For $1 in Nacaroa you can currently buy:
-3 eggs
-1kg of potatoes
-30 good-sized limes
-juice powder sufficient for 5 liters
-a little more than ½ a liter of gas
-1-1.5kgs of rice
-1.5 kgs of wheat flour
-10 ears of corn
-1/2 kg of quality beans
-15 medium-sized onions
-15-20 poor quality tomatoes
-15 “breads” aka rolls
-5 good quality flashlight batteries
-30 boxes of matches
-at the tailor you can get a purse or a pairs of shorts custom made, as long as you provide the material
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Afternoon Tea
One thing I have really come to love lately is afternoon tea. The ritual goes something like this:
Once the sun starts to set, around 5pm, I start to heat the water. If I’m going to cook dinner at home that night, I use my charcoal stove. When I first got here I absolutely dreaded lighting the charcoal because it got my hands dirty, took forever, and had a very high failed-first-attempt rate. By now, I’m a charcoal-lighting pro. I’ve discovered that the best way to do it by using a dustpan to scoop the charcoal into the stove, and then use roof thatch the get the flame going. The entire process, which used to take about half an hour, has decreased to just five minutes. If I’m not going to cook dinner here, I just use my gas stove, which is much easier in the short term, but more expensive and inconvenient in the long term because it’s difficult and pricey to get the tank refilled.
Well, I get the flame going and put the teapot on the stove. While the water’s heating, I roll out a reed mat on my porch. I bring the teacups, teabags, sugar, and best of all, limes. The tea is Mozambican tea, from the tea fields in Gurue, in Zambezia province. The sugar, which is of course brown sugar, is also a Mozambican product, and the limes are literally fresh off the tree. Like you literally send a student or other kid to go climb the tree and take down the limes so you can cut them and hand-squeeze the juice into the tea. Flavored teabags don’t exist here, except for in the expensive South African stores, but during lime season there isn’t a flavored teabag I’d rather have.
In Mozambique, everyone drinks tea; it’s not primarily for women as it is in the US. And tea, in Mozambique, is to be drunk piping hot. My two-year-old neighbor can tolerate hotter tea than I can. (I think that this must lead to taste bud damage, because Mozambicans like to put a lot of salt on everything.) Sambo can down an entire cup while it’s still too hot for me to comfortably sip. Morning tea is also a must, according to all Mozambicans, but I don’t always have time for that (What do I mean not have time? I’m so white. Why don’t I just go to work late like most other people here?), and it’s definitely not ritualized like afternoon tea.
A peculiarity about tea in Mozambique is that a thermos is a must. You can’t boil the water in the teapot and pour it directly into the teacups. It must go from the teapot, to the thermos, and then to the teacups. I’m not sure of the exact reason, but I think it must have something to do with the fact that a woman must have morning tea ready by the time her husband wakes up, and afternoon tea ready by the time he gets home from work. A thermos allows her to make sure the tea is ready in time, but doesn’t proceed to waste charcoal or occupy the stove after the water’s ready. It also guarantees that if he dilly-dallies for two minutes the water won’t cool down to an unsatisfactory temperature. And the thermoses here are of optimum quality. You can boil water at night, and it’s still piping hot for morning tea, or morning bath. They also come in all sizes, up to 3 liters, which is almost a gallon.
Once the sun starts to set, around 5pm, I start to heat the water. If I’m going to cook dinner at home that night, I use my charcoal stove. When I first got here I absolutely dreaded lighting the charcoal because it got my hands dirty, took forever, and had a very high failed-first-attempt rate. By now, I’m a charcoal-lighting pro. I’ve discovered that the best way to do it by using a dustpan to scoop the charcoal into the stove, and then use roof thatch the get the flame going. The entire process, which used to take about half an hour, has decreased to just five minutes. If I’m not going to cook dinner here, I just use my gas stove, which is much easier in the short term, but more expensive and inconvenient in the long term because it’s difficult and pricey to get the tank refilled.
Well, I get the flame going and put the teapot on the stove. While the water’s heating, I roll out a reed mat on my porch. I bring the teacups, teabags, sugar, and best of all, limes. The tea is Mozambican tea, from the tea fields in Gurue, in Zambezia province. The sugar, which is of course brown sugar, is also a Mozambican product, and the limes are literally fresh off the tree. Like you literally send a student or other kid to go climb the tree and take down the limes so you can cut them and hand-squeeze the juice into the tea. Flavored teabags don’t exist here, except for in the expensive South African stores, but during lime season there isn’t a flavored teabag I’d rather have.
