All day today I’ve been sorting through boxes in my parents’ garage – stuff that I’d had in storage in Houston for three years.  One of the boxes I found was full of about ten years’ worth of journals.  Who knew I used to journal so much?  I skimmed through a couple and came across this entry from December 19, 2000, written in the airport in Houston on my way back to Michigan for Christmas after three months in a village in Honduras:

“I have a headache from watching people walk by.  Everyone is moving so fast.  And they probably don’t need to get anywhere that fast.  I used to walk fast.  This is the land of cell phones.  Everyone is in their own little world.  All these people together and very little personal interaction.

I almost cried after I ate because I threw part of my pizza away.  It’s fine to tell kids to eat their dinner because of starving children in the world, but I actually know those children.  I remembered sharing my meal at church on Saturday with Doris’ son and Leslie.  And now I threw that pizza away.  At the very least a cat could have eaten it.  So much is wasted here.  It makes me sad.”

I recall flying through Houston again after my year in Honduras was up and being overwhelmed by the amount of electricity used in the airport alone.  Lights and signs everywhere!  We had electricity only six hours a day, from a generator at the mission hospital.  I remember thinking that the electricity in the arrivals hall alone was more than we used in the entire village.

Every time I come back to the States from abroad, different things hit me.  When I was in London a month and a half ago, my friend and I took the train from her parents’ in the countryside where we had spent my first night, into London where she lives.  We arrived in Liverpool Station at 5pm, and I wanted someone to hold my hand to navigate the busy crowd and signs and noise and retail overwhelming me.  Marina knowingly looked at me and said, “You’re experiencing reverse culture shock right now, aren’t you?  I did too when I first got back.  So many people moving so fast, and I wondered how they all knew where they were going!”

Coming to the States I’ve been experiencing different levels of reverse culture shock at different times.  What hit me initially was all the technology.  It’s only been a little over a year since I was last in the States, but since then TV became digital and iPhone added 75,000 apps.  (And apps is a new word my brother had to teach me.)  Not only are TVs digital, but it seems they’re all huge now.  Or, like some friends I stayed with and my parents, the TVs look like computer monitors.  AND I found out you can get caller ID on your TV.  As if caller ID isn’t convenient enough, now you don’t even have to avert your eyes from your favorite TV program or sporting event.  Then there’s the technology that was around before I left or when I’ve been home on holiday before that I’m re-acquainting myself with.  Am I the only one who finds it strange that we can call people and watch TV on our computers, check emails and take pictures on our phones, watch movies and record film on our music-listening devices, and play music in the car simply by telling the stereo what track we want?

But after being in a developing country for nearly two years, I even find it strange that there are machines to wash AND dry clothes, machines to wash dishes, and machines that will suck up dirt off the floor.  We don’t need maids in this country because we have machines to do everything!

In the past seven weeks I’ve traveled approximately 17,000 miles and slept in over 20 different beds.  Instead of writing about my travels, I’m posting one photo from each place that hopefully captures the essence of each visit.

Hampshire, England

Playing croquet in the English countryside

London, part 1

Sunny days walking around

Brighton, England

Sudanese iftar

London, part 2

Reunions with good friends - the theme of all my travels

Detroit, Michigan, part 1

Feather bowling with Mike and Adam

PJ Hoffmaster State Park, Michigan

Grilling hamburgers on a spatula because we had no grill top

Rockford, Michigan

Meeting new baby!

Hudsonville, Michigan, part 1

Hanging out with my favorite kids

Detroit, part 2 and Ann Arbor, Michigan

Visiting my very first teaching colleagues

Wayne, Pennsylvania

Nabil (high school friend) and Katrina's wedding

Cincinnati, Ohio

Friends who are family

Detroit, part 3 and Ann Arbor once again

Playing shuffleboard

Hudsonville, Michigan, part 2

Meeting even newer baby!

