a step back in time

We have finally completed our well project on the island of Idugo.  (I say that as if we were major contributors though we were not--but we started the ball rolling so we maintain a little possessiveness.  We organized a closing ceremony on the island to officially hand over the wells to the populace and to encourage them to take care of them.  We had a feast of sorts with goats and chickens and plenty of rice and spagetti and Mozambican Matapa or crushed-leaf sauce.  I even brought ice to the island in coolers to provide cold drinks--I suspect that it had been a long time since anyone there had had something cold.  All in all it was a good time--not without incidents of the darker side of human nature--but overall positive and we think that the project was a good and valuable one that will bless the lives of the 10,000 or so people who live in the island.

Passage accross the River Supinho is in this very seaworty vessel.  Half way accross we discovered that we forgot something so we waited in the river while someone returned in a canoe to get it.   Being a little bored after a time, I went overboard--discovering that we were not in particularly deep water as you can see below.

The tide was out so we had a long walk through the mud to get to dry land once we hit the island.



Debbie always likes an entourage.

This is a completed well in all its glory.  Here is a Youtube video of what the water looks like that comes out of it:

 http://youtu.be/klS2i33tdHU

We are here pictured with the eldest daughter of Amizade who lives on the island with her husband--both of them are are HIV positive.  She is a sweet woman who knows how to read and Debbie always brings her a copy of the church magazind Liahona whenever we come.  At her side, is her brother Rocha who is our branch clerk and is preparing to serve a mission and who heard the gospel from the missionaries while he was in jail.  We no longer are quite so quick to judge others as perhaps we once were.

Sisters Osborn, Wollenzien and Merkley (the other two being humanitarian missionaries, decided to get into the spirit of the occasion today and decided to wear matching capulanas.  Thereafter, most people mistook them for native Mozambicans.

Those who helped in the construction of the wells were given these t-shirts--that we thought were really quite cute with a palm-surrounded well as the front design.  Hundreds were gathered for the ceremony.

One of the lessons I learned from the day was to leave politicians out of things like this.
Following my remarks to the assembly, in which I remarked that we were all children of God and people just like them in our church like had contibuted their hard earned money so that they could have this water, one of the government officals stood and urged the to remember that "you are children of the government and the government will always take care of you".  And another offical, who only appeared for this ceremony, claimed that this project only occurred because the government had requested and authorized the church to build the wells.  Another official was more practical--he thanked the church for its effort but gave us a list of other things that he would like the church to pay for (a a motorized ferryboat was high on his list).  All in all, we were pretty fed up with these guys in the end.

The first ceremonial drink of water from the well.

There was plenty of dancing and celebrating as part of the ceremony.  The video follows:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U8UQUFBYuTE&feature=plcp

Claudia, daughter of our friend Amizade, was with us on the Island.  Shown here with her two chickens.  Claudia is nine years old (Which is a very frightening thing).  She forgot her chickens in our truck so we awoke this morning to find them there.

Quelimane, Zambezia, Moçambique

This is the Google Maps view of Quelimane.  It looks bigger than I may have led you to believe over the last year).  I was looking for sympathy no doubt.  There are reportedly 150,000 people here.  In the states, a city with that many people might be a cultural mecca for the surrounding area (at least it would in Alaska)--but perhaps not so much in Mozambique.  The area from the chapel above to the left has a high percentage of cement and brick structures.  To the right, the majority of the housing becomes stick and mud construction.  So by far, most of the inhabitants here are living with dirt floors and no indoor plumbing.  But as I have observed in the past, some of the mud homes are really done quite nicely and they are perfectly adequate, practical, and functional.  I don't quite have Debbie buying off on building and living in one upon our return (though I now know how).  These  homes often do not hold up well in the heavy rainy season and require a little maintenance (like I guess any home does). 
The map above has lines that designate the areas assigned to the four missionary duplas (or "companionships") in the city.  Debbie and I are the "Casal" or couple--and our area is the furthest removed to the right--owing to the fact that we have wheels and the elders don't.  As a result, the people that we teach are, for the most part, among the poorest--life is more challenging for them, including the 4-5 kilometer walk to church.

