And so, indeed, things continue...

Life, it seems, flies by without one noticing.  I know that must be one of the most overused cliches, but really, ill have been here a month tomorrow, and i could swear that I only flew in last week....

Things have been improving here in some areas, and continuing to lack in others.  My project has, of course, captured my heart, there are now between eleven and twelve kids at the orphanage, depending on which women are working there.  The women who staff the place are usually orphans themselves, raised in the system, without money or futures, they are stuck in the never-ending cycle of broken families until they die, young, usually, because the amount of disease in these centers is staggering.  Out of the eleven living where I work, there is almost always one with malaria, and they all have some kind of chronic respiratory infection that looks like bronchitis, and Im dearly hoping isnt TB.  The kids are fantastic, beginning with their names, Abeli, Aninha, Amarildo, Nono, Chertan, Nicoli, Julinho, Rozinha, Mattias, Aleixandro, and Carlitos, and ending with their incredible tenacity.  Through the shouting and beatings they are dealt by their "care takers", through the minimal sanitation present where they live, no medical care to the point where each small scrape becomes a gigantic lesion and then scar because it is not treated properly if at all, and despite a total lack (except for the Eight to Five volunteers) of good role models, they remain intelligent, optimistic, sweet, eager to please, kind, willing and adorable.  I am starting work full time next week, which means I can start some immersion lesson plans, Portuguese in the morning and English in the afternoon.  As I only have a few months with them, and they all do get to go to school free of charge until theyre eighteen, Im aiming for basics, alphabet and counting in both languages, maybe some simple word groups.... 

Really, what I would like to impress upon them is that I love them, that someone loves them and cares, and even if they forget me completely, I will forever hold them in my heart, and they will have had at least that much of what they deserve.

I can hardly believe that anyone could deprive children as they are deprived, but I know that it happens every day and in such worse ways.   

Enough, or I wont be able to write anything else.  Wish I could fit them all in my suitcase and take them home with me.  They make me incredibly hopefully and totally suicidal at the same time.  Anyone reading this must promise me to treat every child with the utmost respect you can muster, because they are our mirrors in a way that is more truthful than anything I know. So:

HUG A CHILD TODAY, DAMMIT!

My host family has unfortunately turned out to be a little bit of my worst nightmare.  They are like a typically dysfunctional American household, the father at a job that takes him away from the house for three days at a time, the mother speaks constantly in a tone that makes you cringe, always yelling and threatening to hit her children, the twin brothers in constant, slightly cruel competition, and the young daughter as spoiled as they come.  However, they are all totally decent to me, which makes it even stranger...  They tell me it will be a good experience for me, but Im not so sure.  Dysfunctional families, especially of the argumentative kind have never been easy for me to handle...   

And when I mentioned to this to the organization Im working with, I was told that this is simply the way things are done here.   THATS scary.  We (the volunteers) seem to be running into this problem quite a bit here.  Its a sort of cultural, perhaps heat-induced lethargy, and I feel that it is what has allowed for the rampant corruption and general disastrous lack of infrastructure that is present in this country.  It is really only to be expected, in the sudden switch from colonial slavery where less was more and the more one resisted working (because this meant for the Portuguese), the better.  And before the Portuguese was a small community, tribal system which meant working for yourself, your family, and your village.  So the whole imposed Western capitalist system, pushing buttons for a faceless corporation for pennies while witnessing the country your fought so hard for fall further into disrepair and disease, is not really viable here, and even if it were, no one has ever really taught people how to operate within it, and really, with the way that the Western capitalist systems are going now, who would want to?   

The thing that keeps me working is the position at which I believe we find ourselves.  Mozambique, like many other developing nations, has the advantage of loads of prior knowledge and the opportunity to create a lifestyle without committing the mistakes anyone else has.   However, putting this creation idea into practice is just SO DAMN HARD!!!

Well, as Dougie would say, the Contrasts and Complaints Department is now closed, and there are definitely some things I should say before ending this latest blog.

The nightlife here is pretty fantastic, not in the least because I can order BEER!!  No, im not drinking myself into a puddle, but I have been to two clubs, one of which, Coconuts, the biggest club in Sub-Saharan Africa, is brilliant, the other totally decent, except for the shitty house music, and the VOLUNTEERS HERE ARE FUCKING MAD!!!!   Everyone is smart, mature, interesting, kind, cool, and most a bit nerdy, which, you know, is necessary for me to like anyone... :)  They form the kind of support network that the organization does not provide, and they are my bread, jam, and butter.  In fact, its a bit odd, here I was, expecting to work my butt off, and instead every weekend im bar hopping, beach bumming and eating delicious fried chicken and coleslaw and the occasional coke.  My favorite thing about people here is their love of laughter.  Their Portuguese may sound like its all queijas, complaints, grunando (grumbling) and shouting arguments, but say hello and their faces crack open with smiles that light up the whole road.  The best is to be called Mulungo, the word for whitey in the local dialect of Changaan, and to wave back and say Mulande, blackie.   Hysterics, every time, even though its the only two words I know!!!!  Speaking of speaking, i aim to take classes in Changaan, its fairly pretty and damned useful here....  