In Mozambique, everyone drinks tea; it’s not primarily for women as it is in the US. And tea, in Mozambique, is to be drunk piping hot. My two-year-old neighbor can tolerate hotter tea than I can. (I think that this must lead to taste bud damage, because Mozambicans like to put a lot of salt on everything.) Sambo can down an entire cup while it’s still too hot for me to comfortably sip. Morning tea is also a must, according to all Mozambicans, but I don’t always have time for that (What do I mean not have time? I’m so white. Why don’t I just go to work late like most other people here?), and it’s definitely not ritualized like afternoon tea.
A peculiarity about tea in Mozambique is that a thermos is a must. You can’t boil the water in the teapot and pour it directly into the teacups. It must go from the teapot, to the thermos, and then to the teacups. I’m not sure of the exact reason, but I think it must have something to do with the fact that a woman must have morning tea ready by the time her husband wakes up, and afternoon tea ready by the time he gets home from work. A thermos allows her to make sure the tea is ready in time, but doesn’t proceed to waste charcoal or occupy the stove after the water’s ready. It also guarantees that if he dilly-dallies for two minutes the water won’t cool down to an unsatisfactory temperature. And the thermoses here are of optimum quality. You can boil water at night, and it’s still piping hot for morning tea, or morning bath. They also come in all sizes, up to 3 liters, which is almost a gallon.
O Zahir
My internet flash drive is working again, which means I can put up all sorts of random posts on a more regular basis!!
I’ve been reading an interesting book called “O Zahir.” (In Engilsh: The Zahir) It’s by the same author who wrote “The Alchemist,” Paulo Coelho. There’s a phrase that’s said in the US that goes something like, “Good friends are the ones that are always there to help you celebrate, but true friends are the ones who are always there even through the bad times.” This book brings up the opposite idea: that good (or not-so-good) friends are there during the bad times so that they can feel better about their lives and get attention and sympathy for whatever unfortunate thing has happened to you, while the true friends are the ones who are there to help you celebrate, and truly enjoy your successes without feeling jealousy or resentment about your good fortune.
I’ve been reading an interesting book called “O Zahir.” (In Engilsh: The Zahir) It’s by the same author who wrote “The Alchemist,” Paulo Coelho. There’s a phrase that’s said in the US that goes something like, “Good friends are the ones that are always there to help you celebrate, but true friends are the ones who are always there even through the bad times.” This book brings up the opposite idea: that good (or not-so-good) friends are there during the bad times so that they can feel better about their lives and get attention and sympathy for whatever unfortunate thing has happened to you, while the true friends are the ones who are there to help you celebrate, and truly enjoy your successes without feeling jealousy or resentment about your good fortune.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Healthcare
Sambo has a friend, Nhambe, who’s a teacher in a small community about 20k from Nacaroa. Nhambe and his girlfriend, Isuara, often come to Nacaroa to do some shopping, since Nacaroa is a city compared to where they live. Every time they come here, they ask when we’re going to come visit them in Nachere. So one Saturday we decided to go visit them. It was really cool to pass all of the super rural communities along the way, see the kids playing in the rivers, and realize that Nacaroa isn’t as rural as I thought. We had a really good time, but as we were leaving both Nhambe and Isaura started complaining of stomach aches. We didn’t really think much of it, because that happens all the time here. When we got home, we sent a text to say that we arrived safely, and Nhambe responded that he had diarrhea and was vomiting. We didn’t really think much of that either, because that happens from time to time and isn’t usually anything super serious.
That night we were awakened around 3am by someone banging on Sambo’s door to tell us that Nhambe was in critical condition, and was here at the hospital in Nacaroa. Apparently the diarrhea and vomiting had gotten worse, and either he wasn’t able to keep any fluids down, or they didn’t think about trying, so he got really dehydrated and started convulsing. Luckily, Isuara’s a nurse and lives at the health clinic in Nachere, so they were able to call a health technician (here a technician is above a nurse) to give him an IV. The technician thought that Nhambe was having a seizure, so he gave him some shot, which made him go into a coma and stop breathing. Somehow someone knew how to do CPR, or else guessed, or else Nhambe started breathing right around when this person tried CPR. So they called the ambulance (yes, they do exist here), but it was “unavailable”. I don’t know what it could have been doing that made it unavailable, it wasn’t transporting sick people. So they woke up someone important in Nachere who had a car, and managed to get Nhambe transported to Nacaroa in the middle of the night.
So we went to meet them at the hospital in the wee hours of the morning. As Nhambe is hardly conscious, has been vomiting and having diarrhea all night, the technician tells us that we should be making him eat. Because he expelled all the food in him, we have to insist that he eat to replenish it. Well, from my 2-3 hours of health sessions per week during training, and from my occasional consultations of my health manual, I was quite sure that you weren’t supposed to make someone eat under these circumstances. I tried to suggest that maybe he just try to drink a little water, but I was overruled. They made him eat some porridge, and he continued throwing up. Then he went to sleep, so they didn’t make him eat for a few hours. They debated what to make him eat for lunch, and decided on soup. Since I live really close to the hospital, and have a gas stove (much faster than using charcoal like everyone else here), and know a little bit about what someone in Nhambe’s condition should be consuming, I offered to make it. His girlfriend said that no, she would make it, but I told her to just stay by his side and that I’d be back soon, and left before she could try to decline again.
