As I’ve previously said, I am assigned to an organization called ICAP. ICAP provides HIV treatment and psychosocial support. To implement these services, there’s a group of HIV+ women at the hospitals known as activistas, that make home visits to those on HIV treatment, and give educational lectures twice a morning about one of many health topics, and they also facilitate a support group once a month. There is a counselor at the hospital specifically there to counsel people before taking an HIV test and also to educate patients who are starting or are already on HIV treatment. The counselors are provided by ICAP, who works as a partner with the Ministry of Health in Mozambique. The counselor at my hospital is known as my “counterpart”, a term that Peace Corps uses to describe a local national that you work with everyday to train them to build sustainability, not dependency. My counterpart is a counselor at the hospital where I work and her name is Madina.
We provide two types of home visits to maintain healthy treatment adherence. The first is called visits of support, where activistas go to patient’s houses and counsel them about any troubles or concerns the patient may be facing. They reiterate the importance of taking treatment correctly and maintaining a healthy lifestyle- practicing safe sex, eating a balanced diet, abstaining from alcohol/smoking/drugs, and coming to the hospital when needed.
The other type of home visit is practically a search for patients who haven’t been showing up for appointments, mostly to pick up HIV treatment. It’s really serious because this usually means that the patient has not taken their meds in a certain period of time, which is bad because when that happens, the person will develop resistance to HIV treatment, which would ultimately lead to death.
2 pairs of 2 activistas go into the community everyday to make home visits. I go with them at least 3-4 days a week. ICAP supplies us with home visit cards which have a list of information about the patient and we are to fill out the card after the visit about how the patient was. The cards also describe if the visit is a visit of support or search for the patient. So, sounds good, right? You may be thinking that doesn’t sound all that hard and maybe you wouldn’t mind helping out with that for 2 years. Well, let me tell you about the iceburg of complications under our surface of seemingly wonderful home visits.
First of all, there are SO many patients. One in 4 people is infected with HIV. Hundreds of people receive treatment at our hospital. Keep in mind that our hospital is not the only hospital in Xai Xai that provides HIV treatment. In our hospital, all patient information and appointment summaries are recorded in paper files. We don’t have a computer. I think a computer may solve some of the issues we face but I also see that it may create new problems as well.
While I was in the States in my last semester of college I was a social work intern with an organization that provides services for people living with HIV/AIDS. I would make home visits for our clients. Ohhhh how I now see how good I had it! Each client had an organized file on a computerized database and on paper as well. To go on home visits, the organization had a company car with working air condition and specific directions to the client’s house. What a wonderful system we have back home, absolutely wonderful.
Back to reality. Ok so home visits here can be difficult because of the topography of our area. Sand and hills make up Xai Xai. Sand, hills, and heat are three of my absolute favorite things in life. Especially walking through all 3 of them for hours at the same time, now that’s what I call fun. We walk very far distances to make home visits, too. My point is to say that physically, it’s not easy. “Neighborhoods” here aren’t organized like they are in the States. There are no organized streets that have names nor are there maps or directions of any sort. Everyone’s just kind of scattered about. There are points of reference, however. So, the heat, terrain, and lack of specific addresses are the main sources of our difficulties.
When we go on visits in search of patients, most of the time we don’t find the person we’re looking for. The most common reasons for not finding patients are mostly because: the patient has moved, the patient has traveled (many people migrate to find work or live with family members in times of need), the patient has died, or no one knows the patient because they gave the wrong address. Unfortunately, people often give us the wrong address, sometimes wrong name, when they open a file at the hospital. That alone is the cause of a few issues. People fear that confidentiality isn’t really legit and they think that people in the community will discover their status if people from the hospital keep coming to their house. Their fears of discrimination/stigma are pretty valid because confidentiality here isn’t like what it is to Americans. We’re working on improving that. My activistas used to go into the community and show the home visit cards (which have information that identifies the HIV+ patient) to people in the community to try to find who we’re looking for. They don’t do that anymore, thank goodness. Occasionally, we find patients that we’re looking for. Some reasons they give us for not coming to the hospital: they forgot the date, they are too sick to go, they don’t have transportation, they went to the hospital but the hospital didn’t attend them well, or they say they’re getting treatment from another hospital.
It's complicated but it's coming along.
September 20, 2010
September 15, 2010
To Ride a Chapa
The majority of people here use public transportation to get around. Everyone rides in chapas. A chapa is a van which is supposed to hold about 18 people but here they get stuffed with about 22-25 people. A Cobredor is a person that manages the chapa. He sits by the door of the van and hangs out the window and tells the driver to stop when people need to get on and off. Public transportation is not free. It’s 6.5 MTS from my house to the “city”, 10 MTS from the “city” of Xai Xai to Chicumbane (Emily’s site). 1 USD= 37 MTS. You can do the math and see how riding so many can easily add up. Each chapa ride is different and it is always an experience. So let me tell you about them.
First, you have to know where you’re going and you have to make sure you get on the right chapa that goes to your destination. There are several bus stops throughout the city. You stand waiting at one, and you may wait a long time. Chapas will pull up and cobredors are basically hanging out the window as they drive by and they hold up hand signs for different routes. For example, the hand signal to go to the beach is waving your right hand across your shoulders, as if you’re splashing yourself. If you just want to stay in town and need a ride from one side to the other, the signal is to point down to the ground. If you’re going out of town, the signal is to point up to the sky. When chapas approach the bus stop, they don’t actually come to a complete stop until they know someone at the bus stop is going to get on, which they know by hand signals or by calling out. If you don’t know the name of the bus stop you need to go to, you can just tell the cobredor when you get on and he’ll know when you need to get off. As soon as you enter the chapa, before you even sit down, the car takes off and you have to be careful to sit down. Even though time doesn’t really matter here, in the world of chapas, it does. The chapa world understands that time is money. They are always in a hurry and when you get on the chapa the cobredor usually says “chop, chop!”
In a chapa, there are 4 rows of seats that should each hold 4 people. Inside the chapa, the seats on the right hand side of the rows are connected. On the left hand side in each row, the seat folds up so that people can pass by and move in and out. People do not get up or move or exit the chapa to accommodate you when it is your turn to get out. You can carry almost anything in a chapa. Large sacks, babies tied to your back, and even chickens being held in plastic bags. I have figured out the best seats in a chapa. I’ve got it down to a science. I will explain my reasoning, too. Ok, here’s a visual layout of chapa seating:
Front Seat: __ - D 2 people can sit in front with the driver
Row 1/Door _ ___ row where people stand
Row 2/Door _ ___ close to door
Row 3 _ ___ close to door
Back row _____ no seats fold up in the back.
Each row has 4 seats, so from left to right, I number them 1-4.
__ Means seats are connected
_ means it’s a fold up seat
The cobredor generally sits in Row 1 on the left side.
The front seats are always the best but usually already occupied. I like sitting up front but don’t very often. Sometimes because that means I know I’m going to have to carry a conversation with the driver who tries to use the ride to just hit on me the whole time. Also, when sitting in the middle, the person to the left does not get out of the car to let you out for fear of losing their seat while the door’s open and people are getting on/off.
Row 1 is usually always full of cargo and is always the most crowded. People stand in this area (hunch over really, there’s not room to stand) or sit on top of others. It can be very painful leaning across others and having your legs digging into seats or boxes or whatever. It can also be awkward having to bend over and being so close to so many people. If you are on the right side of Row 1 you usually have to climb over a lot of stuff and people to get out. I avoid this as much as possible.
