Keystone Cops

I have spent a fair amount of time at the police station the last couple of days, more than three hours yesterday. They were unfailingly solicitous. The first hour was spent looking for a pen. Pens are in short supply apparently and those that had one of the coveted objects would not relinquish possession. We then spent a long while listening to them debate about what number to assign the case--apparently the methodology is not etched in stone (how could it be, there are no writing implements). Finally we got to the case itself and they outlined for me their impossible vision of my midget gardener as the kingpin of the crime ring (he who was gagged and tied and suspended for hours following the robbery. Truly it was amazing. Our missionaries on the scene had an immediate grasp of the likely path and process of the robbers, but the local police (who haven't watched nearly as many CSI episodes)took a very long time to discard some utterly nonsensical ideas. I outlined my losses and the church's in detail for an officer to write out in longhand as well as my history, parentage and my view of what happened. After that laborious project, I went to another police investigator, who had also secured a pen, and repeated the identical steps. It was an agonizing process that I hope to never repeat again. I should mention, that our (gospel) investigator Amizade, arrived at our house very early and unexpected Tuesday morning to help me through the whole police ordeal, sticking by my side throughout. We are not accustomed to seeing much thoughtfulness here and his action was both helpful and heartwarming.

We have gotten the house cleaned up, things back in generally the right places, and today we had carpenters, iron workers, and electricians over to put steel grates over the air conditioners, fix doors and locks, install outdoor lighting and generally try and make us feel a little more secure. We also hired two new guards, one of whom will always be on duty rather than sleeping. Our new guards are full sized and look, at this moment to be more capable and fluent in Portuguese rather than just dialect--this bodes well for their future.

Here is a bit of Mozambican culture. The vast majority of the populace cooks over charcoal stoves (think Hibatchi grills). The charcoal is generally produced by people who live out in the countryside who gather wood and burn it to produce charcoal. They they put it in these large plastic bags and sell it on the highway (about 80 pounnds worth). Because charcoal prices had spiked lately, a couple of people had asked if I might buy some for them out of the city--where it is less than half the city price. Here in the middle of nowhere on the way back from Nampula, we stopped beside these bags on display and these men suddenly appeared--all quite anxious to help. We bought a couple of bags and put them in the truck. Though it might have saved a few meticais for our friends, charcoal in the back of a pickup under a tarp with baggage and on a bumpy road, creates an enormous amount of charcoal dust and mess. We won't do this again. These guys do look a bit rough--but these are just normal country folk here--trying to eake out a living.