I just concluded a radio interview.  A reporter came by asking about our recent clean-water humanitarian project and wanting details and background.  I spoke into his recorder for ten minutes or so and responded to questions and pontificated in general and specifics.  It went well I thought that I was fluid and fluent.  I contrast that experience to the only media interviews I have had in English--occurring when I was running for public office--which found me tongue-tied and stammering, and in general appearing to be an idiot. I see now that I should have been speaking in Portuguese. 

Here and There (and back again)

You  noticed the Hobbit allusion in the post title no doubt.  I hear that the long awaited Hobbit movie is coming out now or soon.  I suspect that it will not hit Quelimane for a while yet.  Please anyone feel free to send us a bootlegged copy (only if it is perfectly legal of course). 

Yesterday was thanksgiving.  Half of our young missionaries are not American so the day was not what it might have otherwise been.  We did invite the six youn-uns over to our house after work however and force them to participate in the Osborn family tradition of the THANKFULNESS GAME.  They complained far less (and there was no weeping at all) than did our children at home.  We served them ice cream afterward and most were appropriately thankful.

There was no turkey yesterday, but I would not have you think that there was no bird--we had plenty of them.

We were out of town in the morning and saw these two boys holding what looked to be bird cages.  We stopped and talked to them for a bit and they offered their wares for 50 meticais, which is a bit under two dollars.  Inside were about 15 finches.  I asked if they were to eat, which is what I assumed, but he responded with a look that said "stupid American" --nope, just for looking at.  I couldn't resist so I bought one and we took it home.

I didn't really want 15 finches, but the cage was really quite a creative wonder.  Its major timbers are a kind of balsa wood and its bars, which I first thought to be wire, are just little straight sticks which are strong enough to pierce the timbers.  We watched our birds for a while at home, and all who came admired them--but we turned them all loose before nightfall--eating nary a one of them.

 

 

Slowly we are finding that Quelimane contains just about everything, including every service and product that a small city needs to survive--it is just a matter of finding the right little "banca" or roadside shop made of sticks and palm fronds.  We found this cobbler a couple of days ago--the first one we had ever seen.  He doesn't have a lot of tools, but he had some needles for sewing soles back on and plenty of shoes to work on.  I personally and hoping that my shoes hold out for another few months so I needn't visit this guy in a professional capacity.

 

This is Debbie's visit to an "alfiate" or tailor today.  She picked her fabric (very nice I thought) and is being fitted for a traditional African dress (complete with headscarf I suspect).  No doubt you will see a picture when complete.

Kids--wherever we go, we seem to be the life of the party.  It is sad for us to contemplate going home and not gathering crowds solely for being white and funny looking and talking weird.

Sunday Drive

If you count children, Debbie and I had about 13 investigators at church today.  One of them, Paula, is so close to giving birth that we really didn't have the heart to ask her to walk the 4 kilometers to church in 96 degree heat--so we picked her up.   With the prospect of a free ride, other people came out of the woodwork and the truck was full.
 An interesting side story is that often, when we give people a ride in our truck, they can't get out.  They have never worked a door handle before and have no idea how to open the door.
Paula and her husband Julio live on a very typical rural Quelimane street.  It is dirty (literally) but not trashy, and has a certain charm to it.  though perhaps that charmis just for us who have grown to love the place.   After dropping them all off after church, and driving home alone, I stuck my iPad out the window and took this little video of a quiet Sunday afternoon in residential Quelimane.
  If you look closely and quickly, I believe there is a woman killing a chicken on her porch as I drive past--you won't want to miss that.

The picture above is of Pascoa, a woman scheduled to be baptized this coming week.  Debbie and I taught her this week with Elders Santos and Andrade.  We were very impressed with the quality of this very simple sister and the strength of her faith.  Later in the week we heard that she announced to her employers (works as a live-in housekeeper) that she would no longer work on Sunday.  We hear she is now both homeless and unemployed.  We are working on this little problem now.

Zacarias and Sandra who we taught this week with Elders Sorensen and Christensen,  An interesting couple trying to figure out what to do with their spiritual lives.  Debbie and I are often invited to help the young missionaries talk to couples with more challenging issues--or sometimes when they simply want a little age to offset their youth (and if there is one thing that Debbie and I have, it is age).