Back at my house, as I made soup (heavy on the broth, with just enough tiny noodles to fool the nurses into thinking it was soup rather than just broth), I showed Sambo my health manual. Under the diarrhea section it says, in underlined print, “DON”T EAT SOLID FOODS FOR 24-48 HOURS,” which is simple enough English that he could understand. It also listed food to eat, and foods not to eat, and when you can start eating what. It also said to take rehydration salts. Back at the hospital Nhambe ate some soup, aka broth. I asked the technicians if he could take rehydration salts, and was told that those were only for after the diarrhea has already stopped, which is definitely not accurate. On the packets it says, in English, French, and Spanish, “For the treatment of diarrhea.” They still said no. And Nhambe refused to do anything without consulting the technicians, and Isaura always concluded that everything the technicians said was correct. I wanted to just lie to Nhambe and Isaura and say that I had already asked the technician and that he had approved, but Sambo said that the technician would find out and get mad that we did stuff without his approval, and would stop treating Nhambe. I didn’t think that sounded like such a bad thing.
Nhambe continued in stable conditions, the vomiting stopped during the first day, but the diarrhea continued. On Tuesday-Wednesday I had planned to go to Nampula to meet up with some other volunteers, so I bought some antibiotics at the pharmacy there, after Sambo consulted the technician, of course. He started taking the antibiotics, but continued two more days with diarrhea. I also bought bananas for him, but of course he wouldn’t eat them without consulting the technician. I went to consult one, and convinced him that he should approve bananas, so we went to tell Nhambe. While I had been gone, another tech had entered, and had decided that bananas were bad. The scientific explanation: “Bananas are bad for diarrhea. They seem good because right after you eat them you don’t have diarrhea. But they’re really bad because they stick to the inside of your stomach, so then when you eat other food it all just comes out as diarrhea.” That is a direct translation, not altered or exaggerated. I wanted to just say, “That is absolutely not true,” but I knew that they would just get mad, not change their minds, and that Nhambe would still not eat them, so I just gave them a look that indicated I didn’t believe them, but didn’t say anything.
After two days of antibiotics the diarrhea stopped, so on the third day they decided that Nhambe should stop taking them. At the pharmacy in Nampula I got specific instructions from the pharmacist that he should take them for 7 days. I told this to the technician. “Yeah, but the diarrhea stopped, so he doesn’t need them anymore.” Isn’t it bad to stop taking antibiotics before the full dose? Nope. But can’t the sickness come back even stronger if it’s not all taken care of? Nope. But everyone knows that with the malaria medications you have to take all of them, you can’t stop once you start feeling better. Unrelated.
Around this time Isaura’s mom decided that the only explanation for this prolonged illness was that someone had put a curse on Nhambe, and everyone else agreed. (Medical incompetence/unsafe food or water couldn’t have anything to do with it.) So she went to a witch doctor to explain the situation. The witch doctor consulted some shells and bones, and concluded that someone in Nachere was jealous and hated Nhambe, and had therefore gone to a witch doctor to send some sort of bug his way. This bug provoked the diarrhea and vomiting. The antibiotics had subdued the bug, but it could, at anytime, reappear and make him start vomiting and having diarrhea again. (Never mind that unclean water can do exactly the same thing.) To remove the bug completely, Nhambe would need to go to a witch doctor also, to get some remedies and undergo some processes that would rid him of this bug forever.
Now it’s never wise to act on the opinion of just one witch doctor, so the next day Sambo and another friend went to see another witch doctor to get a second opinion. According to them the readings overlapped enough that it was clearly “africanism” (curses/black magic/etc). The second witch doctor, after hearing that Nhambe was sick, consulted the shells and bones and concluded that Nhambe was either feeling a dry stomach, a headache right in the center of the forehead, or aches and pains in the joints. Well, considering she knew was sick, those seem like some of the most obvious guesses, and she was wrong about the headache. Both of the witch doctors warned that this wasn’t the first time someone had sent a curse his way, and interestingly enough they both said the first attempt was an attack at the family jewels.
