Hours collide, often with my head and bones aching, scrambling to eat breakfast, starting the day and ending it with the sentimental weather. (overcast, sunny, overcast, sunny…)
I went to Chibuto and Xai Xai in Gaza province on Thursday. The landscape mostly flat, wiry trees and scattered crops passed quickly by the window.
I wonder how long I will be able to recall those scenes. For a month? Two years?
How long can I trust my memory for
?
I speak to Costa*, the bus driver, and he tells me that he wants to get married next year. Unmarried men after his age aren’t considerado. He’d like to have someone to wash his clothes, make his favorite dish, go to the beach with and curl up with on cold days. He says this very casually and matter of factly.
(*Costantino)
I kid with him in Portuguese about his scheme to pick out a girl sometime next November for marriage, and I get occasional support from Lucio, a Mozambican student who came along with us.
We stop and eat toasted cashews from children on the side of the road.
We stop in Chibuto. There my group (education and legal system) stop at a district court. We aren’t allowed in because we don’t have a letter from the Ministry of Justice, and the guard – worried about job security – won’t even tell us if the court employs translators for native languages. We are sent to the tribunal, but they don’t have time for us and want us to come back Monday.
Kevin spotted the STAE office (Secretariado Técnico de Administração Eleitoral) and we went in to visit the district elections administrator to see how things fared in Gaza. They hadn’t finished their count yet, having a district of around 140 polling stations, but they hoped to have things counted by the end of the day.
More stops were made to Chissano’s house and church. Costa’s uncle, stepmother and step-grandmother all live as caretakers on Chissano’s property. His step-grandmother (who he referred to as simply grandma) was over 100 years old. She had many tattoos on her arms. When I asked Costa what they were he said that he didn’t know, she had always had them.
We ate chicken in Xai Xai for about 4 dollars. I wish I had taken a picture. I think it was the best chicken I’ve ever had in my life. I had a coffee which sparked a 30 minute english lesson for Costa on top of a paper table cloth.
The trip was long. We returned at night, the bus asleep, and me and Costa in front talking about life and desires, gospel songs in english and changana.
Canimambo Ozi. Lusí ene enjeleke.
Friday we go to the Chissano Superior Institute of International Relations. It is the University Santos went to. Kevin gives a lecture on Democracy and political/voting trends/analysis in the United States. It is interactive and the students are very engaged.
I wish that all of my peers at Wayne State were as excited about learning.
It’s cold that day. We go to an MDM district headquarters office in Xipamanine but they are closed.
Saturday. Ponta D’Ouro.
We leave relatively early. A ferryboat, a muddy ride through african savannah and 3+ later we arrive.
After checking into our hotel, we are received by Todd and Dawn who are living in Ponta do Ouro as part of the Dream Project. We visited a children’s home. They make their own bread, they run to the beach and up the nearby mountain. I have so many things running through my head – about them, me, places I’ve been and want to return to..
I stand in the bed of the truck and try to steal some images on film.
The next day we go on a boat to try and swim with dolphins. We didn’t swim with them, but we saw them.
The water was beautiful and I thought of Lake Michigan and Easter Island.
Later we go to the plot of land that Todd and Dawn, our hosts, will build another children’s home on.
The area is also breathtaking. I think of Chinua Achebe, of sitting under one of those wily trees, of wearing capulanas and living in a different world.
Santos asked me if I could live in Mozambique.
I could.
Before we leave we run to the Indian Ocean and play in the sand. We ran to the sea and were thrashed by waves and sent away by jellyfish that passively stung our exposed legs. But it was still amazing to be there and see and breathe in front of that ocean.
We begin our return, but this time it’s not muddy and there is blasting techno inside of the rickety minibus. Michelle and YoungKey dance to it for over an hour and I laugh uncontrollably at their inventiveness. The savannah rolls past outside. The bush, as Santos says.
We arrive in Catembe, the border town; there are kiosks and bright apple red storefronts selling soda and snacks. A tin storefront has a pool table inside and lightbulbs illuminating the players.
I step off the bus to look at the Maputo skyline on the other side of the water.
There is music blasting from one of the businesses and the local kids are in a group dancing. It’s fun to watch.
I talk to Santos while we lean on the outside of the painted tin enclosure of the pool table place.
We are only going to be here for today, it’s Monday, but I try not to think about it and I will enjoy living in the moment. In a way it’s all I have.