humid here in Maputo, given its ocean-side location, though I never notice it the level of humidity until I don new clothing in the morn - clothing that's always a smidge on the damp side (NO, there's no mold lurking in the crevices of my clothing - but sand, YES!) In the shade it's always cool, in the sun refreshingly warm. It gets dark about 5:30 pm (it's winter) and reportedly light out around 4ish am. No idea about the latter. Getting my beauty sleep in while I can.

Btw, I'm 2 for 2 in converting Brits to hot chocolate. Imported Nestle is quite the seductive, magical mix... if nothing else, hot chocolate will be my footprint left on Moz's red, sandy soil.

So I alluded to the popularity of rugby in my last message. Expect many more such allusions as I am now on a Moz rugby team. Ha, ha, ha... (nervous laugh). Apparently, my history of bruises, severed bones, junior high flag football scars marks me as the optimal rugby player. I merely went to watch a game on the beach and found myself in practice at the crack of dawn the next morning. Seriously, I do not exaggerate. So now Saturday mornings find me practicing lateral backward passes whilst dodging wayward, curly-haired children and seaweed clumps along Maputo's seascape. Our first big (female) tournament game is in Durban, South Africa in 2 months. Local co-ed games take place 4pm every Friday. Girls-only TBD. I'll likely arrive home shy a few teeth. But the rugby crew is a good one. A kaleidoscope of ethnicities - South African, Zimbabwean, Irish, American, Mozambican, British... etc., etc. So playing is a comedy of errors. Yesterday, a South African kept shouting, "Ford, Ford" and finally I had to stop the game and ask what the heck "Ford" was (given the context, the automobile definition seemed unlikely). Apparently, "Ford" is "forward." Haha, oops... Sorry, guys, someone has to keep the "stupid American" stereotype prospering.

So it would probably be a disservice to you guys if I continually painted a pretty picture of life in Maputo...Mozambique... Africa. Don't misunderstand me, I am enjoying my place here but like anywhere there are pros and cons. Being that I reside in a city of 2 million people, a city surrounded by barrios of poverty, crime is on the rise. I spent much of last week exploring the city with a sketch-of-a-map, keys, and phone in pocket only to find out over the course of the weekend through acquaintances that Maputo isn't the safest place for such traipsings. So while I survived a summer hanging in Over-the-Rhine (with subsequent paranoia), I will have to be a bit more cautious gauging the distance of shadows before me and perhaps (ok, will) curb my independent spirit. And take my host fam's big white dog with me on morning runs. This said, the Mozambique natives are very friendly, often saying hello and offering an even bigger smile when you respond. And the street vendors, beggars here are like no other I have encountered. All you have to do is say no and they leave you alone. None of this following you like a puppy dog nonsense. Why the other day some guy tried selling me sunglasses (what's a city without the token "bona-fide Oakley" seller?), which I didn't want. Instead, I was searching for a taxi and told him as much so he directed me to where I could find one, kindly leading the way for a block-and-a-half and then upon seeing that I was safely in a taxi, he returned to his sunglasses-selling-stand.
A city of contradictions.

THE cloth of fashion

So I'm a bit of a texture freak... (as evidenced by my inability to consume fizzy drinks)... so Mindy (the Moz colleague who is working her charm to detain me here indefinitely) took me capanola (sp.?) shopping today. Capanolas are to southern Africa as saris are to India. Typically of a cotton blend, capanolas are essentially a sheet of fabric about a meter or so in length (you do the conversion) and are the epitome of multi-purpose functionality, serving as beach towels, skirts, table cloths, thingey-carrier, etc., etc. And they come in all colors, designs, and TEXTURES! So I was just having the most fun today hitting up all sorts of street stands feeling and checking out all these fabrics. Some are soft and thin, others are starchy and sturdier. And the coolest part is trying to identify where the capanola originates from as evidenced by the design. Some designs are made by using wax (think Easter egg dyeing) as seen in Tanzania, others with a flour paste (Zambia/Zimbabwe), indigo dye (Nicaragua), I forget Swaziland, and in Mozambique the design is big plaid. And IF there's a big central design (i.e. picture of the prez), upon wrapping it around your bottom in a skirt-like fashion, the design supposedly always ends up gracing (and drawing attention to) your arse. Neat. Given this, mine are making for very nice curtains.

Moz at last

So with jumping time zones and oceans and whatnot, I've kinda lost track of time but I'm thinking about 2 months ago I was in India dodging malarial mosquitoes, amoebic dysentery, and sandstorms. So not much has changed for me. ;) Btw, I'm alive and functioning quite well. I've been in Africa about a week now, Mozambique almost 2 days. Temperature check 68 degrees Fahrenheit.