This is Cornelio, who I meet with at least every couple of weeks to try and get him ready to be baptized.  He is a singer (his songs play on the radio) but still dirt poor.  But his public lifestyle left him with more adjustments to make to turn his life around.  The impressive thing however is that he is willing to make the changes and has been doing well now for some months.

We really enjoy Tinoca who was baptized a couple of months ago--but we continue to teach--mainly because she has a thirst for learning.  She understands my sense of humor which is a rarity among Mozambicans.

We have been teaching Gaspar and Veronica for several months.  They continue making baby steps of progress toward marriage.  They are pictured here in our kitchen preparing lunch for the branch.  We hired them to do this task yesterday so she could earn the 200 meticais (7 dollars) necessary for her to obtain her personal ID documents--a first step toward marriage.  We have bought Veronica and her children alot of food in hopes of keeping them alive over these last months.  There are many times that we have found them literally without anything to eat. 

Here are Santo and Santinho now with about six months.  Santo is thriving--healthy and strong but Santinho is scrawny and listless and we fear for his future.  We continue to provide formula for him but it doesn't seem to be helping him get much stronger.

Mango season is upon us and I made a roadside stop to buy a bunch of them.  No shortage of people anxious to take my money as you can see.

What the world needs now is love, sweet love....

We are having such a myriad of experiences while living in Africa.  But as I think about most of them, they have to do with people needing love.  Love comes in many forms here, but it seems easy to give because it is a commodity in great demand.  I see love for little children here by everyone.  It is fun to see how kind grown men are to little children,  how women help children who are not their own, how I often see African  nannies with their Arab charges walking hand in hand down the street.  Even when beggars drive me crazy, I recognize that they just need a little love.  That is why I have always loved the Church's program for children, Primary.  Kids can feel the love of the Savior there through songs and stories and personal attention.  That is the same the world over.  Here is a little sampling of people who needed some "sweet love" this past week.


This is Isabelle. She is famous already on our blog for thinking that my husband had a more elevated
title than Elder . (remember Pai Celestial) She comes by several times a week. But she isn't your traditional beggar.
One day she had a branch of a tree. I asked her if it grew fruit and she said "no" it is just an
embellishment for my yard. Truly, she used that word, saying her home would look better with a tree. One
day she came by and asked me about the capulana's the ladies wore in church. I carefully explained
that they were to wear in church to sing and not to take home. She repeated it all to me and asked when she could sing.
I told her she couldn't come everyday asking for food, she said okay. She reads the pamphlets we
give her and wears a lot of wooden crosses around her neck, but she is delightful to me because
she comes and just wants to chat like a girl friend.

This is Sister Bata, the wife of the branch president in Marromeu.  She asked me to help
her learn to sew.  The branch has this Marshall treadle machine, that is made in China.  I bought a new
cord and tried to download some instructions on threading it off the inter-net.  We still cannot make it
work.  So, I bought this fabric and showed her by a sort of "charades" method how she could make an easy skirt
by hand.  We had a lot of fun, she also always seeks me out to talk.  One day we just sat at the organ
in the chapel and sang our favorite hymns together in Port. while our husbands were in a meeting.



We might call this trash, but it is her treasure.  I asked if she was setting up a little
restaurant and she said "yes"..Tuna cans full of sand are on her menu.  You notice her little
brother on her back,  it is always kids taking care of kids here and they are so sweet with them.  I
love how they don't need a Fisher Price kitchen to play with.



I did the sharing time in Primary on missionary work in Marromeu this weekend.  I
found these darling, very realistic missionary tags on-line and printed them off for the
kids.  They had help filling in their own names and were so proud to wear them.  We talked about
how we should act if we have the name of Jesus Christ on our tag.  After church all the young men and
women came and begged for a tag also.  Don't they all look like future successful missionaries?

. 

This was the cemetery gathering after a long funeral that we went to today.  This young man, who was about 30 went to the Zalala Beach festivities this weekend, got drunk and drowned.  It was very tragic.  His sister, Aissa,
was one of our first converts and someone we are very close to.  There was lots of beautiful African singing,
with a cantor leading out and the women (mainly) following.  This songs are all learned in the Catholic church and there seem to be a million.  There were many acts of kindness,  a single flower dropped on the grave, a collection
plate and handshake.  About 250 people came and we took a truck load with us to the burial.