Row 2 Seat 3 is the best seat in my opinion. You don’t have to move to let other people out. In this seat, you only have to climb over one person who is in seat 2 in order to exit. The people in Row 1 who are standing or on the left side of the row have to move to let you out. So it’s a seat with a free move. Row 2 Seat 4 is also nice because it’s next to a window. But I only sit here if I know I’m getting off later and know that there will be less people by that destination, meaning I won’t have to climb over everyone to get off.
Row 3 is like row 2. Either seat 2 or 3 is best because in seat one you have to move and get up somehow to let people out and in seat 4 you have to climb over a pile of people to exit.
In the back row, seats 1 & 2 are best because all the people on the left side of the rows in front of you have to move or squish to the right side to let you out. In this row, I prefer seat 1 because it’s next to a window and it’s a straight way out, unlike seat 2 that still has to climb over seat 1. In this row, seats 3 & 4 are the absolute worst. Especially seat 4 because you have to climb over a whole row of people who don’t move to let you out and it’s the farthest distance from the door. This is a disadvantage especially if you have a lot of groceries and stuff to carry. I only sit in the back row on the right side if I know I’ll be on the chapa ‘til the last stop when everyone will be exiting anyway.
Once seated, you enjoy the ride until your stop. It’s usually pretty bumpy and most chapas drive in a hurry…so at least there’s lots of air circulation. The local language is mostly always spoken among the passengers during chapa rides. Unless you’re a mulungu like me or don’t speak that particular local language, then people will speak Portuguese to you. When chapas stop, it’s usually a halt. So hang on. When the chapa approaches where you need to get off, you say, “PARRAGEM!” If going to the market, you say, “Parragem mercado!” Parragem means bus stop. Then you hand the cobredor your money and go on your way.
Things to expect on a chapa: lack of personal space, which doesn’t exist here. When the chapa is stopped somewhere to load people up, people selling snacks outside will run up to the windows of the chapa holding up whatever they’re selling and saying how much it costs. If you want something, open the window, make eye contact, ask how much, give them the money and take the food. It’s a quick transaction, but be careful if you are doing this while the car is running and the driver’s in getting ready to leave. Because he will take off even if you didn’t pay the person for the food or if you paid but didn’t get the food. Breast feeding is also normal. You can expect to sit next to a woman with a baby tied around her in a kapulana while breast feeding. She will continue to breast feed while entering/exiting the chapa, or if she is one of the people in row 1 standing or leaning over someone. That is another reason I choose other rows instead of row 1. I would rather be sitting next to a breast feeding woman than have a breast feeding woman be leaning over me. It doesn’t bother me much anymore.
Chapas are by no means maintained by American standards. They are mostly pretty beat up and could use some tuning. A lot of them have problems with the door. Once, I was on a chapa and the cobredor opened the door and it fell off. It was being held onto the car by a small rope. Seriously! Sometimes the rows of seats are not secured onto the floor, which makes them rock back and forth during the ride. This is probably not considered safe but it is actually quite entertaining trying to hold on and all the bouncing and rocking never fails to make everyone say, “Watch out! Eeeehhh!! This road is BAD!”
Chapa routes generally have the same cobredors, including those to my neighborhood. They have also realized where I am usually going. When I’m waiting at the bus stop, without even asking some of the chapas to my neighborhood stop next to me, open the door and the cobredor hops out and says, “Come on, let’s go home!” Or when I’m at the bus stop at the market, it’s usually really crowded and the cobredors from my neighborhood will see me and approach me and tell me where the chapa to my house is.
And off we go!
First, you have to know where you’re going and you have to make sure you get on the right chapa that goes to your destination. There are several bus stops throughout the city. You stand waiting at one, and you may wait a long time. Chapas will pull up and cobredors are basically hanging out the window as they drive by and they hold up hand signs for different routes. For example, the hand signal to go to the beach is waving your right hand across your shoulders, as if you’re splashing yourself. If you just want to stay in town and need a ride from one side to the other, the signal is to point down to the ground. If you’re going out of town, the signal is to point up to the sky. When chapas approach the bus stop, they don’t actually come to a complete stop until they know someone at the bus stop is going to get on, which they know by hand signals or by calling out. If you don’t know the name of the bus stop you need to go to, you can just tell the cobredor when you get on and he’ll know when you need to get off. As soon as you enter the chapa, before you even sit down, the car takes off and you have to be careful to sit down. Even though time doesn’t really matter here, in the world of chapas, it does. The chapa world understands that time is money. They are always in a hurry and when you get on the chapa the cobredor usually says “chop, chop!”
In a chapa, there are 4 rows of seats that should each hold 4 people. Inside the chapa, the seats on the right hand side of the rows are connected. On the left hand side in each row, the seat folds up so that people can pass by and move in and out. People do not get up or move or exit the chapa to accommodate you when it is your turn to get out. You can carry almost anything in a chapa. Large sacks, babies tied to your back, and even chickens being held in plastic bags. I have figured out the best seats in a chapa. I’ve got it down to a science. I will explain my reasoning, too. Ok, here’s a visual layout of chapa seating:
Front Seat: __ - D 2 people can sit in front with the driver
Row 1/Door _ ___ row where people stand
Row 2/Door _ ___ close to door
Row 3 _ ___ close to door
Back row _____ no seats fold up in the back.
Each row has 4 seats, so from left to right, I number them 1-4.
__ Means seats are connected
_ means it’s a fold up seat
The cobredor generally sits in Row 1 on the left side.
The front seats are always the best but usually already occupied. I like sitting up front but don’t very often. Sometimes because that means I know I’m going to have to carry a conversation with the driver who tries to use the ride to just hit on me the whole time. Also, when sitting in the middle, the person to the left does not get out of the car to let you out for fear of losing their seat while the door’s open and people are getting on/off.
Row 1 is usually always full of cargo and is always the most crowded. People stand in this area (hunch over really, there’s not room to stand) or sit on top of others. It can be very painful leaning across others and having your legs digging into seats or boxes or whatever. It can also be awkward having to bend over and being so close to so many people. If you are on the right side of Row 1 you usually have to climb over a lot of stuff and people to get out. I avoid this as much as possible.
Row 2 Seat 3 is the best seat in my opinion. You don’t have to move to let other people out. In this seat, you only have to climb over one person who is in seat 2 in order to exit. The people in Row 1 who are standing or on the left side of the row have to move to let you out. So it’s a seat with a free move. Row 2 Seat 4 is also nice because it’s next to a window. But I only sit here if I know I’m getting off later and know that there will be less people by that destination, meaning I won’t have to climb over everyone to get off.
Row 3 is like row 2. Either seat 2 or 3 is best because in seat one you have to move and get up somehow to let people out and in seat 4 you have to climb over a pile of people to exit.
In the back row, seats 1 & 2 are best because all the people on the left side of the rows in front of you have to move or squish to the right side to let you out. In this row, I prefer seat 1 because it’s next to a window and it’s a straight way out, unlike seat 2 that still has to climb over seat 1. In this row, seats 3 & 4 are the absolute worst. Especially seat 4 because you have to climb over a whole row of people who don’t move to let you out and it’s the farthest distance from the door. This is a disadvantage especially if you have a lot of groceries and stuff to carry. I only sit in the back row on the right side if I know I’ll be on the chapa ‘til the last stop when everyone will be exiting anyway.
Once seated, you enjoy the ride until your stop. It’s usually pretty bumpy and most chapas drive in a hurry…so at least there’s lots of air circulation. The local language is mostly always spoken among the passengers during chapa rides. Unless you’re a mulungu like me or don’t speak that particular local language, then people will speak Portuguese to you. When chapas stop, it’s usually a halt. So hang on. When the chapa approaches where you need to get off, you say, “PARRAGEM!” If going to the market, you say, “Parragem mercado!” Parragem means bus stop. Then you hand the cobredor your money and go on your way.