Chicago, Illinois

Quick visit with old friend

St. Paul, Minnesota

Moz reunion in Minnesota

Orange City, Iowa

Family

Allen, Texas

Oops, no pictures yet.

Houston, Texas, part 1

My photo in a gallery show: "600 sq mi"

Many things delighted me upon arrival in the UK, such as fresh berries, Pimm’s, walking freely outside, clean and efficient public transportation, etc.  But the thing that delighted me most was thick, 2-ply toilet paper!  In my last months in Beira, Shoprite only carried 1-ply t.p.  Finally, right before I left they restocked with 2-ply.  What a novelty after so many months!

However, I didn’t realize we were still lacking in quality until I wiped in England.  As soon as I pulled some squares off, I thought, “Wow, this toilet paper is nice!”  My next thought, however, was, “Will it actually flush down??”  And the thing about the thick toilet paper is that the novelty never wore off.  Every single time I sat down on the toilet, I thought, “Wow, this toilet paper is nice!”

A related delight is that every single public restroom I walked into had toilet paper.  Every.  Single.  One.  And each time I thought, “Wow, this restroom also has toilet paper!”

A Dutch woman I know here, who is a fabulous storyteller, told this story.  She found it in a book somewhere, but I’m not sure who the original credits go to.  I think it’s fantastic.

*******

One day a visitor arrived in a village while he was traveling through the countryside.  When this visitor entered the village, he spied a very beautiful woman.  In fact, this woman was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  He sought out the village chief to inquire about her, saying, “Who is that woman?  She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!”  The village chief said, “Since you are not from here, we first need to explain our customs to you.  In this village, when a man wants to marry a woman, he must pay the bride price depending on her beauty.  He must pay one cow for a very plain woman, two cows for a pretty woman, and three cows for a very beautiful woman.  Let me tell you a story about another visitor who came to our village many years ago…

“One day a young man came here and saw a young woman fetching water from the well.  She was not a beautiful woman.  In fact, she was not even pretty.  No one ever noticed this young woman, but the man could not take his eyes off her.  He went to speak to her father about marrying her.  Her father explained to the young man the customs of our village.  He said, ‘For a plain girl, you must pay one cow.  For a pretty girl, two cows.  For a very beautiful girl, three cows.  I know my daughter is not beautiful, so you can pay one cow.  But the young man replied, ‘I want to pay seven cows.’  The girl’s father almost fell out of his chair, ‘Seven cows?!  Why do you want to pay seven cows?!  My daughter is not even pretty!’  But the young man insisted that he wanted to pay seven cows.

“In the following weeks leading up to the wedding, the villagers laughed at the young man wherever he went:  ‘There goes the stupid man who wants to pay seven cows for a one-cow woman!’  Even the little children pointed and laughed.  But he continued to hold his head high and paid his fiancee’s father seven cows.

“On their wedding night, the young woman asked the young man, ‘Why did you pay seven cows for me?  I am not even pretty.  I am not even worth two cows.  Why seven?’  And the young man replied, ‘But to me you are worth even more than seven cows.’

“When the couple were together, the husband’s eyes lit up and everyday he told his wife she was worth more than seven cows.  She happily cooked delicious meals for him and kept a spotlessly clean house.  At night when they were together, they laughed and talked, sharing stories and secrets.  The young woman’s inner beauty began emerging, and she soon began to believe that she was worth at least seven cows.  In fact, she grew more and more beautiful every day.  The neighbors, who used to ridicule the young man, began to notice how happy the couple were and changed their ideas about him paying seven cows.

“So dear visitor, that woman you saw this morning when you entered the village…she is the seven cow woman.”

Yesterday my housemate and I bought a couch.  It is the retro-ugliest but most comfortable couch I have sat on in Mozambique.  A couch is not a significant thing in many parts of the world.  But to me its significance is beyond what I can probably describe in words.