A


This is President Bata and his wife with us at our favorite restaurant, maybe the
only one in Marromeu.  They are both school teachers, have two sons, 8,13 and are the
backbone of the church here.  He loves to just counsel with and visit with my husband.  It gives him a
lot of strength.  I think he gets lonely out in the jungle, so to speak.  A couple would be such a great
asset to this area, but we are not volunteering.  The evening was lovely.

All in all I have learned to love the people of Mozambique very much.  Yes, it is hard and lonely here, but we are needed and we have great love in our hearts to share.  I think of the song from "Wicked"  that goes something like this: because I met you, my life is changed for the better.  That is so true.  My life will never be the same after  knowing and loving the people of Quelimane.  It seems simplistic, but people do have the same needs everywhere.  To be loved and respected and treated with kindness.  That is what we do as missionaries and we love it.

Gratitude Attitude

Regular readers of this blog should know that we keep a fairly positive tone.  That way scares fewer mothers of young missionaries and is generally in keeping with my personal view of things.  Mozambique is a fascinating place and our life here is an adventure--rarely dull and the difficulties are generally tolerable and non-life-threatening.  Today however, I'll depart just a little from my history of rosé-colored glasses and share a nasty aspect of Mozambican culture.

Pictured above is another photo of my 50 km journey of a few days ago--where I was volunteered to taxi 12-14 people from the island of Idugo to quelimane, saving each of them a walk of fifteen kilometers and an expensive bus ride for the remainder of the trip.  I also stopped and purchased an enormous bunch of about fifty bananas which I shared with my passengers (who were admittedly packed in like sardines).  Upon our arrival in Quelimane, they all unfolded from the truck and gathered their bags and tools.  Not a single one of them offered a word of gratitude--nary a thank you from the lot of them.  This is customary here.  I struggle with it mightily.  It is not that no one says thank you, but it is the exception rather than the norm.
Mozambicans have somehow become trained, it seems to me, to expect largess from strangers, and they accept it as their due and as the normal course of things.  There is a profound sense of entitlement which I even find some times from beggars on the street, who demand rather than ask for aid.  I wish that I could say that it was entirely different among people at church--a bit different perhaps, but not entirely so. Certainly better among the members than investigators (and there is a 1 ro 5 ratio).  If we have  an activity and provide food, it is consumed ravenously but rarely with any recognition or acknowledgement that someone labored to provide it.
Debbie and I have provided schooling assistance for many through our little foundation.  It has been a surprise to note a few recipient's stubborn refusals to express or feel any gratitude.  Some have been very very grateful on the other hand and those we are inclined to fund further.
The Mozambican people have suffered mightily over the last thirty or so years.  Many here in our area are in survival mode still.  They are, of necessity, inwardly focused, and perhaps that explains this phenomenon.  Then too, with practically no economy of their own and with so much external aid, assistance, and both wise and unwise charitable giving going on here,it is easy to imagine the origins of an entitlement mentality.  I again add, that this ugly blemish in the face of this people we love is not a universal affliction--but it is certainly prominent.
Do you suppose that feeling and expressing gratitude is simply a western cultural tradition, that simply doesn't show up elsewhere?

Enough whining. 

Pictures of cute children always improve my outlook and give me hope.  We always marvel at the creativity of local toy like this truck being pulled on a string..

This started as a picture of three cute children, then others saw the action and literally ran and inserted themselves.  When I show the picture to them on my ipad, they invariable whoop with delight.

There are very very few cattle here, but we ran into a herd on a very distant rural road and I include this picture for the Iowa farm reader who really was wondering what Mozambican cattle look like.  In truth these looked pretty good and fat to me.  One of our first stops upon our return will be to a steakhouse for a real steak.

Croc food

We had Elder and Sister Hall from Beira with us over the last weekend--coming up to the North country, where they have never been, to teach us better bookkeeping than we would do if left to our own devices.  They had heard from young missionaries that we have some crocodiles about, so they petitioned to be included in the fun of feeding them.