I spent the better part of last week in the Kruger game reserve which covers the expanse of the South Africa, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and Swaziland borders. Amazing sightings. Elephant, giraffes, impalas, zebras, wildebeest, warthogs, rhinos, hippos, crocs.... so close that you could quite literally put your hands between their snappers (not highly recommended). Unfortunately, the big cats were playing hide and seek. I could only spot lions with my binoculars - which was close enough for me. Any closer and I probably would've peed my pants!

Other news... I have committed my first felony (I think). "Dog trafficking." While we (my colleague Mindy and I) were in South Africa, she bought a puppy. A weiner dog better known as a "sausage" dog in this part of the world. Apparently crossing borders with animals is a big no-no and one is forced to pay huge bribes to get the job done. So when we arrived at the Moz border, Mindy got all the crossing-the-border paperwork done while I went 'for a walk' with the pup hidden in a blanket. Mission accomplished. The smuggled puppy is safe and sound in Moz and I sleep well at night (barring jet lag interferences).

South Africa reminded me very much of the States (except their way of thinking), their cities resembled any other American or European city, while Mozambique is considerably different. Much poorer, obviously. In Maputo the capital city where I live there are about 4 roads that are decently paved, the rest are dirt, gravel, or a sketched paved job at best. Some road construction is occurring due to the impending elections. Gotta snicker when it comes to presidential election year projects. I hear Bush has plans for offshore oil drilling in the states... Grocery stores here are kinda like potluck. One day you have a surplus of mangos but a bleak supply of milk, the next day it's bread and berries, so the grocery store stock dictates the meal of the week. I brought my host family chocolate chips from the states and they thought it was Christmas in July! Apparently, chocolate chips are a rare commodity even in South Africa. For shame, my sweettooth may take a hit. Rugby is all the rage. Then again I live with a Brit. Though Maputo is a beautiful city, there's loads of rubbish about the streets. Mozambicans do not plan for the future and recycling is even more of a bizarre concept than American baseball. Our attempt at recycling is drinking filtered water from emptied liquor bottles. (Yes, it's quite comical to take a huge swig of water from a Jack Daniels bottle.) We have a maid. It's not that we need a maid but rather that it provides a job for a Mozambican. So either you donate the money to some nonprofit and the country gets half of it or you have a maid and they get it directly, 100%. We have a nice little system. I put my dirty clothes in the laundry basket (it's dusty here, white socks, what?!) and by the days end, it's clean, folded, and atop my freshly made bed. We also have a language exchange system going. I teach her English, she teaches me Portuguese. "Bon dia!" (good morning). The kids (age 7 & 9) that I live with are also aiding on the language front. They're multilingual with countless passports. Their mother is British, their father American, their stepmother Dutch, their school is French.... they speak English (Brit & American accents as needed), Dutch, French, Portuguese and have likely picked up some Afrikans (South Africa) and Swahili (Tanzania) in their travels. Needless to say, I am fascinated and jealous. And having a difficult time transcribing their speech.... ;)

Well, much exploring awaits...!

Bound for Africa

Well, I am almost out the door to Africa. Quite literally as all my tickets indicate that today is the day I leave. So before I go, I thought it best to wrap up a loose end, a few final words from my Tibetan experience in India.
Here is an excerpt from my journal dated 5/21/2008...

"I'm emotionally exhausted. Day after day speakers, reputable ones from the Secretary of this to the Secretary of that, individuals who work closely with the Dalai Lama, including an individual who was part of the delegation to China 2 weeks ago. Day after day, they tell their story, the plight of the Tibetan people. It's harrowing and horrific. The human rights violations cannot be denied. Having a voice means life imprisonment, taking pictures = 10 years. People are shot/killed, women sterilized against their will, others forced off their land under the guise "that their farming has caused erosion and floods" then the Chinese build shops where fields of sorgham once were. Phone lines in monasteries are tapped. Never mind the number of monasteries that have been destroyed since the Chinese occupation. Individuals who speak to the media "disappear." With the construction of a road connecting Beijing to Lhasa, Han Chinese are being shipped in by the thousands. The Chinese outnumber the Tibetans on Tibetan soil 7.5 million to 6 million people. Chinese is the language of instruction in schools not Tibetan, not the native and known language of the people. Not surprisingly, literacy rates among the Tibetans hovers around 25% (or 40% as the Chinese claim). In the markets in exchange for goods, natives must speak the langauge of their invaders. Pictures of the Dalai Lama must not be seen and words of him and his 'clique' not heard. It's cultural genocide. It's sad and it's happening and I don't see an end in sight. At least not an optimistic one.

The Tibetan people are one of such graciousness and warmth. When running one day, I, for just a moment, lost my way (imagine that... :) and a Tibetan woman directed me to the path. Not a word was exchanged (except many thank yous from my end) just a knowingly pointed finger. Another day a group of us were shopping in town when it began to rain. A woman ushered us over to provide us with plastic bags for formely purchased paper-wrapped goods. Once more no words were exchanged, just a smile and what seems to have become my favorite phrase "tu che" (thank you)..."

And now I begin my next journey...