Things to expect on a chapa: lack of personal space, which doesn’t exist here. When the chapa is stopped somewhere to load people up, people selling snacks outside will run up to the windows of the chapa holding up whatever they’re selling and saying how much it costs. If you want something, open the window, make eye contact, ask how much, give them the money and take the food. It’s a quick transaction, but be careful if you are doing this while the car is running and the driver’s in getting ready to leave. Because he will take off even if you didn’t pay the person for the food or if you paid but didn’t get the food. Breast feeding is also normal. You can expect to sit next to a woman with a baby tied around her in a kapulana while breast feeding. She will continue to breast feed while entering/exiting the chapa, or if she is one of the people in row 1 standing or leaning over someone. That is another reason I choose other rows instead of row 1. I would rather be sitting next to a breast feeding woman than have a breast feeding woman be leaning over me. It doesn’t bother me much anymore.
Chapas are by no means maintained by American standards. They are mostly pretty beat up and could use some tuning. A lot of them have problems with the door. Once, I was on a chapa and the cobredor opened the door and it fell off. It was being held onto the car by a small rope. Seriously! Sometimes the rows of seats are not secured onto the floor, which makes them rock back and forth during the ride. This is probably not considered safe but it is actually quite entertaining trying to hold on and all the bouncing and rocking never fails to make everyone say, “Watch out! Eeeehhh!! This road is BAD!”
Chapa routes generally have the same cobredors, including those to my neighborhood. They have also realized where I am usually going. When I’m waiting at the bus stop, without even asking some of the chapas to my neighborhood stop next to me, open the door and the cobredor hops out and says, “Come on, let’s go home!” Or when I’m at the bus stop at the market, it’s usually really crowded and the cobredors from my neighborhood will see me and approach me and tell me where the chapa to my house is.
And off we go!
September 14, 2010
Nuts!
In Mozambique, people walk around selling snacks in big buckets or in these woven baskets. When I say snacks, I mean like oranges, bread, peanuts, or cashews.
Peanuts are my new favorite snack. Ok so women walk around with these woven baskets full of peanuts. You can either buy an amount of peanuts worth 2, 5, or 10 Meticais. The 2 MT amount is a bottle cap. Just a few peanuts. The 5 MT amount is a really small cup and the 10 MT amount is about a handful. Emily and I have been buying peanuts by the 50's. Yes, we spend 50 MTS each time we buy peanuts. Every time we buy peanuts and say we want 50 MTS worth, the woman whose selling 'em gets really excited and looks at us like, really?! WOW! We say yeah, we're Americans and we like to buy things in bulk.
Apparently the word has gotten around Xai Xai that the 2 female mulungus REALLY like peanuts and buy a LOT when they do. I have realized this because people keep coming up to us and say, "you really like peanuts a lot, huh?" Why yesss I do I tell them. People who sell peanuts will now run up to me and Em when they see us and say, "It's here! Peanuts! I have peanuts here!" and we say oh sorry, we already bought some today. "OHHHHHH!! AMIGA, why?! I have peanuts why did you not buy from me?!" they say. We tell them "sorry, maybe next time.."
As I'm writing this blog entry I'm in an internet cafe with Em and I look up to the front desk and there's this lady with a basket full of peanuts. She didn't look like she was here to use the internet. She was selling those bad boys and when she saw me glance over she rushed over and she said, "Here it is, I have peanuts for you." We said "ohhh sorry we already bought it this morning." Then she told us we could try some of her peanuts, we declined. She asked us why did we not buy her peanuts? We said we already bought some this morning when we were hungry. "OHHHh", she said.
After that lady left the internet cafe I told Em maybe we should chill out with buying and eating so many peanuts. It's getting expensive and they're really filling. A few Mozambicans have recently been telling me that I've been gaining weight. I thank them (being far is a compliment) and tell them it's probably because I've been eating so many peanuts. They say, "Yes, it's those peanuts that are keeping you fat. You look good like this. Stay this way." I appreciate their compliments and brutal honesty, which tells me maybe I should move on to something like...apples.
Peanuts are my new favorite snack. Ok so women walk around with these woven baskets full of peanuts. You can either buy an amount of peanuts worth 2, 5, or 10 Meticais. The 2 MT amount is a bottle cap. Just a few peanuts. The 5 MT amount is a really small cup and the 10 MT amount is about a handful. Emily and I have been buying peanuts by the 50's. Yes, we spend 50 MTS each time we buy peanuts. Every time we buy peanuts and say we want 50 MTS worth, the woman whose selling 'em gets really excited and looks at us like, really?! WOW! We say yeah, we're Americans and we like to buy things in bulk.
Apparently the word has gotten around Xai Xai that the 2 female mulungus REALLY like peanuts and buy a LOT when they do. I have realized this because people keep coming up to us and say, "you really like peanuts a lot, huh?" Why yesss I do I tell them. People who sell peanuts will now run up to me and Em when they see us and say, "It's here! Peanuts! I have peanuts here!" and we say oh sorry, we already bought some today. "OHHHHHH!! AMIGA, why?! I have peanuts why did you not buy from me?!" they say. We tell them "sorry, maybe next time.."
As I'm writing this blog entry I'm in an internet cafe with Em and I look up to the front desk and there's this lady with a basket full of peanuts. She didn't look like she was here to use the internet. She was selling those bad boys and when she saw me glance over she rushed over and she said, "Here it is, I have peanuts for you." We said "ohhh sorry we already bought it this morning." Then she told us we could try some of her peanuts, we declined. She asked us why did we not buy her peanuts? We said we already bought some this morning when we were hungry. "OHHHh", she said.
After that lady left the internet cafe I told Em maybe we should chill out with buying and eating so many peanuts. It's getting expensive and they're really filling. A few Mozambicans have recently been telling me that I've been gaining weight. I thank them (being far is a compliment) and tell them it's probably because I've been eating so many peanuts. They say, "Yes, it's those peanuts that are keeping you fat. You look good like this. Stay this way." I appreciate their compliments and brutal honesty, which tells me maybe I should move on to something like...apples.
Pastilha de AMERICA
I recently got a care package from two of my wonderful girl friends, Sara & Samantha. It was full of goodies including some delicious gum. I haven't had gum in a really long time. They sent me this gum called "5", the "React" flavor. It's in this fancy black package with a pretty purplish-yellow design on the package. Even the gum sticks are wrapped in little black wrappers. It really is fancy.
My American gum has gotten a few reactions from Mozambicans. When I opened my care packages, one of my friends was with me. I made sure to not show any of the goodies because I was being greedy and didn't want to share any of those. But I did lend a stick of gum to my friend. He was taken back by how fancy it looked. He picked up the stick of gum and sized it up with his eyes. Pulled back a little bit of the wrapper and sniffed it. He did all of this with caution, as if he was waiting for the gum to come to life or something. I told him if he was going to treat my gum like that and not eat it, then to give it back to me so I could put it to use. So then he tore off a piece of the stick of gum and slowly raised it to his mouth, then looked at it again, then finally put it to its destination once I told him it was ok, it was just gum from America. Once at ease, he thought the gum was delicious. He then folded the wrapper shut and secured the gum then placed it in his pocket for later.