Threes crocodiles (there are about six or seven of them)  live in a large concrete pit on what was once, an enormous coconut plantation.  The pit is conveniently located just behind the large main house (perhaps easier to threat disobedient children's or staff that way).  We are told by the caretaker sthat they are not fed--and in truth, they do look at the young missionaries in amazement for wasting perfectly good chickens on them.

g

Here we have all of the young missionaries with Elder and Sister Hall, peering into the abyss.  And what do they see?

It's actually a pretty large crocodile that you really would not want to be caught alone somewhere between twelve and fifteen feet

Readers of this blog will know that we have been involved in a well construction project in a very very remote locale--the Island of Idugo.  We have had to ship sand, gravel, and cement by truck to the shore and then haul it to the island in boats and then to the well sites in a small hand cart.  We recently purchased a ton of gravel and left it on the river shore overnight for a transport to the island the next day.  In the night, there was a storm, and the entire landing area eroded and washed away--about100 feet deep of coastline--which included our gravel pile. 

This is the new eroded shoreline which lacks the long gentle slope to the river.  As I drove out to the river today (carrying with me in my small truck, twenty two sacks of cement weighing just over a ton) I nearly drove over this little erosion-created cliff.

At the river''s edge, I was informed by my friend Amizade that he may possibly have offered a ride back to the city to a few of his friends who needed to get there to work their Machambas (or small family farm plots).  By my count, we had about 14 in the car with tools and supplies--I believe that was something of a record. 

This is generally how I spend my time in Sunday School (it's me on the right with the name tag).

snapshot of life

This fine looking group is the missionary force of Quelimane, which contains, for the first time, three missionaries who are native Portuguese speakers (a fact that makes Debbie less than elated).  On the far right (positionally rather than politically) we have Elder Santos and Elder Santos (which is not without its confusing moments) Elder K Santos inside is from Cabo Verde and Other Santos is from Brazil.  Our two Cabo Verdianos are companions which makes for a pretty strong African teaching team.  Also arrived last week (second from the left) is Elder Gray.  So far we don't hate any of them.  In truth, this looks to be a good group we have.  The apparent segregation in the picture is not reflective of reality here.

The season of heat and humidity has begun here in the north country.  Debbie and I have developed a taste for a certain soft drink here which is Schwepps Maracuja--or passion fruit drink.  It is heavenly and oh-so refreshing when icy cold.  We discovered that it (like strong drink of any kind) can be bought by the case for less than half the price of a bottle at a time.  Unhealthy but delightful.

We had our first significant rain in the last three months this week.  Kids gathered the streets and fields, wherever there was a puddle, to frolic and splash.  These, unlike many, were clothed--unlike the boys shown below.  Debbie however asked this boys who were playing on the beach (where we took a walk this morning) to sit in the water to make their photo acceptable fare for a missionary blog.

 

The senior missionary couples of Mozambique all gathered for a little meeting this week with the mission president.  I admit that it wasn't quite as much fun as when we gathered a year ago at a beautiful beach resort.  But meeting online (as shown above) was at least cheaper.  Right to left and top to bottom they are the Halls, Wollenziens, Osborns, President Kretly, Banks, and Boninis.  We are impressed by all these folks and really enjoy them without exception.

We love these flame trees and found this one, bracketed by palms to be a sight worth sharing.

Colorful kids along the road.

Other recent events:
  We finally closed the sale of our home in Fairbanks this week.  It was pending for far too long with always something new causing additional costs and delay.  Following closing however the title company announced that they won't give us the proceeds until they receive an original Power of Attorney which does not apparently exist and which cannot be readily created when one is in Mozambique without notary service.  oh well.

I had an unusual assignment recently.  I was asked by a member of the church to speak with his wife and daughter concerning the onset of menarche in this 9 year old girl.  His concern arose in that his wife thought it necessary to retreat to the jungle with her daughter to perform the same traditional rituals that she had experienced as a young woman--not recognizing that they conflicted with both the spiritual and physiological truths which they now possess.  I admit to having been a little bit out of my comfort zone in my subsequent discussion and presentation to them--but I think that I did OK.  I am adding gynecological counseling expertise to my resume.

We voted via the Internet this week.  I am impressed with the technology that makes such things possible.  As an official representative of the LDS church, I can't and won't tell you how to vote (but my children know how they better vote).  But I can suggest that you do so this week, particularly if you live in Ohio, Florida, Pennsylvania, Nevada or Iowa.