Since the readings “corresponded,” they decided that Nhambe had to go visit in person. The witch doctor asked him to bring some flour to make porridge and a chicken, live of course. He went with the same friend who had taken Sambo earlier in the day. Once they got there, the witch doctor (who was a very old woman who worked topless) put some of the flour in a pot of water over the fire and said that if it made porridge like it should, then the sickness came from God, but if it didn’t make porridge, that was a sign that someone sent a curse. Well, obviously it didn’t make porridge. Then Nhambe had to hold the chicken, still live, and if it acted dead that was confirmation that it was a curse. Obviously, it was confirmed. So he kept holding the chicken and the witch doctor said some chants and whatnot, and the chicken started acting more alive, which showed that the curse was leaving Nhambe. Then she gave him some roots and told him to boil them in a pot of water every day before he took a bath, and then after his bath he should use that water last to cleanse his body, and keep doing that for as many days as it took for the roots to not leave any color in the water. Then he braided some reeds to make a string that he was supposed to wear around his waist. I’m not sure how long that was supposed to be.
Nhambe is currently in good health. I unfortunately didn’t get to go along on the visit because the witch doctor’s hut was a little ways from Nacaroa so they went by motorcycle. Sambo has also decided that we can never go to Nachere together again, because he's afraid that someone might try to put a curse on him. I pointed out that several people have probably already tried in Nacaroa, and since they haven't had any luck in Nacaroa why would it be any different there? Apparently one's ancester's spirits can protect one from such curses, but eventually these spirits get tried, so it's better not to put yourself at risk too much.
Random thoughts/observations
-Nutrition for pregnant women is part of the 5th grade curriculum.
-One day I was going with a friend to make a cake at another location. She came to my house so we could go together. I was bringing some supplies, which I had already put in a pot and wrapped with an African cloth, to be socially acceptable, of course. When my friend got here, I grabbed the supplies to leave. She took one look at me carrying the bundle in my hands, and was like, “Are you just going to carry it like that??? Here, give it to me to put on my head.”
-For the first time since I’ve been here, I finally, in February 2011, saw something fall off of someone’s head. It was a man going to sell some biscuits in the market. In a large plastic basin he had put the biscuits, and on top of the biscuits he had a small dish with sauce for them. Apparently the biscuits shifted, causing the sauce to spill, which broke the equilibrium. He managed to catch the basin before it fell to the ground, but exactly 13 biscuits spilled to the sandy dirt. He dusted them off, put them back in the basin, and went on his way.
-If you give a kid half of a cracker they will think you are the most amazing person in the world.
-No one believes me when I say I don’t have a fridge or TV in my house here.
-According to common knowledge: cucumbers cause fevers in kids, when a woman has her period it’s impossible for her to make a good cake,
-Reasons someone might come to my house that would never happen in the US: to get their chicken that got into my yard, to ask for some lit coals, to ask for a cracker, to ask to charge their cell phone, to ask me to fix their cell (obviously I can do that, I’m white),
Items that every Mozambican household has, or has arrangements with neighbors to use:
-Pilao: A giant mortar and pestle used to make flour from corn or peanuts, made of wood.
-Pilaozinho: A small mortar and pestle used to crush garlic, rock salt, or other small things.
-Panera: A shallow woven reed bowl about the size of a manhole cover used to sort rice, peanuts from shells, and other things
-Relador: A wooden thing resembling a footstool, but with a serrated metal rod/disk on one side. You sit on the footstool and pass coconut over the serrated part to grate it.
-Cuador: A wooden frame with fine, wire mesh. Used after the coconut it grated to squeeze the oils/liquids out of the gratings without the gratings falling in the food.
-Culher de pau: A long-handled wooden spoon, usually with a really small, shallow spoon part.
Friday, January 28, 2011
The start of year 2
Hey! I have some more time to write now. I’m pretty excited about the school year that just started. Last year I taught 11th grade, and there wasn’t a 12th grade. This year I’m teaching 12th grade, which means that the only students I have are the ones that passed last year. So I know them, they more or less understand English, and they’re used to the way I teach! Only about 75% of the 11th graders from last year passed to 12th grade, and of the ones that passed, about 15% of those didn’t passed English, which means they just do the other subjects that they did pass. (If you fail more than 2 subjects you repeat just those subjects in 11th grade again.) So I only have three classes, and each class only has about 40-50 students, so I should be able to do some more fun, exciting projects this year. My standard workday this year is classes from 8:30-12:00, but on Fridays I start at 7:00. I also have Wednesdays off.
In terms of other projects, I’m going to get my English Club started again once I get back to site. I went to the District Administration last week to talk about reserving the room in the community centar that I used last year. Some guy there told me I would have to pay 1,500 meticais each time I wanted to use it!! (I make about 7,000 a month.) Well that wasn’t about to happen, so I had to go talk to some other people but I was assured by them that I would not have to pay and that the other guy was crazy. Another project I want to initiate this year is a theater group that will perform plays about HIV, gender issues, corruption, etc in the town center on various holidays. I hope to be ready to have our first play be performed on Womens’ Day, April 7th. I’ll also be having an English Theater group again, and I’ll be organizing the regional competition for the northern provinces, but that won’t be until around September.