I was in line at the bank with Emily today. We were waiting and I reached into my bag for something and saw the pack of gum. I pulled it out and showed it to her. She said whoaaa where did you get that?! I said well, it's Stateside...I got in in a care package. Fancy, eh? She declined my offer but what I thought was humorous was the look on the young mozambican girl's face as she saw me whip out the pack of gum. She was looking at my pack of gum with great wonder and she was practically silently screaming for a stick of it. So I handed it to her and said, Here, do you want some gum from America? Her face lit up and she looked at me with the look like those women get on Oprah's show when she gives a bunch of stuff away. Yeah, this girl was really excited. She started laughing and smiling and turned to her friend in front of her and said "I have gum from AMERICA!!!" Em told her that she should share the gum with her friend. She just looked at us and kept smiling then looking at the gum cradled in her hands like it was fragile. Gum from AMERICA!!! She kept saying. She just kept laughing and laughing and we asked her what was so funny. Gum from AMERICA!!! I told her the gum was delicious and that she would like it. Instead of immediately indulging she carefully placed the stick of American gum into a pocket.
I'd like to send out a BIG thank you to Sara and Samantha for the care package! I miss you girls!
My American gum has gotten a few reactions from Mozambicans. When I opened my care packages, one of my friends was with me. I made sure to not show any of the goodies because I was being greedy and didn't want to share any of those. But I did lend a stick of gum to my friend. He was taken back by how fancy it looked. He picked up the stick of gum and sized it up with his eyes. Pulled back a little bit of the wrapper and sniffed it. He did all of this with caution, as if he was waiting for the gum to come to life or something. I told him if he was going to treat my gum like that and not eat it, then to give it back to me so I could put it to use. So then he tore off a piece of the stick of gum and slowly raised it to his mouth, then looked at it again, then finally put it to its destination once I told him it was ok, it was just gum from America. Once at ease, he thought the gum was delicious. He then folded the wrapper shut and secured the gum then placed it in his pocket for later.
I was in line at the bank with Emily today. We were waiting and I reached into my bag for something and saw the pack of gum. I pulled it out and showed it to her. She said whoaaa where did you get that?! I said well, it's Stateside...I got in in a care package. Fancy, eh? She declined my offer but what I thought was humorous was the look on the young mozambican girl's face as she saw me whip out the pack of gum. She was looking at my pack of gum with great wonder and she was practically silently screaming for a stick of it. So I handed it to her and said, Here, do you want some gum from America? Her face lit up and she looked at me with the look like those women get on Oprah's show when she gives a bunch of stuff away. Yeah, this girl was really excited. She started laughing and smiling and turned to her friend in front of her and said "I have gum from AMERICA!!!" Em told her that she should share the gum with her friend. She just looked at us and kept smiling then looking at the gum cradled in her hands like it was fragile. Gum from AMERICA!!! She kept saying. She just kept laughing and laughing and we asked her what was so funny. Gum from AMERICA!!! I told her the gum was delicious and that she would like it. Instead of immediately indulging she carefully placed the stick of American gum into a pocket.
I'd like to send out a BIG thank you to Sara and Samantha for the care package! I miss you girls!
September 9, 2010
To Take a Bath
In Africa, everyone takes bucket baths (unless you’re in the city and have running water). I’m used to it by now and it’s not that bad. The only bad thing is when it’s cold outside. So, I and the majority of everyone, have an outside area to bathe. It’s an enclosed area, like a little hut.
First, make sure you have water. Houses here do not have the luxury of running water. We have large containers where we store water. I’m lucky enough to have a water tap in my yard that I share with my host family here. This morning, I didn’t have enough water in my water container to bathe because I used the rest to wash dishes. I went to the tap with the bucket to carry more water to fill up the container to find out that the water wasn’t running at the time. An hour later, it was so I carried two buckets. So, always make sure you have enough water in storage for your daily chores. Take advantage of when water’s running in the tap (it usually is), it runs more than it’s turned off.
So, once you have water, fill up a bucket. If it’s cold outside, you have to heat up water and then mix it with cold water so as not to burn yourself. You get your bucket of water and take your shower supplies, which are stored in a small basket, along with a cup, your undies, and take ‘em to the casa de banho (bath room).
My basket of shower supplies consists of: body soap, soap to clean undies, razor, shampoo, conditioner, washcloth.
You go to the bath room wrapped in a kapulana cloth. Everybody does that. It’s much easier since you already have a bunch of stuff to carry and there’s not a lot of space to set stuff down in the bath room. So, to bathe you use the cup to scoop water from the bucket and pour over your body. Because you can only use a limited supply of water, I have to schedule when I’m going to shave and when I’m going to wash my hair. I can’t do both at the same time because each takes about half a bucket of water.
Use the body soap to wash your body and rinse with cup and water. Once clean, you have to clean your undies with the bar of soap for that so you put water and soap on them and then you have to scrub them by rubbing the sides together between your hands. You must do this EVERY time you bathe in order to wear clean underwear. Also, every time you bathe, you MUST wash your feet and sandals. (Oh yeah, you bathe in sandals, never walk outside bare foot here). When you wash your feet, you must scrub them by rubbing them against the stone ground and you should wash your toes and toe nails because they get really dirty and I’ve heard of bugs that will get in there and lay eggs in your feet and it’s really painful. And that’s how to bathe here.
First, make sure you have water. Houses here do not have the luxury of running water. We have large containers where we store water. I’m lucky enough to have a water tap in my yard that I share with my host family here. This morning, I didn’t have enough water in my water container to bathe because I used the rest to wash dishes. I went to the tap with the bucket to carry more water to fill up the container to find out that the water wasn’t running at the time. An hour later, it was so I carried two buckets. So, always make sure you have enough water in storage for your daily chores. Take advantage of when water’s running in the tap (it usually is), it runs more than it’s turned off.
So, once you have water, fill up a bucket. If it’s cold outside, you have to heat up water and then mix it with cold water so as not to burn yourself. You get your bucket of water and take your shower supplies, which are stored in a small basket, along with a cup, your undies, and take ‘em to the casa de banho (bath room).
My basket of shower supplies consists of: body soap, soap to clean undies, razor, shampoo, conditioner, washcloth.
You go to the bath room wrapped in a kapulana cloth. Everybody does that. It’s much easier since you already have a bunch of stuff to carry and there’s not a lot of space to set stuff down in the bath room. So, to bathe you use the cup to scoop water from the bucket and pour over your body. Because you can only use a limited supply of water, I have to schedule when I’m going to shave and when I’m going to wash my hair. I can’t do both at the same time because each takes about half a bucket of water.
Use the body soap to wash your body and rinse with cup and water. Once clean, you have to clean your undies with the bar of soap for that so you put water and soap on them and then you have to scrub them by rubbing the sides together between your hands. You must do this EVERY time you bathe in order to wear clean underwear. Also, every time you bathe, you MUST wash your feet and sandals. (Oh yeah, you bathe in sandals, never walk outside bare foot here). When you wash your feet, you must scrub them by rubbing them against the stone ground and you should wash your toes and toe nails because they get really dirty and I’ve heard of bugs that will get in there and lay eggs in your feet and it’s really painful. And that’s how to bathe here.
An African Winter
June-August is winter season here because Mozambique is in the southern hemisphere so the seasons are switched. It gets pretty cold here. And in the summer, it gets bloody hot. I think the cold weather is worse here because there are no heaters and when I wake up in the mornings when it’s cold its sooo hard to get out of bed. I also think that the tin roof magnifies any temperature. When it got really cold, I had to sleep in two pairs of pants, long sleeve shirt with a sweater, and two heavy blankets and I was still freezing. Oh, and what’s also a pain is having to bathe during winter because I have to bathe outside, and even if I use hot water, there’s no avoiding the cold because of the wind. It doesn’t get as cold here as it does where I’m from in Texas, but I still think it’s worse here. Mozambican winter is a small suffering. I shouldn’t complain, because my house is well built compared to other people’s houses. Some people’s walls have holes to the outside and some houses are only made of reeds. Mine’s made of reeds and cement. So I can only imagine how cold they may get during Mozambican winters.
