MozamWeek

Usually at this time of my "leavings" I am becoming more and more irritated by my current country and culture. I remember times of temperamental impatience as someone took too long to find a price for my can of tomatoes... or a car managed to perform a particularly common irrational moving violation in my immediate vicinity... or a beggar asked just one more time...   I've not felt that this time. This last time. I am more filled with understanding and nostalgia. I'm much more gracious than usual. This can only be the grace of God, I think, as I pack another box and say another goodbye. Tears are always close. I well up at the slightest inclination... crossing the Zambezi at sunset... waiting for cows to get out of the road... sweating in the heat as the kids come out of the school... remembering him or her or those other ones. I sigh a lot. I've heard it is good for you. I hate crying, but my grandma warned me it gets worse with age. I'm proving her r...

I know it is hard to accept that you might be the answer to a big problem. I know it is hard when I am the answer to a need bigger than I can meet alone. Before you reject a Syrian neighbor, I suggest you meet a person who is from another home than yours. I suggest you consider what it means to be hopeful that you can start somewhere safe. What is it like to leave everything crushed behind you. People you knew and cared about are just gone... Then you show up in the "Land of the Free and Home of the Brave" and find the doors locked and the neighbors trembling because you are there and you are different. You long for safety and you are stared at from behind closed doors. You look different. It is hard to communicate. You don't know anyone. They don't want to know you. I am grieving here in Mozambique, far away from my homeland. I see post after post shared by people I love declaring they have no place for Syrian resettlement. They "hate Obama" and they...

I'm always amused by differences in culture. After all these years, I still have moments of surprise thrust upon me. A day last month was a shocker. We laughed out loud at each other. Teacher training events all over the world throw loads of women together. I'm an "along-side" adviser to the presenters. I edit some slides and make sure concepts are getting across to our teachers. I connect projectors and click through the PowerPoint presentation. I'm pretty recognizable and they mostly remember my name since it isn't a hard foreign-sounding one- they are "Djeni" or "Geni" or "Jeny" around here. Dancing with the teachers... the fun part of the job! Lunch hour. I stepped in mud and took off my shoes to clean them. "Formadora Jeni, give me your hips!" A younger teacher around 40 or so is admiring me. Her friend proceeds to tell her that she doesn't need mine since hers are big enough. They giggle and want me to tu...

Inventam uma realidade daqui e fazem os planos sozinhos.  "They invent a reality, and then they make the plans alone." Let that sink in for a while.  My actual description of a road to a real place we are going to visit in the next few weeks.  She is right. I am guilty. I am so glad for this blast of wisdom when I least expected it. So much of what we do on the ground in development or mission work is based on an "invented" reality. How patient are my African colleagues who do not shout at my stupidity! How kind they are to say, "ok," and then kind of ignore my missteps and good intentions. We are careful to collect all the facts. Data is important. But background is difficult and hidden and messy and we don't even know what to call it or how to calculate for it. So we fill in the blanks with something that makes sense... to US... from where we stand and all that we know. We process it all very neatly...

Dear friends, FACTS (as I see them from here): Missionaries do jobs in places where the people they actually work for cannot pay them for what they do. Missionaries sometimes have jobs that can earn a "regular" salary. Missionaries often are paid according to what they need to cover expenses in the country where they work. Missionaries are vulnerable to international economic fluctuation. Missionaries can get a "pay raise" if the local economy fails or the home economy surges. Missionaries are viewed as poor and dependent from one side, but ss rich and responsible for everyone around them on the other side. Missionaries have to pay taxes... sometimes, somewhere. Social Security in USA,for example. Missionaries can drive cool cars and live in exotic locations. Missionaries have house-help... maids or gardeners or watchmen; often they contribute jobs to the local economy and avoid looking "stingy". Missionaries often cover all medical expenses ...

 First of all, let me say I LOVE the people who work at the Tete Provincial Library. They know me and know how I feel about some of the policies they have to abide by. There are children's books among others. There are shelves of books displayed and organized. There is lovely natural lighting from the big windows, clean bathrooms and even air-conditioning (when the power allows it). The staff are knowledgeable and can be friendly. I don't want to bash the library. There aren't really bookstores around, so a library is a big step towards helping people have access to books! Provincial Library I just want to point out a few things about this context here that might help those of you who don't live here in Mozambique understand what "access to literature" might be like.  Sign at the entrance Necessary requisites for entering the library:    Personal ID:  ID, passport, student card or    driver's license Entrance denied t...

In my American past... Widows were old ladies from church. When we lost Dad in 1987 mom became one of the rare young widows. I honestly didn't know others her age who had lost a husband. Orphans were also fairly rare. These were few children who'd lost both parents through some freaky accident or horrible diseases. Rarely would a child be abandoned to an orphanage, but would be cared for by relatives. Orphanages were from fairy tales where kids were treated badly and they managed to creatively escape their dismal circumstance through fantastic feats of brave defiance. In my current world... Widows are my team-mates and neighbors. They are between the ages of 25 and 50. They live with their kids if they have them... or the children are relocated with the husbands' family who is responsible for them. Women officially have the right to keep their children, but tradition often overrules law. Many opt to keep the peace by not bucking the system too often and resign themselve...