I really enjoyed the holidays. I travelled all the way down to the south of Mozambique by ground transportation (buses, hitchhiking, etc), stopping several places along the way to visit other Voolunteers, before meeting up with Sambo at his sister’s house in Inhambane Province. She lives on the coast near some islands, so we took her kids to see the islands with us. The beach there was beautiful, and you have to take a tiny little sailboat to get there. Then we went a little more south to his brother’s house. He also lives on the coast very close to some beautiful beaches, and has three adorable kids ages 3-11 who I loved playing with. We stayed there for Christmas, and then went down to the capital, Maputo. We stayed in the city a few days and then went to Ilha de Inhaca, which is where Sambo is from. Once again, I got to enjoy some beautiful beaches and scenery. Unfortunately, during this part of our trip is when his niece drowned, but we managed to get in several fun days before that happened. Then I took him to Namaacha to visit my home stay family from training, which was really fun. The two brothers that were finishing school when I was there have since started working, and there were several improvements to the house now that they have some money. They want Mama to stop working because she’s getting older and they can support her now. Unfortunately Mama wasn’t there, but all three of my brothers were. I decided to buy a plane ticket and fly home to avoid the 2-3 day bus trip on an over-crowded bus with no bathroom, which I think was a great choice.
I’m in Maputo now doing my 1 year medical check-ups. I’m also taking advantage of the internet, food, and the movie theater they have here! Yesterday we saw The Switch, and today we might see Jacuzzi, just because we can. I don’t think either one of these movies got good reviews, but it’s in a real movie theater with popcorn!! I’ve also added greatly to my already over-sized souvenir collection, but I figure after being gone from the US for 2 years plenty of people will want gifts, so I just keep buying all the pretty things here that I can’t get at site.
Other news/comments:
-I got robbed last week. We left two plastic chairs and a key chain in the yard next to the porch while Sambo and I went inside to listen to music. While we were inside, someone took them from the yard.
-I have absolutely no idea what to do with my life when I’m done with Peace Corps. Ideally, I’ll move back to Raleigh and get a job in the linguistic cartography field. The only problem is, that field hardly exists, is definitely not well-established (or even established at all) in Raleigh, and I would be completely unqualified for.
-About 4 hours ago I developed an interest in possibly pursuing a Masters in public policy. But I really don’t want to ever take the GRE.
-I am currently waiting for the 3D, green, beaded hippopotamus that I am getting custom made for me.
-There is a terrible drought in Nacaroa. The crops aren’t growing at all, which sucks for me, but more so for the farmers. Along with this comes cholera and diarrhea as people drink swamp water. (I still have a good water source, don’t worry!)
-Food I’ve been excited about eating here in Maputo: pizza, cheeseburgers, cheese, bagels with lox and cream cheese, ice cream, thai food, fruit.
-Food that I get excited to find in Nacaroa: tomatoes that are NOT rotten, canned ground beef.
-An excerpt from my father’s 2nd grade report card: “Hygiene: Lewis has a handkerchief and knows how to use it properly.” I have also started using a handkerchief. I’ll practice all year, and maybe by the time I leave here I’ll also know how to use it properly.
In terms of other projects, I’m going to get my English Club started again once I get back to site. I went to the District Administration last week to talk about reserving the room in the community centar that I used last year. Some guy there told me I would have to pay 1,500 meticais each time I wanted to use it!! (I make about 7,000 a month.) Well that wasn’t about to happen, so I had to go talk to some other people but I was assured by them that I would not have to pay and that the other guy was crazy. Another project I want to initiate this year is a theater group that will perform plays about HIV, gender issues, corruption, etc in the town center on various holidays. I hope to be ready to have our first play be performed on Womens’ Day, April 7th. I’ll also be having an English Theater group again, and I’ll be organizing the regional competition for the northern provinces, but that won’t be until around September.
I really enjoyed the holidays. I travelled all the way down to the south of Mozambique by ground transportation (buses, hitchhiking, etc), stopping several places along the way to visit other Voolunteers, before meeting up with Sambo at his sister’s house in Inhambane Province. She lives on the coast near some islands, so we took her kids to see the islands with us. The beach there was beautiful, and you have to take a tiny little sailboat to get there. Then we went a little more south to his brother’s house. He also lives on the coast very close to some beautiful beaches, and has three adorable kids ages 3-11 who I loved playing with. We stayed there for Christmas, and then went down to the capital, Maputo. We stayed in the city a few days and then went to Ilha de Inhaca, which is where Sambo is from. Once again, I got to enjoy some beautiful beaches and scenery. Unfortunately, during this part of our trip is when his niece drowned, but we managed to get in several fun days before that happened. Then I took him to Namaacha to visit my home stay family from training, which was really fun. The two brothers that were finishing school when I was there have since started working, and there were several improvements to the house now that they have some money. They want Mama to stop working because she’s getting older and they can support her now. Unfortunately Mama wasn’t there, but all three of my brothers were. I decided to buy a plane ticket and fly home to avoid the 2-3 day bus trip on an over-crowded bus with no bathroom, which I think was a great choice.