Thankfully it’s already September and it’s starting to heat up around here. The mango trees have already started to bloom!
Thankfully it’s already September and it’s starting to heat up around here. The mango trees have already started to bloom!
What It's Like To Miss Your Parents
It’s an absolutely indescribable feeling to express how it feels missing the people that I love. I try not to think about how much I miss people back home. Instead, I tell myself that I’ll see them soon and I don’t think about how much time has passed. But, someone asked me to write about what is it like to miss your parents, so I’ll try to explain best I can and I’ll try to stay positive as I write this.
First, let me say that I am very fortunate because my dad had a chance to come visit me in April for ten days, and I will be going home in December to visit. This is going to be a lot harder to write about than I thought it was going to be.
I haven’t seen my mom in almost a year. My mom’s a wonderful piano player and singer and teaches personal lessons at home all my life. I hate to admit this, but at times I used to get annoyed waking up to my mom teaching or to her playing the piano because at the time I’d rather sleep in later. I’m embarrassed to admit that because now I realize how lucky I was to have woken up to the sound of my mom’s voice or to the sound of her wonderful talent of playing the piano or teaching someone else. How selfish of me. You know how when you haven’t seen someone in a long time and it’s kind of hard to remember them well? Like it’s hard to remember the sound of their voice and exactly what they look like? Well, I vividly remember my parents and things we used to do together. You may be thinking, “Of course you do Mal, they’re your parents!” When I think about my parents, it’s like they’re right here, as if they’re close.
Have you ever had the kind of dream where it seems so real you wake up and wonder if it really happened or not, then realize it was just a dream? It’s kind of like that when I think of people back home. If I allow myself, I can vividly remember people that I miss and moments that we shared. Even though I’m already awake, it’s like I’m in this trance thinking about certain moments and I have to kind of snap myself back to reality. I then recognize who and what it was I was thinking about and how I felt thinking about that and then I deal with it.
For example, my parents and I used to walk our dog, Kacy together. One night during my last month spent in the States my mom had to teach a little late so my Dad and I walked Kacy by ourselves. I remember that night perfectly. I remember how the heat and humidity felt and the look of the clear night sky and being able to see the stars. I remember exactly where we walked to around our neighborhood. I remember several small details like when Kacy laid down in the middle of our walk because she was hot and tired and I tried to pull her up but my dad let her rest a minute before telling her to get up. I remember everything my dad and I talked about during that walk. We were reflecting on everything up until that point. Growing up, my time during college, and why I decided to join Peace Corps. I remember how I felt hearing my dad be proud of me and worried for me at the same time. I promised him I would do everything to keep myself safe. I remember when we got home and my mom was talking to her student and they were waiting by the door for their parent to come pick them up. (I don’t remember which student it was…sorry). When my mom heard us come in she said, “Y’all back?” I kicked off my shoes then walked to the sink to wash my hands and my mom came in through the dining room and walked up and patted me on the back. “How was the WALK?! Did Kacy make it?!” She was so happy. My mom’s always so happy and her voice is always filled with joy. Then she walked to the back door to look at Kacy exhausted laying on the tile floor. I remember how glad I was to see her. Her voice and the air conditioning was a breath of fresh air after working up a sweat.
After that walk with my dad and coming home to my mom, in that moment I knew that I was going to one day miss that moment. In that moment I already missed that moment because I knew that I wouldn’t have many more of those moments for the next 27 months.
That’s what it’s like missing my parents and people that I love and care about- re-living moments and then becoming overcome with this deep longing, an aching yearning to be with or at least talk to that person. I got a bit emotional while thinking about that moment with my parents and trying to put it into words. It’s a potentially dangerous process, allowing one to re-live moments like that. Because you realize that everyone and everything you want in that moment you were thinking about- you can’t have in your reality. Then you start negatively viewing your reality. Like right now, if I allowed myself, I could negatively think about how I just went to use the latrine and how I miss closed indoor bathrooms and toilets and running water and sinks. I could negatively think about the fact that right now my torso is covered with itchy bug bites.
Thinking about people and home like that is dangerous. It’s ok to let yourself feel sad and feel the feeling of missing someone. What’s dangerous is dwelling on those feelings and becoming pessimistic about what’s actually around you because I think it can lead to depression. My first few months at site, I had a really hard time and it was difficult controlling thoughts and feelings of missing home.
So, how do I deal with it here? I have learned to cope and I have learned to change my way of thinking. I am very aware of my thoughts and feelings and when I notice that I am thinking or feeling something negative and unproductive, I squash it right then and there and re-direct myself.
I have two choices right now: I can continue to cry about how much I miss my mom and my dad and kick myself for ever having taken for granted simple moments we’ve had together. My other choice is to recognize that I have a new found appreciation for not just my parents but everyone in my life.
I cope here by engaging in self-talk, keeping a journal, talking to my close friends here Emily and Amanda, and listening to music. But, let me also say that I have decided my life will not be one long longing. Before I left the States, I was longing to join Peace Corps and thought about it a lot. In the beginning of my service here, I was longing to be back home. I can picture that when I go back home, I’ll be longing to be back here or be longing for the next step in my life. Not any more. I now strive to always appreciate the people that are currently around me and where. At each point in my life, I may miss someone, someplace, or some time. I believe it’s important to recognize that and set aside time to just feel those feelings and process why you feel that way and what it is you miss about that person or place or time and most importantly, realize why.
Point of the story: I miss you, mom & dad.
First, let me say that I am very fortunate because my dad had a chance to come visit me in April for ten days, and I will be going home in December to visit. This is going to be a lot harder to write about than I thought it was going to be.
I haven’t seen my mom in almost a year. My mom’s a wonderful piano player and singer and teaches personal lessons at home all my life. I hate to admit this, but at times I used to get annoyed waking up to my mom teaching or to her playing the piano because at the time I’d rather sleep in later. I’m embarrassed to admit that because now I realize how lucky I was to have woken up to the sound of my mom’s voice or to the sound of her wonderful talent of playing the piano or teaching someone else. How selfish of me. You know how when you haven’t seen someone in a long time and it’s kind of hard to remember them well? Like it’s hard to remember the sound of their voice and exactly what they look like? Well, I vividly remember my parents and things we used to do together. You may be thinking, “Of course you do Mal, they’re your parents!” When I think about my parents, it’s like they’re right here, as if they’re close.
Have you ever had the kind of dream where it seems so real you wake up and wonder if it really happened or not, then realize it was just a dream? It’s kind of like that when I think of people back home. If I allow myself, I can vividly remember people that I miss and moments that we shared. Even though I’m already awake, it’s like I’m in this trance thinking about certain moments and I have to kind of snap myself back to reality. I then recognize who and what it was I was thinking about and how I felt thinking about that and then I deal with it.
For example, my parents and I used to walk our dog, Kacy together. One night during my last month spent in the States my mom had to teach a little late so my Dad and I walked Kacy by ourselves. I remember that night perfectly. I remember how the heat and humidity felt and the look of the clear night sky and being able to see the stars. I remember exactly where we walked to around our neighborhood. I remember several small details like when Kacy laid down in the middle of our walk because she was hot and tired and I tried to pull her up but my dad let her rest a minute before telling her to get up. I remember everything my dad and I talked about during that walk. We were reflecting on everything up until that point. Growing up, my time during college, and why I decided to join Peace Corps. I remember how I felt hearing my dad be proud of me and worried for me at the same time. I promised him I would do everything to keep myself safe. I remember when we got home and my mom was talking to her student and they were waiting by the door for their parent to come pick them up. (I don’t remember which student it was…sorry). When my mom heard us come in she said, “Y’all back?” I kicked off my shoes then walked to the sink to wash my hands and my mom came in through the dining room and walked up and patted me on the back. “How was the WALK?! Did Kacy make it?!” She was so happy. My mom’s always so happy and her voice is always filled with joy. Then she walked to the back door to look at Kacy exhausted laying on the tile floor. I remember how glad I was to see her. Her voice and the air conditioning was a breath of fresh air after working up a sweat.
