Mozambique, oje!

Before I really get into the fat of the land of Mozambique…let me just bring you up to speed on some things going down. And of course give props! Which I’ll do first…

Props to:

Tom and Ofelia for bringing a new bundle of joy into this world. Born October 8th, 1:44pm. 7.7lbs, 19.5 inches

My cousins for adding a new twig on our family tree. Kailla Ann Ryan at 12:15 PM Tuesday October, 9 2007. Weighed in at 8 lb. 10 oz. 20 1/2 inches long with a full head of dark hair.

Clara, for offering to fly me back to the United States in December. Yep, I’m coming home! Steak tacos, here I come…

Clara, for starting a new company to promote her one true love, music. For details:www.myspace.com/diplomaticsevents

Wuk for his ryebread mixes…my soundtrack for the last few weeks. Hip Hop, rock, and (most importantly) music made by people I know from home. Keep the ryebread bakery cooking! To download the mixes go to: http://www.melodicscribes.com/ryebread/

Bailey! This weekend was his birthday. Seven years old if I’m not mistaken…

Not much besides studying and radio work has been going down on this side. I had 3 tests in a week and half (and am done now until final exams in 2 weeks). I’m working on a new jingles package for the station (I’m doing the jingles for 4 shows). 4 seconds of audio takes way more energy and time to create than you might think. I attended an awards dinner for the radio station. Had an interview at the Pretoria Zoo for an internship (I’m currently trying to plan something cool for my upcoming holiday that will teach me a bit about the SA wildlife scene and connect me to Rotary). And…it’s been raining like crazy here. Good if you are a plant, bad if you ride a bike like me. It even hailed the other day. It rains in the afternoon just about every day now and sometimes it rains (when I say rain I really mean the heavens open up and unleash their fury on Pretoria) all day long. There was even a “tornado” scare a week or so ago. See, there are no tornadoes in South Africa. No sirens, no annoying beeps and info flashing across the TV screen, no testing of the emergency broadcast system, now that I think of it…no basements. This tornado scare was a big deal, but turned out to be an email and text message hoax. After the scare was over I received a forward entitled “Killer Storm Damage in Joburg” and when you opened it up it showed a picture of a lone plastic deck chair knocked over…pretty funny in light of all the hype this “tornado” received.

Oh yeah...and the South African rugby team just won the Rugby World Cup!!!!!!! Boo yah! It's a really big deal here (especially because I live in the cradle of SA rugby) and SA hasn't won it since 1994-ish. The World Cup (like the soccer World Cup) happens every 4 years so SA will get to hold the title for 4 years. 4 years of bragging rights over Australians...it's going to be a sweet 4 years for SA.

For those of you with a short attention span…here’s 20 ways you will know you are in Mozambique:

1. Everyone speaks Portuguese (and also local Bantu languages like Bitonga)
2. People sell hard-boiled eggs on the street. It took me a while to figure out what these kids walking around with cartons of eggs and a salt shaker were doing. I didn’t understand why someone would buy just one uncooked egg. People here buy huge cartons of eggs (like 50 packs) at a time because it’s really cheap protein. But once I was enlightened…I just think it’s a cool thing.
3. Ladies are wrapped in cloth called capulanhas (said: cahp-oo-LAHN-ahs) even if they are wearing jeans underneath. I got a few different responses as to why they wear these even when it’s so hot out. One lady told me that it was a way to keep cool (which doesn’t make sense to me because a lot of ladies were wearing stuff like jeans or long skirts underneath the capulanhas). My friend Luso, from Malawi, told me that in her country it was a way to separate the men from the women. Like it’s a sign that you are a woman. This is probably at least partially true in Mozambique. I thought it was just so that they can jazz up their outfits a bit. The capulanhas are really beautiful and colorful and way more interesting to look at than jeans.
4. Cashews and peanuts are in everything and for sale at every place you pass on the street.
5. Fish markets with ladies fanning the flies off the fresh catch of the day
6. FRELIMO, the national political party of Mozambique
7. Don’t flush the toilet paper. In most non-westernized countries you can’t flush toilet paper in any toilet (unless you are some place fancy or that has a lot of white/Western people) because most places run on a septic system. So you throw your paper away in a wastebasket in the stall. This isn’t too much of a concern though because…
8. Almost no toilet ever has toilet paper anyway, so bring your own. Heck most toilets don’t even have seats. I just like to think of this as a way to strengthen my quads while also taking care of a necessary body function. 2 birds w/1 stone…
9. The dirt on the ground is actually sand, even in big cities like Maputo. Sort of hard for a girl from the black soils of the Midwest to digest…even now.
10. Things are named after important dates in the struggle for independence. For example 25September street.
11. Samora Michel is the man! He was a famous figure in the struggle for independence and I think he was the first president of Mozambique. But he died in a plane crash (shrouded in mystery) near the South African/Moz border with many members of his cabinet. His wife is now Nelson Mandela’s wife and is the only woman in history to ever be the 1^st lady of 2 countries.
12. Matapa is always on the menu. Matapa is a stew sort of dish that has some sort of meat in it, is cooked with peanuts (but they are strained out before you eat it, so it’s just the flavor), has some green cooked leafy stuff in it, and coconut milk. It’s really good and fills you up. Served w/rice or xima. Eat it with your hands or a spoon.
13. Xima = pap. I can’t describe that well what this is to Americans cos we just don’t have it. It’s sort of like really thick cream of wheat but it’s made out of super refined corn meal. In SA it’s called pap (SAID: pop). In Moz it’s called xima (said: SHE-mah). It’s a staple all over Africa.
14. You will hear the song:

“Tira ropa, tira ropa, tira ropaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh suka!”