I’m in Maputo now doing my 1 year medical check-ups. I’m also taking advantage of the internet, food, and the movie theater they have here! Yesterday we saw The Switch, and today we might see Jacuzzi, just because we can. I don’t think either one of these movies got good reviews, but it’s in a real movie theater with popcorn!! I’ve also added greatly to my already over-sized souvenir collection, but I figure after being gone from the US for 2 years plenty of people will want gifts, so I just keep buying all the pretty things here that I can’t get at site.
Other news/comments:
-I got robbed last week. We left two plastic chairs and a key chain in the yard next to the porch while Sambo and I went inside to listen to music. While we were inside, someone took them from the yard.
-I have absolutely no idea what to do with my life when I’m done with Peace Corps. Ideally, I’ll move back to Raleigh and get a job in the linguistic cartography field. The only problem is, that field hardly exists, is definitely not well-established (or even established at all) in Raleigh, and I would be completely unqualified for.
-About 4 hours ago I developed an interest in possibly pursuing a Masters in public policy. But I really don’t want to ever take the GRE.
-I am currently waiting for the 3D, green, beaded hippopotamus that I am getting custom made for me.
-There is a terrible drought in Nacaroa. The crops aren’t growing at all, which sucks for me, but more so for the farmers. Along with this comes cholera and diarrhea as people drink swamp water. (I still have a good water source, don’t worry!)
-Food I’ve been excited about eating here in Maputo: pizza, cheeseburgers, cheese, bagels with lox and cream cheese, ice cream, thai food, fruit.
-Food that I get excited to find in Nacaroa: tomatoes that are NOT rotten, canned ground beef.
-An excerpt from my father’s 2nd grade report card: “Hygiene: Lewis has a handkerchief and knows how to use it properly.” I have also started using a handkerchief. I’ll practice all year, and maybe by the time I leave here I’ll also know how to use it properly.
Everything about a death and a funeral in Mozambique
I'm not sure if this entry is 100% finished, but I don't have time to add more, so it'll go up like this. I'm also pretty sure it has terrible grammar, but oh well.
Over the holidays I went with Sambo to visit various members of his very large family. Overall we had a great time, which hopefully I’ll be able to write more about, but there was an unfortunate event that occurred. We spent New Years on Ilha de Inhaca (Inhaca Island), which is where Sambo’s from. While there, we decided to take a bunch of his nieces and nephews of various ages to the beach. Living on an island, most of them know how to swim a little, or else know that they can’t go in deep water. But one niece, Joaninha, had rarely been to the beach, (which no one thought to tell us when we headed out) and therefore didn’t really know where she could or could not play in the water. At one point I was giving a snack to some of them on the beach, and Sambo was playing with others in the water, and neither or us realized that Joaninha wasn’t around.
So I was on the beach eating crackers with some of the kids when all of a sudden one of them was like, “Look, someone passed out!” I turned to see a man carrying a little girl, clearly unconscious, in his arms. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that it could be one of the kids that had come with us until another nephew was like, “That’s Joaninha!” We called Sambo, and the man carrying her laid her on the beach. She’d clearly been vomiting. I tried to think back to CPR from 10th grade health class, but couldn’t remember exactly what you were supposed to do. The man and Sambo pushed on her stomach and a bunch of water/vomit came out of her mouth and nose. She still had a pulse and was breathing a little. They found someone with a 4-wheeler to take her to the hospital.
I took the rest of the kids back to the house, and then went with the older ones to the hospital. When we got there I went in the room where she was. The doctor was cleaning vomit out of her mouth and nose with guaze and some suction thing. Then he put a long tube in her nose, and looked at her, and took it out, and put it and took it out a few more time, and then left it in and hooked it up to an oxygen tank. Joaninha was still unconscious. He declared that she was “out of danger” and left, instructing the nurse to put in an IV. I later found out that he wasn’t a doctor, that a doctor comes a couple of times a week to the island, and that this guy was some kind of technician.