When Marina and I moved into this apartment, we loved everything, absolutely everything about it except the furniture.  It’s spacious, light, has a veranda, a huge kitchen, two bathrooms, and warm showers with better water pressure than anywhere I’ve showered in Mozambique or the US for that matter.  My bed is more comfortable than any bed I’ve ever owned, but we were stuck with an extremely small and uncomfortable wicker couch that came with the apartment.  Decent furniture is very expensive here because it’s all imported.  Locally-made furniture is all very uncomfortable.  I bought camp chairs as a temporary solution until someone left and we could buy their furniture.  Unfortunately, everyone we’ve known who has left had lived in already-furnished apartments.

For the last several weeks I’ve been really tired – physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually.  I need a break.  I’ve been feeling the need to get back to the States and just rest.  Every time I think of resting in the States, I envision myself lying on a couch (because everyone in America has a couch that can be laid on) for a week, not really talking to anyone, not answering lots of questions about Mozambique, not being “the missionary home from Africa”.  Sometimes I see myself reading books, sometimes I’m just staring at the ceiling.  And then at the end of the day I get up and cook dinner for whoever I’m staying with and feel refreshed to visit with them when they come home from work.

Why a couch?  Because after living in an apartment with no comfortable furniture for a year, always kind of putzing around because I know that whatever I sit on will make me want to get up after just a little while, and also knowing no one else here with comfortable furniture, a couch to me is the ultimate symbol of rest and relaxation.  When my friends and I reminisce about what we miss or look forward to in our home countries, the list usually goes something like this:  sleeping under a duvet, feeling free to go out after dark, not being constantly aware of or worried about our belongings, and sitting on a big comfy couch.

So I’ve been having this strong desire to lie on a couch.  At the same time, I’ve lately been spontaneously praying for us to know when someone is leaving and selling furniture so that we can buy it.  Which is a pretty ridiculous prayer considering I’m leaving in a month or two.  But it pops into my head.

Two days ago Lyndsay and I walked over to Shoprite to quickly grab a couple things.  I bumped into a missionary couple I know only from bumping into them around town.  It turns out they’re leaving in a month and are selling a living room set.  So yesterday we went to look at it, sat in it, paid for it, and took the couch home.  (We’ll pick up the loveseat and chair in a month when they leave.)

Sitting on that couch last night, eating a delicious meal and watching a movie with friends (all three of us and the cats comfortably spread across the cushions) not only felt amazingly luxurious but also therapeutic.

Perhaps it’s just a piece of furniture, but I can’t help wonder if God is telling me I can rest here.  The timing of finding this couch seems all wrong on one hand, but so right on the other.

Because this is now an issue here, I feel compelled to add it.  And because most of you are in the States, I feel compelled to add it.  Single people, you will laugh and groan with understanding as you read through it.  Married people, please take notes as you read…“Surviving Church as a Single”.  (Thanks, Sarah, for the link!)

I am now the proud owner of a Driver’s License of a Velocipede without a Motor.  In a country where cars can do seemingly whatever they want, I found it hard to keep a straight face when I went to acquire my very serious and very official bicycle documents.

At 8:15 this morning I entered the Municipal Building downtown and after some inquiries found the hallway for velocipede licensing.  I was sent to the last window, the Velocipede window where I was charged 2 meticais (7 cents) to fill in a form.  I handed over the bicycle owner’s documents (yes, we need those too to operate a bicycle) which were in the previous owner’s name.  The government official behind the counter asked if I wanted to transfer the documents into my name.  Well, sure.  Of course that meant going back to the first window to the Treasurer to pay 50.50 meticais ($1.74) for the transfer.  Then I had to take that receipt to the Velocipede window.  The official told me to come back the following morning at 10 to pick up the owner’s document and then go to the fire station at 1pm for my bicycle exam.  I asked if it was necessary.  I told him that my colleagues had informed me that if I showed my driver’s license that I wouldn’t have to take a test.  He told me to sit down and wait to speak to his manager.

