The weekend of my birthday I flew down to Maputo – thankfully for pleasure and not to visit the embassy! I returned to Beira by car. Here are some scenes from the two-day trip:
Preachers from my Country March 27, 2008
There is an annoying conversation that I have regularly with Mozambican Christians. It has to do with American evangelists. For example, my roommate and I were talking the other day to the man in the telephone company who organized our internet set-up. He wanted to know if I liked Joel Osteen. I started laughing. I explained that Joel Osteen’s church is very near where I used to live in America but that I didn’t like him. “But why?” he wanted to know. I asked Marina, “How do I explain ‘cheesy’ in Portuguese?” I ended up saying something about how I didn’t think he was that deep. Then this man went on to ask me what I thought about Joyce Meyers, Creflo Dollar, TD Jakes, etc. Each time I kind of laughed and said I don’t listen to them; I know their names, but I don’t know them very well. He was shocked (as all Mozambicans are when I tell them this): “But they are American! Why don’t you listen to your own preachers? Why do I know your preachers better than you do? Who do you listen to?” My roommate and I explained that there are many different kinds of preachers in America. The ones he knows happen to be popular in Africa, but there are others who are popular in America who Africans have not heard of.
Last weekend we had some Mozambican colleagues and their spouses over for lunch. One of them asked me if I like TD Jakes. I laughed and said ironically, “Oh yes. And Creflo Dollar and Joyce Meyers and Joel Osteen?” He didn’t get my tone and was excited that I seemed to know all these people.
So my question is, do I continue to laugh and become annoyed with everyone’s enthusiasm about these evangelists, and learn how to explain ‘cheesy’ in Portuguese? Do I lie and pretend I really like them? Or do I fully engage in the local culture and begin watching the God Channel?
Buying Drugs March 24, 2008
I went to a pharmacy today to buy amoxicillin for a friend who’s home sick. (Note: medicine here is cheap and most is available over the counter.) I went to the 24-hour pharmacy that also sells (well, used to sell) electricity credit so that I could get both things taken care of. Here’s the conversation that ensued (in Portuguese):
Me: Do you have amoxicillin?
P(harmacist): Um…yes. (Long pause during which I think he hasn’t understood what I asked for or that he’s waiting for me to explain something further) Capsules? For an adult?
Me: Yes.
P: Do you have a prescription?
Me: No, sorry. Do I need a prescription? It’s for my friend who’s sick at home.
P: Yes, you need a prescription for all antibiotics.
Me: Okay. Thank you. One more thing, you don’t sell Credelec?
P: No.
Me: Okay. Thank you.
(I turn to leave and am about halfway to the door.)
P: It’s a possibility.
Me: (Walking back to the counter) Sorry? A possibility?
P: It’s a possibility to buy amoxicillin.
Me: I can buy amoxicillin?
P: How much do you need?
Me: Um. I don’t know.
P: A week?
Me: Sure. One week.
P: (Hands me two packets of capsules) 70 meticais ($2.80)
Me: Two per day?
P: Three per day.
Me: Thank you.
This Easter Thing March 23, 2008
It is Easter Sunday evening, and I am feeling completely out of sorts. Holy Week has come and gone with very little reflection or celebration. My housemate and I had a conversation this morning about how frustrated we were with the English fellowship sunrise service and how it just hadn’t been a focused or worshipful time at all. And that was the only Holy Week service I’ve attended.
I love Holy Week. It is truly my favorite time of year. Actually I love all of Lent, the time leading up to Holy Week. I appreciate the time of reflection and focus and anticipation leading up to the week that defines Christian faith.
Of course the Protestant churches here do not recognize Ash Wednesday or Lent. To do so would be to associate themselves too much with the Catholic Church. Fair enough. Many Protestant churches in the US and UK also do nothing for Lent. But I did nothing either. I gave nothing up because honestly there is little to give up here. However, I also did little to reflect in other ways.
Then Holy Week was suddenly upon us. Last weekend I was in Maputo, and by my own fault and misunderstanding, I missed going to a Palm Sunday service. At least I had Good Friday and Easter Sunday to look forward to.