Well we waited around a couple of hours, and the technician came back. He found it “shocking” that she hadn’t woken up yet, and was immediately concerned. He called (phoned, not summoned) a real doctor, then gave her antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory shot. “Out of danger” no longer applied. He now proclaimed that she could either live or die (duh) and that at this point it was still “too early” to say. We rotated who stayed at the hospital, and when Sambo and I were there she woke up! She drank some juice, he gave her a tissue and told her to clean her face and blow her nose, which she did, he asked her where it hurt and she was able to mumble a coherent, logical answer. She was clearly struggling to breathe, so the technician found an (adult-sized) oxygen mask, played around with it trying to figure out how to use it, put it on her, and she passed out again. Another aunt came to stay there during the night, and they planned to transfer her to the mainland early the next morning. Sambo and I went back to his brother’s house and went to bed, relieved.
Sambo got a text early the next morning asking him to come to the hospital. We figured they were getting ready to transfer Joaninha. He went. Soon after I got a text saying that she had died. I went to the hospital. Apparently during the night she had woken up a few times, drank more juice and milk, and even asked to go to the bathroom. And then died.
In Mozambique:
How do you transport a dead body? You put it in the back of a truck along with the passengers. Wrapped in colorful Mozambican cloth.
How do you react if you’re a 25-year-old man and you’ve just been told that your 6-year-old sister died? You don’t. Not at all. Not even a gasp, a dead-drop, a shake of the head, a curse, or a widen or blink of the eyes. You just say thanks for the information, and then you serve yourself a glass of water if you want. No need for anyone to do that for you, you’re a man, it’s not that big of a deal. Granted they had different mothers and I don’t think he had ever lived in the same place at the same time as her and therefore didn’t really know her much, but still.
How do you break it to the other cousins who were at the beach and saw what happened that she died? (All the adults knew of the death already) You wait a few hours, until the kids are being loud and not helping you with the work, and then you say, “Hey! Stop being loud and start being helpful! Joaninha died ok? She’s dead! So shut up and do what I said!” And the kids will shut up and do what you said, and they won’t cry because it’s not the first time someone they knew died because people die all the time.
What about burying the body? In Grandma’s back yard. (next to her sister’s grave, who had died the year before) In a coffin made by the men. A tiny little coffin for a 6-year-old’s body. With the body wrapped in white cloth leaving the face showing. In a grave dug by the men and later filled by everyone, including me. And then everyone takes a flower and plants it above where she was buried.
What is a funeral like? While you wait for everyone to get there, the women start cooking. When “everyone” is there, first the closest family members go look at the body. Then the more distant family members. Then the friends, neighbors, and everyone else look. Then everyone starts singing, and some of the men carry the coffin from inside Grandma’s house to the grave in her yard, that has to be dug the same day as the burial. And everyone keeps singing. And then everyone goes up to put some dirt on, and then when it’s full everyone goes again to plant a flower there. And then the women go back to cooking, and then serving food. Then the non-family go home, and the family stays. The women cook more and most of the men drink. Then you eat more, and cook more, and possibly drink more, and talk with the other family members etc. Repeat for 3 days, adding in sleeping at night. The cooking was fish and rice for all lunches and dinners.
Let’s clarify: by “the women cook,” I mean that the Mozambican women cook, and the white woman is allowed to cut tomatoes, potatoes and onions, as long as the peeling of these vegetables is done for her. But first you must confirm that she is capable of such a task by asking her if she knows how to cut onions. (They really, literally, asked me that.) And by “talk with the other family members” I mean that if you speak Changana (the local African language there) you talk with the other adult family members in Changana (even though you speak Portuguese fluently), and if you don’t speak Changana (me) you play with the kids. So basically after the funeral and burial I had another 3 days of boring patronizing-ness.
But at least here there was no looking for someone to blame, as I’m sure would have happened in the US. So, while it was quite sad at the time, there is very minimal lasting guilt regarding the whole situation, so that’s healthy.
Over the holidays I went with Sambo to visit various members of his very large family. Overall we had a great time, which hopefully I’ll be able to write more about, but there was an unfortunate event that occurred. We spent New Years on Ilha de Inhaca (Inhaca Island), which is where Sambo’s from. While there, we decided to take a bunch of his nieces and nephews of various ages to the beach. Living on an island, most of them know how to swim a little, or else know that they can’t go in deep water. But one niece, Joaninha, had rarely been to the beach, (which no one thought to tell us when we headed out) and therefore didn’t really know where she could or could not play in the water. At one point I was giving a snack to some of them on the beach, and Sambo was playing with others in the water, and neither or us realized that Joaninha wasn’t around.
So I was on the beach eating crackers with some of the kids when all of a sudden one of them was like, “Look, someone passed out!” I turned to see a man carrying a little girl, clearly unconscious, in his arms. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that it could be one of the kids that had come with us until another nephew was like, “That’s Joaninha!” We called Sambo, and the man carrying her laid her on the beach. She’d clearly been vomiting. I tried to think back to CPR from 10th grade health class, but couldn’t remember exactly what you were supposed to do. The man and Sambo pushed on her stomach and a bunch of water/vomit came out of her mouth and nose. She still had a pulse and was breathing a little. They found someone with a 4-wheeler to take her to the hospital.