It was a woman.  I hate speaking to official women in this country.  They’re often harsh and never smile.  I smiled a big smile, greeted her, and very politely explained that my colleagues had informed me that with a driver’s license I wouldn’t have to take a test.  I told her I’ve been driving for 13 years and riding a bike for 25+.  Therefore, do I still need to take the test?  She scrutinized my license, then handed it back and said, “Yes, you need to.”  Then I asked if it would be possible to take it at another time since I work everyday.  She interrupted me and said, “You can sit down.”  Um, okay…why?  She said, “You can sit down.  We’ll do it now.”  I thought she meant the test, but she meant she’d give me the license.  Of course that meant another form and going back to the Treasurer’s window to pay 21 meticais (73 cents) then taking that receipt back and waiting for my license.

As she was filling in the card, she said accusingly, “You’re a teacher of what?  It says here you’re a teacher.  What do you teach?”  I told her I teach English at the Pedagogical University and also work for an NGO and do workshops in schools.  She looked very skeptical.  She said, “At UP?  English?  English, English?  I did English at UP.”  Of course she didn’t actually speak a word of English to me.  I told her I was teaching 12+1 and that this was my first year.  Then she believed me and relaxed a little.

As I was getting ready to leave, I asked if I could come earlier than 10 tomorrow to pick up the other document since I have to work.  She told me I could try, but she couldn’t promise anything.  Wow, an honest statement about time in Mozambique!  Then she said, with a slight smile, “Can I ask you for something?”  Sure.  “Books.”  She wants English books, specifically grammar books.  I told her I didn’t have any grammar books but might be able to bring her a novel or two.  Finally she gave me an actual smile.  I finally walked out the door just after 9.

If all goes well tomorrow, I may be cruising the streets of Beira on a non-motorized velocipede as early as this weekend!  I just need to make sure I carry my official documents with me at all times.

Last week in class, my students were discussing the roles of men and women in small groups.  One of the questions asked:  “What do you think men do better than women?  Women do better than men?”  Two groups presented their responses to this question:

Group 1: Women are better at looking after children.  Men don’t have the time.  Women are worried about looking good, and so they are more organized.  If you walk down the street you will see all the women looking good, but the men don’t look good.  It’s because women are more organized in terms of hygiene.  Women have better homes.  If a woman lives alone, her house will always be nice and organized.  If a man lives alone, you can often find a mess and things in many different places.  Women are also not hard-hearted.  They feel pity.

Men are better at choosing friendships.  They know how to deal with friendships.  For example if you see a group of five girlfriends, you will see that it won’t last even a year because there is so much gossip.  But this is not notable for guys.  Men are more creative than women.  For example, many theories have been invented by men.  Anyone knows six female scientists?  Men can do heavier jobs.  Women do simple jobs.  Men are not as sensitive as women – it is hard to convince men to do something wrong, but it is very easy to convince a woman.  Men are more courageous than women.  Women are courageous on useless aspects, like killing someone, but men are courageous in how to explore the world.

Group 2: Men are better at security.  For example, men are guards and the majority of soldiers are men.  The majority of monuments are of men.  Men have more courage.  They fought against the communists and are our earliest heroes.  Men can hunt, like in the jungle.  Women see a snake and jump.  Men can do strong jobs.  They can carry big logs.  Women carry 20kgs of water but men carry three sacks of sugar.  Men run faster.  Even if you took that man from Jamaica against Lourdes Matola – they are both fast, but the man can still run faster than Lourdes Matola.  Men have more of a spirit of leadership.  In the past, few women were leaders.

Women are better at taking care of children.  They are more caring.  That’s why in a separation, the judge will say that the children should stay with the mother.  They are good householders.  And they are more romantic.

Papaya trees and blue sky,

Coconuts and lemons.

Cool breeze, salty sea,

But mangoes not in season.

Avocadoes, passion fruit.

Brightly-clothed women

Selling banana bunches, tangerines.

But pineapples not in season.