Due to popular request, my postal address...
Maria Wellman
Private Bag X11340
Suite 566
Nelspruit
South Africa
1200
To my knowledge it costs 94 cents to mail a letter. I don't have the opportunity to check my mail very often (last time followed a 2 month drought) but I get excited nonetheless by the prospect of it. I don't think there are any rules against what you can send though perishable items and weapons of mass destruction I don't recommend. Moz has enough land mines. I do welcome mixed CDs (presently in a Norah Jones mood) but enjoy all varieties (try to refrain from Hanson and Clay Aiken-types). I could really go for some cocoa (bittersweet powdery kind) as I came up shy when trying to make chocolate no-bakes tonight. A former staple of my diet despite its diabetes-inducing qualities. Also like books (minus those from the depressing genre). :)
Friday, September 12, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Far Far Away Land
Feeling very far from home this week. I can get on Skype and not miss a moment with my sister but navigate my way back to the States for my grandmother's funeral takes a full 2 days. And a lot of money. Distance makes the heart grow fonder and death is a not-so-subtle reminder of that.
Ironically, it's September 11th.
Ironically, it's September 11th.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
the Winds of Africa
Last night was so windy I thought the wolf was going to blow the house down. For once I was quite glad I had glasses to keep the sand from blowing into my eyes. At rugby, a friend's face was streaked with tears from the unpleasant sand-in-the-contacts combo. By the night's end, I had a captive audience for my tornado tales. Apparently, they are uncommon on this side of the ocean. My 8 year-old housemate's son has concluded that driving into a tornado would be like riding a roller coaster, complete with swirls, upside down spirals and stomach-lurching drops. His sister and mum were thinking otherwise.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Excitement abounds!
Multiple reasons to be happy today.... 1) We have water again (after a 3-day hiatus) and 2) I figured out to post pictures!!!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Outward Travels
So today’s highlights have been making Coca-Cola with my housemate’s son (yes, I have THE secret recipe), chasing after the family’s pet pig with a spray bottle (not sure why), discovering a nutella-esque substance in the pantry, and a 2-hour energy-depleting, joint-stiffening induced rugby practice. The big Kwa-Natal vs. us meager Mozzies match is just 3 weeks away and I have missed a number of practices and co-ed games due to my soul’s traveling nature.
Two weeks ago I went to Cape Town, South Africa for a 10-day holiday with my housemate, my colleague and her significant other. We saw and did much. Cape Town is just divine, truly a gem of Africa. The city situated between mountains and ocean has a very San Francisco feel. Curvy streets, sublime views, funky fashion, seals in the bay, and lovely vineyard to the north. We gave our palates a test in the vineyards. Mine has yet to differentiate between effervescent fruit flavors and underlying dark oak tones. I can however differentiate between a merlot and a dessert wine! Sorry, I disappoint wine connoisseurs everywhere.
Most entertaining though I think was recognizing how a mere month in Moz had me thinking differently in South Africa. For one, going to the grocery store was like walking into a SuperWalmart for the first time. I would pick up one item go two steps down the aisle and realize there was something even better, set aside the former item, pick up the dazzling new one and continue my quest leaving a Hansel & Gretel like trail about the store. I forgot how good croissants could be (until the 7th morning when I realized mixing up the breakfast options might be a good idea). I was also amazed by the roads. If we ever tried to drive that quickly on a Moz road, we would have a) been crashed into by someone possessing actual driving skills b) incurred whiplash and/or a concussion c) lost a tire and/or other important parts d) gotten to our said destination at the appointed time (a first).
But it’s good to be ‘home.’ Life has a little more character and suspense around here even if it means taking cold showers and forever having black-bottomed feet.
Two weeks ago I went to Cape Town, South Africa for a 10-day holiday with my housemate, my colleague and her significant other. We saw and did much. Cape Town is just divine, truly a gem of Africa. The city situated between mountains and ocean has a very San Francisco feel. Curvy streets, sublime views, funky fashion, seals in the bay, and lovely vineyard to the north. We gave our palates a test in the vineyards. Mine has yet to differentiate between effervescent fruit flavors and underlying dark oak tones. I can however differentiate between a merlot and a dessert wine! Sorry, I disappoint wine connoisseurs everywhere.
Most entertaining though I think was recognizing how a mere month in Moz had me thinking differently in South Africa. For one, going to the grocery store was like walking into a SuperWalmart for the first time. I would pick up one item go two steps down the aisle and realize there was something even better, set aside the former item, pick up the dazzling new one and continue my quest leaving a Hansel & Gretel like trail about the store. I forgot how good croissants could be (until the 7th morning when I realized mixing up the breakfast options might be a good idea). I was also amazed by the roads. If we ever tried to drive that quickly on a Moz road, we would have a) been crashed into by someone possessing actual driving skills b) incurred whiplash and/or a concussion c) lost a tire and/or other important parts d) gotten to our said destination at the appointed time (a first).
But it’s good to be ‘home.’ Life has a little more character and suspense around here even if it means taking cold showers and forever having black-bottomed feet.