I took the rest of the kids back to the house, and then went with the older ones to the hospital. When we got there I went in the room where she was. The doctor was cleaning vomit out of her mouth and nose with guaze and some suction thing. Then he put a long tube in her nose, and looked at her, and took it out, and put it and took it out a few more time, and then left it in and hooked it up to an oxygen tank. Joaninha was still unconscious. He declared that she was “out of danger” and left, instructing the nurse to put in an IV. I later found out that he wasn’t a doctor, that a doctor comes a couple of times a week to the island, and that this guy was some kind of technician.
Well we waited around a couple of hours, and the technician came back. He found it “shocking” that she hadn’t woken up yet, and was immediately concerned. He called (phoned, not summoned) a real doctor, then gave her antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory shot. “Out of danger” no longer applied. He now proclaimed that she could either live or die (duh) and that at this point it was still “too early” to say. We rotated who stayed at the hospital, and when Sambo and I were there she woke up! She drank some juice, he gave her a tissue and told her to clean her face and blow her nose, which she did, he asked her where it hurt and she was able to mumble a coherent, logical answer. She was clearly struggling to breathe, so the technician found an (adult-sized) oxygen mask, played around with it trying to figure out how to use it, put it on her, and she passed out again. Another aunt came to stay there during the night, and they planned to transfer her to the mainland early the next morning. Sambo and I went back to his brother’s house and went to bed, relieved.
Sambo got a text early the next morning asking him to come to the hospital. We figured they were getting ready to transfer Joaninha. He went. Soon after I got a text saying that she had died. I went to the hospital. Apparently during the night she had woken up a few times, drank more juice and milk, and even asked to go to the bathroom. And then died.
In Mozambique:
How do you transport a dead body? You put it in the back of a truck along with the passengers. Wrapped in colorful Mozambican cloth.
How do you react if you’re a 25-year-old man and you’ve just been told that your 6-year-old sister died? You don’t. Not at all. Not even a gasp, a dead-drop, a shake of the head, a curse, or a widen or blink of the eyes. You just say thanks for the information, and then you serve yourself a glass of water if you want. No need for anyone to do that for you, you’re a man, it’s not that big of a deal. Granted they had different mothers and I don’t think he had ever lived in the same place at the same time as her and therefore didn’t really know her much, but still.
How do you break it to the other cousins who were at the beach and saw what happened that she died? (All the adults knew of the death already) You wait a few hours, until the kids are being loud and not helping you with the work, and then you say, “Hey! Stop being loud and start being helpful! Joaninha died ok? She’s dead! So shut up and do what I said!” And the kids will shut up and do what you said, and they won’t cry because it’s not the first time someone they knew died because people die all the time.
What about burying the body? In Grandma’s back yard. (next to her sister’s grave, who had died the year before) In a coffin made by the men. A tiny little coffin for a 6-year-old’s body. With the body wrapped in white cloth leaving the face showing. In a grave dug by the men and later filled by everyone, including me. And then everyone takes a flower and plants it above where she was buried.
What is a funeral like? While you wait for everyone to get there, the women start cooking. When “everyone” is there, first the closest family members go look at the body. Then the more distant family members. Then the friends, neighbors, and everyone else look. Then everyone starts singing, and some of the men carry the coffin from inside Grandma’s house to the grave in her yard, that has to be dug the same day as the burial. And everyone keeps singing. And then everyone goes up to put some dirt on, and then when it’s full everyone goes again to plant a flower there. And then the women go back to cooking, and then serving food. Then the non-family go home, and the family stays. The women cook more and most of the men drink. Then you eat more, and cook more, and possibly drink more, and talk with the other family members etc. Repeat for 3 days, adding in sleeping at night. The cooking was fish and rice for all lunches and dinners.
Let’s clarify: by “the women cook,” I mean that the Mozambican women cook, and the white woman is allowed to cut tomatoes, potatoes and onions, as long as the peeling of these vegetables is done for her. But first you must confirm that she is capable of such a task by asking her if she knows how to cut onions. (They really, literally, asked me that.) And by “talk with the other family members” I mean that if you speak Changana (the local African language there) you talk with the other adult family members in Changana (even though you speak Portuguese fluently), and if you don’t speak Changana (me) you play with the kids. So basically after the funeral and burial I had another 3 days of boring patronizing-ness.
But at least here there was no looking for someone to blame, as I’m sure would have happened in the US. So, while it was quite sad at the time, there is very minimal lasting guilt regarding the whole situation, so that’s healthy.
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