On Thursday morning I asked a colleague, who is one of the leaders at the Mozambican church I attend, what special services there would be for Good Friday. He kind of laughed and said that the pastor had been confused about dates so nothing was planned. “And anything special for Easter Sunday?” I asked. “Just the regular service,” he replied. “But perhaps we will share communion together.”
What they did have planned was a “youth anniversary” (don’t ask me what that is) celebration on Saturday morning, which consisted of a 2+ hour service and a lunch. So apparently my church celebrates its youth anniversary but not the death and resurrection or our Lord Jesus Christ! Regardless of my personal issues about planning, Saturday was a blast. Youth—defined in Mozambique as 18- to 35-year-olds—from six different churches packed out the tiny, rickety church to sing, dance, and pray together. The service was also partly a birthday celebration for my Portuguese language partner who surprised me by inviting me up to the front of church to cut the cake and share the celebration with her since it had been my birthday recently.
Meanwhile my housemate was at a cook-off at her church all afternoon, and I wondered if indeed any churches were acknowledging Easter. In fact, several were, I heard. Apparently, just not the ones I’m associated with. (An interesting note: My housemate’s church did have a Good Friday service, but she said they were singing praise songs and wishing each other Happy Easter.) At least I had the English fellowship Easter sunrise service to look forward to.
We were on the beach this morning at 5:30 (wearing sweaters in fact!), and by 6:00 we were done after singing some dull songs and listening to a couple poems. That was it?! That was my Easter celebration?! What about a time of reflection, especially sitting facing the sea and watching a beautiful sunrise? What about a time of thanksgiving for what Jesus’ resurrection means? What about some rousing music celebrating the risen Lord?
During the conversation later this morning with my housemate, she captured exactly how I’ve been feeling this whole week as she said in frustration, “I want to be part of this Easter thing that seems to be going on around me! How do I get in on that?”
P.S. I found out that my Mozambican church did indeed have a Good Friday service in the end. I’m not really sure what it consisted of though.
Turning Old Tomorrow March 12, 2008
Here is an actual conversation I had with a four-year-old at my birthday party this evening. Note: I’m turning 30 tomorrow.
K: Do you have any kids?
Me: No. I’m not married.
K: When are you getting married?
Me: Sometime soon, I hope.
K: Before you get old?
Me: Yep. Before I get old. So does that mean you don’t think I’m old?
K: (Looking at me seriously then rubbing my upper arm with the back of her hand) No, you’re young.
(And later when I told her I’d take some balloons down and send them home with her, her eyes lit up and she said, “That would be lovely!”)
Machambas (farm plots)
My fair city
VilanculosAmerican Price March 7, 2008
I’ve been on the look-out for a pair of cute shoes for awhile. Every time I walk to Immigration, I pass a little market where vendors have all sorts of random objects spread out on broken-down cardboard boxes along the path. The first vendors one comes to on the way to Immigration are the shoe vendors. One man has all women’s shoes lined up neatly on cardboard. The next has men’s shoes. The next children’s. Most of them are used, donated from North America. (I used to think they were stolen but have been told they legitimately come from donations sent to Africa from America.)
Today I stopped to try on a couple pairs. One pair fit well and was cute, so I asked the price. Here is the conversation that followed:
Vendor: 380 ($15)
Me: Ha! (handing the shoes back) Why are these shoes so expensive?
Vendor: Okay, 350 ($14).
Me: No! So expensive!
Vendor: Okay 300 ($12).
Me: And if I am Mozambican. Then how much?
(Much laughter from surrounding vendors watching this interaction.)
Vendor: No, no, this is Mozambican price. You think I make American price?
Me: Yes. It’s true, you do. I want a Mozambican price.
(More laughter from surrounding vendors and repetition of phrase “Mozambican price”.)
Vendor: But look, it’s leather.
Me: Yes, it is. They are pretty shoes. But they’re not new.
Vendor: But look, they’re only a little bit used. In America these cost $100.
Me: (laughing) $100?! In America I can buy used shoes for $3.
Vendor: $3? No. They are $100.
Me: Thank you very much. They are pretty shoes, but I am not paying this American price. (Walk away to continued laughter and sounds of the phrase “Mozambican price” from other vendors.)