After that walk with my dad and coming home to my mom, in that moment I knew that I was going to one day miss that moment. In that moment I already missed that moment because I knew that I wouldn’t have many more of those moments for the next 27 months.
That’s what it’s like missing my parents and people that I love and care about- re-living moments and then becoming overcome with this deep longing, an aching yearning to be with or at least talk to that person. I got a bit emotional while thinking about that moment with my parents and trying to put it into words. It’s a potentially dangerous process, allowing one to re-live moments like that. Because you realize that everyone and everything you want in that moment you were thinking about- you can’t have in your reality. Then you start negatively viewing your reality. Like right now, if I allowed myself, I could negatively think about how I just went to use the latrine and how I miss closed indoor bathrooms and toilets and running water and sinks. I could negatively think about the fact that right now my torso is covered with itchy bug bites.
Thinking about people and home like that is dangerous. It’s ok to let yourself feel sad and feel the feeling of missing someone. What’s dangerous is dwelling on those feelings and becoming pessimistic about what’s actually around you because I think it can lead to depression. My first few months at site, I had a really hard time and it was difficult controlling thoughts and feelings of missing home.
So, how do I deal with it here? I have learned to cope and I have learned to change my way of thinking. I am very aware of my thoughts and feelings and when I notice that I am thinking or feeling something negative and unproductive, I squash it right then and there and re-direct myself.
I have two choices right now: I can continue to cry about how much I miss my mom and my dad and kick myself for ever having taken for granted simple moments we’ve had together. My other choice is to recognize that I have a new found appreciation for not just my parents but everyone in my life.
I cope here by engaging in self-talk, keeping a journal, talking to my close friends here Emily and Amanda, and listening to music. But, let me also say that I have decided my life will not be one long longing. Before I left the States, I was longing to join Peace Corps and thought about it a lot. In the beginning of my service here, I was longing to be back home. I can picture that when I go back home, I’ll be longing to be back here or be longing for the next step in my life. Not any more. I now strive to always appreciate the people that are currently around me and where. At each point in my life, I may miss someone, someplace, or some time. I believe it’s important to recognize that and set aside time to just feel those feelings and process why you feel that way and what it is you miss about that person or place or time and most importantly, realize why.
Point of the story: I miss you, mom & dad.
September 1, 2010
Plans
I wasn’t sure if I should share this but I’m just going to go ahead and share this because…I think about it every day and it’s important and it shows how much my Peace Corps service is affecting me.
I’m a woman with a plan. I’ve been thinking what I may want to do after Peace Corps: go straight back to school, get a job and then go back to school, or…extend my time of Peace Corps service. I am set to leave Mozambique in December 2011. I will only be 23. My only obligation is that I must go back to grad school by 2014 in order to still be eligible to receive my MSW degree in one year. You are probably thinking why in the world would I want to extend my service? I believe in the work I am doing. I love Africa. I love the experience I’m gaining. I may have the option to extend my service in another country. I could go somewhere that speaks another language…I could learn French! I’m sorry if this is a shocking disappointment to some people. You’re probably thinking how could I want to do that and be away from home for even longer? It would be the same if I were in the States. People get older, grow up, and see each other less. But distance somehow brings everyone closer together. Someone told me that I should come straight home after Peace Corps and “make a life for myself.” Maybe that person meant it’ll be time for me to go back home, get my masters, get a job, find someone to get married to. I feel pressured to go straight back to knock out all of those things. But is that really what I’m supposed to do? I’ve decided that I’m in no rush for any of those things. Of course this is all talk right now. I’m going to leave my options open, see what doors of opportunity arise, and see where the wind blows me. Right now it’s blowing me to go eat lunch with Emily…Have a nice day!
I’m a woman with a plan. I’ve been thinking what I may want to do after Peace Corps: go straight back to school, get a job and then go back to school, or…extend my time of Peace Corps service. I am set to leave Mozambique in December 2011. I will only be 23. My only obligation is that I must go back to grad school by 2014 in order to still be eligible to receive my MSW degree in one year. You are probably thinking why in the world would I want to extend my service? I believe in the work I am doing. I love Africa. I love the experience I’m gaining. I may have the option to extend my service in another country. I could go somewhere that speaks another language…I could learn French! I’m sorry if this is a shocking disappointment to some people. You’re probably thinking how could I want to do that and be away from home for even longer? It would be the same if I were in the States. People get older, grow up, and see each other less. But distance somehow brings everyone closer together. Someone told me that I should come straight home after Peace Corps and “make a life for myself.” Maybe that person meant it’ll be time for me to go back home, get my masters, get a job, find someone to get married to. I feel pressured to go straight back to knock out all of those things. But is that really what I’m supposed to do? I’ve decided that I’m in no rush for any of those things. Of course this is all talk right now. I’m going to leave my options open, see what doors of opportunity arise, and see where the wind blows me. Right now it’s blowing me to go eat lunch with Emily…Have a nice day!
Girl Talk #1
I have been confided in by a few of my Mozambican women friends. They shared with me their stories and feelings in confidence, so their names have been changed. Before reading this blog entry, I ask you to please read with an open mind. Be sensitive to the following, keeping in mind that nothing is really what it seems. I can imagine that after reading the following situation some may pass judgment on what they think may be an easy situation to solve. I’ll try my best to maintain neutrality in narrating these experiences.
I have a dear friend who I will call Isabel. She is like a Mozambican mother to me. She’s had Emily and me over for dinner with her and her family. She’s a bit older, in her late forties and her husband is almost fifty as well. (I understand late 40’s isn’t old, but for Mozambicans, it is, considering life expectancy here.) Anyway, she had moved away for a few months teaching in another district. I wasn’t sure she was coming back until she called me out of the blue one day. She sounded awful. She just said that she was back and that she was not doing well. She asked me to come over. Of course I agreed I was afraid she was really sick. So we scheduled for me to come the next day because it was late when we talked. I was on my way when she sent another text message that said “My dear daughter, I am not well. I am sick with sadness and a broken heart.” I responded and told her that I am with her, and that if she wanted me to I would come right that minute to be with her. Then she responded with the truth and said, “My husband got a 13-year-old girl pregnant. She had the baby and now they are living in my house.” I initially felt hurt, disgusted, angry, and sad for my friend’s situation. I told her if she needed to she could stay with me, that I would go and get her immediately if she needed to. She declined, said we’d see each other tomorrow.
The next day I went to her house. That was hard, especially because her husband was there watching TV when I arrived. It was hard being nice to him, treating him with respect, acting like I didn’t know he violated a child and at the same time sickened at the thought that he’s a school teacher. But I did and after a few minutes of awkward tension of being in the same room, Isabel took me outside, saying that I wanted to be in the sun and that I love being outdoors. That wasn’t a complete lie. We sat down and she began to tell me that the girl who he got pregnant was back in her grandparents’ house which was close by. Isabel said her brother-in-law, who lives with her and her husband, wouldn’t allow that girl to be in their house anymore. Supposedly he said that it was wrong for her to be in the house if she’s not his wife. She then told me the story of how this all began between her husband and the girl.