Friday, August 8, 2008
A Pig's Feast
So does anyone have any idea what to feed a pig? Moments ago I was pathetically devouring the last of the peanut butter when I heard what sounded like a man coughing up his last lung. At first I thought the sound was coming from upstairs (creepy) before realizing that it was outside but quite close outside. So with near-empty peanut butter jar in hand (a very choice weapon), I cautiously followed the sobering sound. Only to happen an ugly, hairy, and at present, hungry little pig, which I think may be the much-rumored about pet of my host brother who is gone for a number of days (along with the rest of the fam). As sleep would be welcomed this evening, I'm open for pig-caring suggestions. Presently, he's been served the dwindling and beginning-to-smell remnants of the fruit bowl (apple, tangerine-esque fruit, and lemons).
This past weekend I took a breather from city life, heading north about 2 hours to stay with a friend who essentially lives in sugarcane fields. In way of cities, Maputo is a fabulous cultural mecca, but in way of me, I fancy crickets chirping, bullfrogs croaking, and cruising on red sandy roads. So to the 'country' I went. My friend is an accountant in Xinvane a little village that has emerged from the surrounding sugarcane job beacon. Sugarcane fields stretch far. Since sugarcane is processed after it is burnt there's always a stream of smoke coming from some land in the distance. Always traces of black bits on your car, plants, undersides of your feet. Before being harvested sugarcane stretches higher than corn (complete with the tassle-like decoration on top) and is so thick that I doubt any movie would portray someone running through it. I chose to run alongside the fields. Afterwards learned from a rather astute 8 year old that big snakes lurk in the cane fields. I think his exact words were, "Snakes aren't very polite to people who wander into their hangout." He then proceeded to whip out his little hand ax and chopped a stalk for me to taste. Mildly sweet, chewy like celery. Since the cane fields are at the convergence of two rivers, we attempted to go fishing nearby. Unfortunately, the locals outsmarted us, 'illegally' placing nets that stretched across the river, literally preventing any sign of life to pass through to our bread-bated fishing poles. So we wound up packing our kayaks and headed east for the beach that bordered an Indian Ocean inlet. It was a nice relaxing weekend, an eye-opener to how most Moz natives live, and a mere introduction to how beautiful, vast and diverse the place I now call home is. Learning what villages sell the best cashews...counting the guiness-record-setting number of passengers that squeeze into a chapa ("taxi")...witnessing Zionist baptisms (wow)...identifying my first 'Jesus' bird (this bird really does walk on water)...scrounging grocery shelves for fleeting traces of the only imported chocolate - Cadbury (my palate is getting spoiled, my cash flow not-so-much)...drinking real fruit juice (so real that to be honest i have to add water for my formerly-diluted-not-yet-acclimatized tastebuds)...
But the real learning experience has been in the working-world. Work hard, play hard. I easily put in 10 hour days. There are so many people needing services and so few resources that my day quickly fills up just meeting with families. It's heartbreaking and exhausting. My job in and of itself is a complete switch from what I was doing in the States. Back home, my clinical experience was primarily working in acute-care hospitals with adults suffering from neuro-cognitive injuries (strokes, gunshot wounds, traumatic brain injuries). Here the focus is early-intervention. So I'm in the home working with the family, in the school working with the teachers, and in a private practice for those in between. Last week we had a promising meeting with an orphanage director. A literacy program is in the works. Fingers-crossed. But the schools here, ugh... I visited a 'special needs' school last week. 3 rooms, solidly built but decaying furniture, walls completely bare save for chipping paint. The kids arrive at school in the morning, eat a meal, are sometimes supplied with crayons so they can scribble. Little to no activities are planned. They have lunch by 11:30 and then the next 3 hours serve essentially as "nap time." The television is turned on, the kids are handed magazines (no variety) as if they need to perfect their 'flipping-the-page' skills. It's a shame. Some of these kids are really quite intelligent, quite creative. The same ones that typically act out and cause behavioral problems because they're so bored. Then there's the expat community that we serve, the children of diplomats. Therein lies another issue. Many of these children have well-educated parents who want to save the world through their NGO or diplomatic connections but then fall short in recognizing the importance of being a parent. I am no parent but I think acknowledging the needs of your child is an integral part of being a good one. Putting a bandaid on a wound from years of neglect isn't what I do, trying to get a child's family involved in their learning is. My ability to do so is a work in progress as is diplomatically reminding parents that they have children… (still tweaking the family-friendly phrasing on that one). Of course, there are the parents that are absolutely fabulous and inspiring and should grace the cover of some 'parenting for dummies' book. My favorite is probably the Indian mom who always has something cooking on the stove when I arrive (and the verbal recipe in tow) and is a team leader in her child's life.
So in a nutshell, from 2 weeks worth of work, that's the gist of what I do.
If time allows, I'd love to get a research project going but… sleep isn't too terribly overrated.