Now I’m on the look-out for a pair of cute, Mozambican-priced shoes.
It’s Hot March 1, 2008
It’s hot!
I can’t get cool,
I’ve drunk a quart of lemonade,
I think I’ll take my shoes off
And sit around in the shade.
It’s hot!
My back is sticky,
The sweat rolls down my chin.
I think I’ll take my clothes off
And sit around in my skin.
It’s hot!
I’ve tried with ‘lectric fans,
And pools and ice cream cones.
I think I’ll take my skin off
And sit around in my bones.
It’s still hot!
by Shel Silverstein
A Holiday As Well
My trip to Maputo wasn’t all hassles. It ended up being a very enjoyable holiday, starting with a helicopter ride.
I had originally bought a bus ticket to go to Maputo but on that Wednesday heard that some helicopter pilot friends were on their way back to Nelspruit, South Africa after doing flood relief work north of Beira. They were spending Wednesday night in Beira, flying out on Thursday morning and could drop me off in Maputo if I wanted. Hmm, an 18-hour bus ride leaving at 5am or a 4-hour helicopter ride leaving at 7:30am? It was not a bad way to see Mozambique outside of Beira for the first time, especially flying along the coast for the first part to stop and refuel at Vilanculos, a top beach destination because of its islands and crystal-clear turquoise waters.
I was worried about spending four days in Maputo by myself. Not that I’m not good about entertaining myself or can handle myself alone in a strange city but because I prefer company. I ended up meeting fantastic people, having places to stay, people to show me the sights, and take me to restaurants and beaches and entertainment spots. Life felt so luxurious there as I walked along beautiful boulevards, ate gelato in a park on a hill overlooking the sea, ate at Indian and Thai restaurants and pizza at a restaurant that reminded me very much of patio restaurants in Houston, drank tea and read my book on the veranda of the Hotel Polana looking out over their pool, garden, and the sea, and dipped my feet in a clean, clear pool at a BBQ with other development workers. Other highlights were shopping at a Target-like South African store and swimming in cleaner (but bigger!) waves than we have in Beira. I also now feel like I know more people in Maputo than here in Beira.
Of course there is a greater divide there between rich and poor, and expats and locals. As much as I loved the city, I would find a hard time balancing ministry to poor Mozambicans and socializing with expats. I was sad to leave Maputo for many reasons, but I also felt like I was coming home when I arrived back in Beira.
Half Sorted
The hassles are never-ending and even extend to Maputo and the American Embassy, but I am sorted with a temporary visa at least for the next three months.
I went to Consular Services first thing on Friday morning to get fingerprints (my back-up should I need to obtain a notarized copy of my background check from Texas Department of Public Safety). However, I could not get the letter from them stating that I stated that my background check is authentic because the consul was gone and the acting consul was not comfortable signing such a letter. So I returned on Monday morning when the consul was back and had no trouble getting a letter. Then I had to take that letter to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to have them notarize it so that Immigration could accept it. Amazingly I bumped into another American who had a car and was also headed to the Ministry, so I rode with her. However, at the Ministry, they would not notarize the embassy’s letter because the new consul’s signature is not on file with them. What?! So we went back to the embassy, arriving ten minutes before they closed, and I waited for an hour while one of the Consular Services officials made phone calls to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and to Immigration in Maputo. The best he could do for me then was say that the director of Immigration in Maputo was going to call the director of Immigration in Beira. I returned to Beira on Tuesday just praying that the call had indeed been made and accepted.
On Wednesday morning I met with the director here who hadn’t heard from the director in Maputo. But she called him and said she would accept the background check. However, I still can’t get my residence visa because I am waiting on my work permit. In the last week or so, the system between the Ministry of Labor and Immigration has changed. Previously, residence visas were issued with a receipt from the Ministry of Labor stating that documents had been accepted and were being processed for a work permit. Now, however, a residence visa cannot be issued without proof of the actual work permit, and work permits are taking up to five months to issue. Thankfully, Immigration offered me a three-month temporary visa. Now I just wait.
Bird on a Bare Branch 