Isabel’s unable to have children. About ten years ago Isabel’s husband got very sick. He had some kind of blisters in his mouth, and a fever, and swollen lymph nodes. They thought he had HIV. So he took an HIV test. While awaiting the results, Isabel told her husband that if he in fact does not have HIV, then they owe a merciful life to God. They promised that if he in fact was not HIV+, they would be parent like figures to a child that needs parents. His test results came back negative, and he got better. One day he was in their yard and a young boy walked across the field in front of their house. At the time, their area was very rural. He called the boy over and asked where he lived. The boy said he lived not too far. He asked the boy who he lived with. “My grandma and siblings.” He asked where his parents were. “They both died.” Isabel’s husband informed her of the boy and that he doesn’t have parents. They then went to tell the boy that they are looking to care for children in need of a family in their community. They told him that he and his siblings are always welcome in their home. Anything they needed, they could have. Just ask. They met his other siblings. One was another young boy and a 4 year old girl. If only Isabel had known that in less than ten years from then, her husband would be fathering that 4-year old girl’s baby.
After that, Isabel took me to see the girl and the baby. The girl was tiny; she looked like a ten year old. Her baby was also tiny, premature. This girl had to drop out of school to care for this child. I then started talking to her about the importance of using a mosquito net, regularly getting tested for HIV, and that she must only exclusively breast feed her baby for the first six months. No water, no juice, no sodas, the baby only needs breast milk. The room we were sitting in was small, with a straw mat. I asked her where they all slept. She said right here in this room on this mat with this one mosquito net. I asked her if I could bring her another mosquito net because I have extras. I told her that it’s really important because I work in a hospital and people tell me about their babies dying because of malaria. She said yes, I could bring her a net. I then had her write down my number and told her if she ever needed anything, just call.
When we got back to Isabel’s house she told me other parts of this story. As we were talking her husband would periodically come outside to check on us because he was suspicious and guilty. Awkward! Anyway, she went on to tell me that about two years ago Isabel’s suspicions grew about her husband. She noticed that when she wasn’t home, the young girl would be leaving her house with things-gifts...and that before that her neighbors had told her that they had heard painful screams from inside her house where the young girl was. After her suspicions were somewhat credible, Isabel approached the young girl and told her straight up, “you cannot have this kind of relationship with my husband. If you are having sex with him in order for you to get things, that is not necessary. If you need anything, ask me and I will buy it for you.” Isabel felt like the sad conclusion to this story was the girl’s fault because she had previously told her this, and the girl continued to sleep with her husband. I tried to explain to Isabel that it wasn’t the girls fault, because she was a child and being taken advantage of. I told her that children learn what adults teach them. Her husband was a respected, father figure to that young girl, and he taught her that it’s ok to have sex with an adult in order to earn things in return. If you think about it, the whole thing is really complex and complicated.
I offered my home to Isabel and said she could come live with me. Of course, she declined. I asked her what she was going to do about her situation. She said she would like to go to the police and report her husband, but that she won’t because a woman should never betray her husband and that he won’t be punished in this life but God will punish him in the next. I told her that her husband betrayed her and a child that he promised to initially care for. She just said that she couldn’t report him because she feels that women here are not free. I told her that’s not true and that any individual is free and not bound by any society’s laws. We make our own destiny, I told her.
After much encouragement and support from Emily, I, and Isabel’s family, she broke free from the situation. Now she’s living in another city where she found a new job. Isabel’s cousin’s husband reported her husband to the police. We’re still waiting to see what happens with that. He’s still teaching in the secondary school.
I have a dear friend who I will call Isabel. She is like a Mozambican mother to me. She’s had Emily and me over for dinner with her and her family. She’s a bit older, in her late forties and her husband is almost fifty as well. (I understand late 40’s isn’t old, but for Mozambicans, it is, considering life expectancy here.) Anyway, she had moved away for a few months teaching in another district. I wasn’t sure she was coming back until she called me out of the blue one day. She sounded awful. She just said that she was back and that she was not doing well. She asked me to come over. Of course I agreed I was afraid she was really sick. So we scheduled for me to come the next day because it was late when we talked. I was on my way when she sent another text message that said “My dear daughter, I am not well. I am sick with sadness and a broken heart.” I responded and told her that I am with her, and that if she wanted me to I would come right that minute to be with her. Then she responded with the truth and said, “My husband got a 13-year-old girl pregnant. She had the baby and now they are living in my house.” I initially felt hurt, disgusted, angry, and sad for my friend’s situation. I told her if she needed to she could stay with me, that I would go and get her immediately if she needed to. She declined, said we’d see each other tomorrow.
The next day I went to her house. That was hard, especially because her husband was there watching TV when I arrived. It was hard being nice to him, treating him with respect, acting like I didn’t know he violated a child and at the same time sickened at the thought that he’s a school teacher. But I did and after a few minutes of awkward tension of being in the same room, Isabel took me outside, saying that I wanted to be in the sun and that I love being outdoors. That wasn’t a complete lie. We sat down and she began to tell me that the girl who he got pregnant was back in her grandparents’ house which was close by. Isabel said her brother-in-law, who lives with her and her husband, wouldn’t allow that girl to be in their house anymore. Supposedly he said that it was wrong for her to be in the house if she’s not his wife. She then told me the story of how this all began between her husband and the girl.
Isabel’s unable to have children. About ten years ago Isabel’s husband got very sick. He had some kind of blisters in his mouth, and a fever, and swollen lymph nodes. They thought he had HIV. So he took an HIV test. While awaiting the results, Isabel told her husband that if he in fact does not have HIV, then they owe a merciful life to God. They promised that if he in fact was not HIV+, they would be parent like figures to a child that needs parents. His test results came back negative, and he got better. One day he was in their yard and a young boy walked across the field in front of their house. At the time, their area was very rural. He called the boy over and asked where he lived. The boy said he lived not too far. He asked the boy who he lived with. “My grandma and siblings.” He asked where his parents were. “They both died.” Isabel’s husband informed her of the boy and that he doesn’t have parents. They then went to tell the boy that they are looking to care for children in need of a family in their community. They told him that he and his siblings are always welcome in their home. Anything they needed, they could have. Just ask. They met his other siblings. One was another young boy and a 4 year old girl. If only Isabel had known that in less than ten years from then, her husband would be fathering that 4-year old girl’s baby.
After that, Isabel took me to see the girl and the baby. The girl was tiny; she looked like a ten year old. Her baby was also tiny, premature. This girl had to drop out of school to care for this child. I then started talking to her about the importance of using a mosquito net, regularly getting tested for HIV, and that she must only exclusively breast feed her baby for the first six months. No water, no juice, no sodas, the baby only needs breast milk. The room we were sitting in was small, with a straw mat. I asked her where they all slept. She said right here in this room on this mat with this one mosquito net. I asked her if I could bring her another mosquito net because I have extras. I told her that it’s really important because I work in a hospital and people tell me about their babies dying because of malaria. She said yes, I could bring her a net. I then had her write down my number and told her if she ever needed anything, just call.
When we got back to Isabel’s house she told me other parts of this story. As we were talking her husband would periodically come outside to check on us because he was suspicious and guilty. Awkward! Anyway, she went on to tell me that about two years ago Isabel’s suspicions grew about her husband. She noticed that when she wasn’t home, the young girl would be leaving her house with things-gifts...and that before that her neighbors had told her that they had heard painful screams from inside her house where the young girl was. After her suspicions were somewhat credible, Isabel approached the young girl and told her straight up, “you cannot have this kind of relationship with my husband. If you are having sex with him in order for you to get things, that is not necessary. If you need anything, ask me and I will buy it for you.” Isabel felt like the sad conclusion to this story was the girl’s fault because she had previously told her this, and the girl continued to sleep with her husband. I tried to explain to Isabel that it wasn’t the girls fault, because she was a child and being taken advantage of. I told her that children learn what adults teach them. Her husband was a respected, father figure to that young girl, and he taught her that it’s ok to have sex with an adult in order to earn things in return. If you think about it, the whole thing is really complex and complicated.