In conclusion, things here are hard, but thats what I was looking for.  Full of despair, but also of laughter, I feel like this experience will cement me as a person, after this I will know what is the what, if you know what I mean.... :P  

May this post find you all in the best of health and happiness, I miss you and love you, beijos,

allie

allie.unisus@gmail.com

allie

Second Installation

Each day I spend here seems to be more of a contradiction.  Even though I feel as though i am discovering more about Maputo and its inhabitants each day, so do i also feel as though for every one thing I puzzle out, six different and more complicated and shrouded things appear beneath it.  Much of my situation here is operating on double standards, from the prices for mulangos (white people) and the prices for everyone else, to the mission of this organization and the reality that I am discovering.  Things are certainly never what they seem.   

Take this as an example.  This tuesday some friends and I went to the beach, a semi-touristy place that advertised turquoise waters called Bilene.  The 100 kilometer journey was a real thing, forty minutes haggling about the price only to have to pay the original upped price anyways.  Then after two hours of bearable chapa ride, (the windows were down, the breeze was good and the company very enjoyable) the tire completely blew out and we were stranded on the side of the road for an hour and a half.  This, however, was also not terrible, there were some nice acacia trees where we climbed and rested in the shade.  Then we piled back in the chapa for another hour and after one more twenty-five minute chapa ride, we finally arrived at the beach.   I plunged into the lagoon and struck out for the other side, meeting my friend simon a little ways out.  We swam and picked our way through zebra clam beds (they cut like razors!!) for a few hours....a few hours longer than we thought.  What with the buoyancy of the super salty water and chatting all the way, it took so much longer than we thought to reach the island that by the time we eventually headed back (thankfully catching a ride in a boat with a local fisherman), our friends had called the police and hired a boat to come look for us!!!  To top it off, apparently swimming to that island is prohibited, as is walking on the Island, because of traditional rituals that used to take place there and the huge amount of negative beliefs about swimming to this Island.  After we got the legal bit sorted out (no repercussions other than a stern talking to because the police chief couldnt be found) the night turned into a bad movie, wed missed the last chapa home, so we had to look for a hotel, only nothing was open, so we camped out in front of a hotel for a while until it started to rain, and then we wandered some more until we ended up sleeping in the police barracks for money we said wed pay in the morning!!!!  Attempting to take money out was also a bit of a nightmare, at that point I hadnt eaten for 24 hours, and we were going to be in BIG trouble if we couldnt get money somehow.  The police here are not known for their kindness.  Luckily, a local shop owner took pity on me and allowed me to take cash out on my card.  

And yet being on that Island ranks among the top experiences of my life.  Apart from a few bits of plastic washed up on the ocean side of the island, it looked as pristine as it must have a thousand years ago.  We felt like we were on Gullivers Island, or treasure island, or one of those bad survivor tv shows, because all we had with us was ourselves.  No shoes, no water, no clothes...  Just our swimsuits, and somehow that added to the experience, because we felt as though we werent intruding in any way, simply offering of ourselves as the Island offered of itself.  Its white sands, dragonflies, fronds, bushes, reeds and massive sand dunes could have formed the set for a Jurassic Park film, and they were beautiful in themselves.  But nothing compared to the Indian Ocean on the other side. Sweeping steeply down to the crashing surf, the white sands were populated by thousands of pink crabs that darted in and out of waves, and the sky above the sea rose pristinely turquoise forever.  I certainly believe that there was something special about that stretch of beach, whether it was spirits as is the local belief, the concentrated force of untouched nature, or the impression of solidarity and harmony that such original beauty provided, whatever it was, it was a powerful thing. 

Also as I believed that for tropical nations that the rains caused only good, bounty and joy, so I had not taken into consideration the urban systems.  Streets, which are only packed earth to begin with, washed away completely in places, rubbish was strewn everywhere, (more than usual, which is saying something) whole neighborhoods were flooded, and cases of cholera rose by 30%.  Thankfully my bairro was spared, and aside from having the transportation become much more packed as less chapas were driving, my life was unaffected, but hundreds of people lost lives and property.  

However, the worst double standards have been those of the program I am working with.  The organization is not paying for my living costs as it said that it would, and how clever of them to say that they wont pay any visa related costs, because the only type of visa you can get requires you to leave the country once every thirty days, and I have to pay all of those costs.  This organization is not even paying for my toilet paper.  If my family doesnt prefer to use it, its on my bill.  The host families are also a problem, many dont even seem to want a volunteer to live with them and dont provide for their resident volunteers at all.  The work postings are also a bit of a joke, we are put wherever, regardless of any previous skills, and so far, 75% of them say that they are not actually needed at their projects, and they havent really done much in their time here.    

Im looking into solutions and I really hope that I will succeed, but if anyone ever asks you about United Planet, tell them to not touch it with a ten foot pole.  

Not all is bad, not at all, in fact its felt quite a bit like a vacation, lots of writing and chilling and practicing my guitar, along with super warm weather, beach trips and lots of going out for drinks with the other volunteers and friends.  And i am TAN!!!!!!!!!!  This is the first tan of my life, and Im quite excited.  We cook at each others houses, and some friends host families are totally amazing.  Im having a blast, but I miss you all, so send me an email, or comment on here, I love to hear from people.

Love,

Allie

allie.unisus@gmail.com