Anyway, thanks to all who have sent me messages. If you made it this far in one sitting, I am duly impressed. To be honest my right foot has fallen asleep, tingling sensations in my left foot are in quick pursuit (a sign of how thrilling I find myself). Despite my slumberous state, I thought it best to send (what I thought was going to be) a quick update before I depart for a 10-day holiday to Cape Town. We're trying to write it off as a work trip by setting up an observation with some autism expert but really we just wanted an excuse to let loose (i.e., sky-diving, a wine & bike tour?, cage-diving with sharks…). So just saying hey while all my faculties are still intact! Haha, well, take care all. Oh and keep me posted on the Olympics!
This past weekend I took a breather from city life, heading north about 2 hours to stay with a friend who essentially lives in sugarcane fields. In way of cities, Maputo is a fabulous cultural mecca, but in way of me, I fancy crickets chirping, bullfrogs croaking, and cruising on red sandy roads. So to the 'country' I went. My friend is an accountant in Xinvane a little village that has emerged from the surrounding sugarcane job beacon. Sugarcane fields stretch far. Since sugarcane is processed after it is burnt there's always a stream of smoke coming from some land in the distance. Always traces of black bits on your car, plants, undersides of your feet. Before being harvested sugarcane stretches higher than corn (complete with the tassle-like decoration on top) and is so thick that I doubt any movie would portray someone running through it. I chose to run alongside the fields. Afterwards learned from a rather astute 8 year old that big snakes lurk in the cane fields. I think his exact words were, "Snakes aren't very polite to people who wander into their hangout." He then proceeded to whip out his little hand ax and chopped a stalk for me to taste. Mildly sweet, chewy like celery. Since the cane fields are at the convergence of two rivers, we attempted to go fishing nearby. Unfortunately, the locals outsmarted us, 'illegally' placing nets that stretched across the river, literally preventing any sign of life to pass through to our bread-bated fishing poles. So we wound up packing our kayaks and headed east for the beach that bordered an Indian Ocean inlet. It was a nice relaxing weekend, an eye-opener to how most Moz natives live, and a mere introduction to how beautiful, vast and diverse the place I now call home is. Learning what villages sell the best cashews...counting the guiness-record-setting number of passengers that squeeze into a chapa ("taxi")...witnessing Zionist baptisms (wow)...identifying my first 'Jesus' bird (this bird really does walk on water)...scrounging grocery shelves for fleeting traces of the only imported chocolate - Cadbury (my palate is getting spoiled, my cash flow not-so-much)...drinking real fruit juice (so real that to be honest i have to add water for my formerly-diluted-not-yet-acclimatized tastebuds)...
But the real learning experience has been in the working-world. Work hard, play hard. I easily put in 10 hour days. There are so many people needing services and so few resources that my day quickly fills up just meeting with families. It's heartbreaking and exhausting. My job in and of itself is a complete switch from what I was doing in the States. Back home, my clinical experience was primarily working in acute-care hospitals with adults suffering from neuro-cognitive injuries (strokes, gunshot wounds, traumatic brain injuries). Here the focus is early-intervention. So I'm in the home working with the family, in the school working with the teachers, and in a private practice for those in between. Last week we had a promising meeting with an orphanage director. A literacy program is in the works. Fingers-crossed. But the schools here, ugh... I visited a 'special needs' school last week. 3 rooms, solidly built but decaying furniture, walls completely bare save for chipping paint. The kids arrive at school in the morning, eat a meal, are sometimes supplied with crayons so they can scribble. Little to no activities are planned. They have lunch by 11:30 and then the next 3 hours serve essentially as "nap time." The television is turned on, the kids are handed magazines (no variety) as if they need to perfect their 'flipping-the-page' skills. It's a shame. Some of these kids are really quite intelligent, quite creative. The same ones that typically act out and cause behavioral problems because they're so bored. Then there's the expat community that we serve, the children of diplomats. Therein lies another issue. Many of these children have well-educated parents who want to save the world through their NGO or diplomatic connections but then fall short in recognizing the importance of being a parent. I am no parent but I think acknowledging the needs of your child is an integral part of being a good one. Putting a bandaid on a wound from years of neglect isn't what I do, trying to get a child's family involved in their learning is. My ability to do so is a work in progress as is diplomatically reminding parents that they have children… (still tweaking the family-friendly phrasing on that one). Of course, there are the parents that are absolutely fabulous and inspiring and should grace the cover of some 'parenting for dummies' book. My favorite is probably the Indian mom who always has something cooking on the stove when I arrive (and the verbal recipe in tow) and is a team leader in her child's life.
So in a nutshell, from 2 weeks worth of work, that's the gist of what I do.
If time allows, I'd love to get a research project going but… sleep isn't too terribly overrated.
Anyway, thanks to all who have sent me messages. If you made it this far in one sitting, I am duly impressed. To be honest my right foot has fallen asleep, tingling sensations in my left foot are in quick pursuit (a sign of how thrilling I find myself). Despite my slumberous state, I thought it best to send (what I thought was going to be) a quick update before I depart for a 10-day holiday to Cape Town. We're trying to write it off as a work trip by setting up an observation with some autism expert but really we just wanted an excuse to let loose (i.e., sky-diving, a wine & bike tour?, cage-diving with sharks…). So just saying hey while all my faculties are still intact! Haha, well, take care all. Oh and keep me posted on the Olympics!
Sunday, July 20, 2008
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.
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.
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