I offered my home to Isabel and said she could come live with me. Of course, she declined. I asked her what she was going to do about her situation. She said she would like to go to the police and report her husband, but that she won’t because a woman should never betray her husband and that he won’t be punished in this life but God will punish him in the next. I told her that her husband betrayed her and a child that he promised to initially care for. She just said that she couldn’t report him because she feels that women here are not free. I told her that’s not true and that any individual is free and not bound by any society’s laws. We make our own destiny, I told her.
After much encouragement and support from Emily, I, and Isabel’s family, she broke free from the situation. Now she’s living in another city where she found a new job. Isabel’s cousin’s husband reported her husband to the police. We’re still waiting to see what happens with that. He’s still teaching in the secondary school.
Girl Talk #2
One day I was with one of my girl friends. She told me she had a secret to tell me but that I had to promise I wouldn’t tell anyone. Sure, as long as you didn’t commit a serious crime, I told her. She asked me what I think about love. I told her that I believe love is something special between two people that are really hard to describe, especially in a second language, but that love is something shared. She asked me if I’ve ever been in love. I said yes. She asked me if I am currently in a relationship. No, I told her. She asked me if I was still in love with whoever I was in love with. I said no. She asked me why. I explained to her that people freely enter romantic relationships by choice, because of how they feel about each other. They leave relationships the same way-by feelings changing and leaving if they want to. Just. Like. That.
She then went on to tell me that she has been married to her husband for about ten years and they have three young children together. She said she appreciates her husband because he’s the father of her children, the provider of their family. But, she said, she just can’t make herself love him. She went on to say that she had a boyfriend ten years ago before she met her husband, and she was passionately in love with him…and still is. She said they were dating but then one day they got in an argument and he moved to South Africa for a temporary job. She didn’t know the job was temporary. She thought she’d lost him forever. While he was gone, she felt pressure from her family to get married and her husband had approached her family saying he wanted to marry her. So, they got married because she was of age and following social/cultural norms.
Her boyfriend came back after she was married. He was hurt and so was she. She said they still talk and when they talk and see each other her mind goes crazy and she thinks about leaving her husband and children to be with him because he’s the love of her life. However, she said if she left her husband her children would stay in his house because she would be the one leaving…also that she’d be looked down upon by the rest of her community. Forever shunned. She asked me what an American would do in this situation. I told her that it would be different for each person; but that Americans have the right to divorce their spouse and they would not be frowned upon by society. She asked me what I thought she should do. I told her that she should think of her children first, put their needs before hers and that fidelity is very important, she should remain faithful to her husband. But I told her that whatever she chose to do, she should continue to be safe in all of her interactions.
She then went on to tell me that she has been married to her husband for about ten years and they have three young children together. She said she appreciates her husband because he’s the father of her children, the provider of their family. But, she said, she just can’t make herself love him. She went on to say that she had a boyfriend ten years ago before she met her husband, and she was passionately in love with him…and still is. She said they were dating but then one day they got in an argument and he moved to South Africa for a temporary job. She didn’t know the job was temporary. She thought she’d lost him forever. While he was gone, she felt pressure from her family to get married and her husband had approached her family saying he wanted to marry her. So, they got married because she was of age and following social/cultural norms.
Her boyfriend came back after she was married. He was hurt and so was she. She said they still talk and when they talk and see each other her mind goes crazy and she thinks about leaving her husband and children to be with him because he’s the love of her life. However, she said if she left her husband her children would stay in his house because she would be the one leaving…also that she’d be looked down upon by the rest of her community. Forever shunned. She asked me what an American would do in this situation. I told her that it would be different for each person; but that Americans have the right to divorce their spouse and they would not be frowned upon by society. She asked me what I thought she should do. I told her that she should think of her children first, put their needs before hers and that fidelity is very important, she should remain faithful to her husband. But I told her that whatever she chose to do, she should continue to be safe in all of her interactions.
Girl Talk #3
One of my coworkers who’s also my friend, Hortencia, struck up a convo with me one day while we were in the community making home visits. She asked me if an HIV+ woman had a baby, does that mean her baby will be HIV+ also? I told her it’s risky and definitely possible through the exchange of fluids inside the mom’s tummy and during child birth, but I told her it’s possible for an HIV+ woman to have an HIV- baby. I talked to her about being on treatment and monitoring one’s CD4 count and viral load…I told her if she had any more questions she should really ask a nurse and not to be shy to do so. And so my suspicions began that Hortencia may be pregnant.
On a different day…Hortencia told me that she has a boyfriend. He’s married and lives somewhere else but sometimes comes to Xai Xai…
Some days later…”Mallorina… I need your opinion about something.” I told her to continue. She continued to say that she doesn’t know if she should have a baby with her boyfriend. I said no. You already have four children and you are supporting them alone. Can you really feed one more mouth? She said here’s the deal, my boyfriend’s wife is already too old to have any more children. He only has 2 children with her. He thinks he needs to live up to his dad, who had 29 children with 5 different women. Keeping my cool, I asked her why does she want to have a child with him? I said, do you want to have a baby with him because 1.) You want another baby, 2.) Because he thinks he needs more children, 3.) Because you want him to help you financially? She said she wants to have another baby because she wants to have a baby with him. I don’t think my question sunk in. We asked our fellow Mozambican woman friend what she thought. She said she thinks Hortencia should just have ONE baby with him. Just ONE, she said. She asked me for my opinion. I told her that I don’t think she should make any more babies, and I asked her why can’t she find a man that’s not already married? She laughed. She said, well because I like my boyfriend. I told her there are plenty of available men in Mozambique that would be willing to have her. I asked her who would take care of the baby, and where would they live. She said she would in her house. I said exactly. Do you see that if you have a baby with this man, your life will become that much more difficult? I asked her how she would feel if she was married and her husband got another woman pregnant because she was already “too old”. She didn’t respond.
This conversation isn’t over with Hortencia. I will talk to her more about it again to try to challenge her thinking about the situation.
On a different day…Hortencia told me that she has a boyfriend. He’s married and lives somewhere else but sometimes comes to Xai Xai…
Some days later…”Mallorina… I need your opinion about something.” I told her to continue. She continued to say that she doesn’t know if she should have a baby with her boyfriend. I said no. You already have four children and you are supporting them alone. Can you really feed one more mouth? She said here’s the deal, my boyfriend’s wife is already too old to have any more children. He only has 2 children with her. He thinks he needs to live up to his dad, who had 29 children with 5 different women. Keeping my cool, I asked her why does she want to have a child with him? I said, do you want to have a baby with him because 1.) You want another baby, 2.) Because he thinks he needs more children, 3.) Because you want him to help you financially? She said she wants to have another baby because she wants to have a baby with him. I don’t think my question sunk in. We asked our fellow Mozambican woman friend what she thought. She said she thinks Hortencia should just have ONE baby with him. Just ONE, she said. She asked me for my opinion. I told her that I don’t think she should make any more babies, and I asked her why can’t she find a man that’s not already married? She laughed. She said, well because I like my boyfriend. I told her there are plenty of available men in Mozambique that would be willing to have her. I asked her who would take care of the baby, and where would they live. She said she would in her house. I said exactly. Do you see that if you have a baby with this man, your life will become that much more difficult? I asked her how she would feel if she was married and her husband got another woman pregnant because she was already “too old”. She didn’t respond.
This conversation isn’t over with Hortencia. I will talk to her more about it again to try to challenge her thinking about the situation.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