Which translates to “take off clothes, take off clothes, take off clothes…..fuck it!” But “fuck it” doesn’t me the act of sex it is more like a “que sera, sera” type of thing. It’s good to learn songs like this in another country because they are really popular and if you are struggling with the language you can make people laugh if you start singing parts of it. Also it’s just a catchy tune.

15. Other songs: “A dios, A dios, A dios” (to god, to god, to god….I don’t know the rest of the song), “Essa um foto” (It’s a photo), “I’m a taxi driver” (which is a really cute song I heard from the drunk lady on the fun bus), “From Zamora” (which has a funny chicken wing dance that goes with it).
16. Booty dancin’ is done with a kick. Here’s how the dance goes. You dance next to someone and from time to time you bump booties with each other but you also alternate this with a leg kick. Like a hacky sack or soccer dribbling kick. Hard to explain, easy to demonstrate.
17. Chapas (this is the “informal” form of transport in Moz, like the kombi taxis in SA).
18. Great bread…you can thank the Portuguese for this.
19. The beers actually have flavor: Dois M, Manica, Laurentina (a clear beer and a black beer…in Portuguese “clara” and “preta,” respectively) and come in big bottles. Nice!
20. Coconut is in everything and everywhere.

I was surfing wikipedia for some information on Mozambique and came across these quotes from Wikipedia quotes (a pretty cool function on the site where you can search for quotes related to key words you type in):

“There's lots of pretty girls in Mozambique.”
-Bob Dylan

“Of all the weapons in the vast Soviet arsenal, nothing was more profitable than Avtomat Kalashnikova model of 1947, more commonly known as the AK-47, or Kalashnikov. It's the world's most popular assault rifle, a weapon all fighters love. An elegantly simple nine pound amalgamation of forged steel and plywood, it doesn't break, jam, or overheat. It will fire whether it's covered in mud or filled with sand. It's so easy even a child could use it, and they do. The Soviets put the gun on a coin. Mozambique put it on their flag. Since the end of the Cold War, the Kalashnikov has become the Russian people's greatest export. After that comes vodka, caviar, suicidal novelists. One thing is for sure, no one was lining up to buy their cars.”
~ Yuri Orlov—Lord of War

Although both of these quotes are pretty random…they are sort of appropriate to some of the vibes coming off the land in Mozambique. There are pretty girls there (I even heard a story before I left South Africa of 2 couples going to Mozambique that both split up because of the pretty girls of Mozambique). Mozambique seems to enjoy some of the same beauty that Brazil has going on. Like when you look at people you can see blood lines from all over the planet mixing in their veins…which does lead to some beautiful people in the end. Mozambique has been visited thru the years by many people (Muslims from the North, Portuguese from Europe, and of course the native people were always there), some stayed and set up shop, some left their influence, some were kicked out. Besides physical beauty, the people of Mozambique are beautiful in spirit. They are the nicest people I have ever met in my life. I used to think that Zimbabweans were the nicest people I have ever met, but my mind is changed. It’s Mozambique or nothing, sorry Zim…you are a close second. In 24 hours I have never received as much help and love from strangers as I did in Mozambique. More on this in a bit…

And the AK-47 is pictured on the flag. There is sort of a militant vibe in Mozambique. A “remember the struggle” type of feeling. I actually really enjoyed that. I don’t mean that old women are walking around with guns and little red books. It was a type of patriotism very different from the kind you find in the United States. USA pride, to me, has an unmentioned (or sometimes overt) air of superiority to it. A “we are better than you” spirit. (“Your display of pride is beautiful, but the government’s unsuitable. We need room to grow, not a battlefield funeral.” –Melodic Scribes “War”). Patriotism is a good thing, but not at the expense of others. Another thing that has always bothered me about USA patriotism is how blind it is. The only reason we are on top is because we have stepped (with spiked golf cleats) on everyone else along the way. Have repeatedly (in the name of our freedom, but not the freedom of choice of others) infiltrated governments and destroyed millions of innocent people because it didn’t favor our government. USA patriotism turns a blind eye and fails to take into account all this deception and trickery that occurs IN OUR NAME. Whether you like it or not, people around the world associate us with the actions of our government. I deal with it at least once a week…usually more. This association is a sort of short-sighted move on their part, and usually when you become an individual to the people you encounter, then you cease to just be “the American.” Of course you still get teased…rightfully so I guess. But what this means, to me, is that when people in the USA are blindly patriotic without considering all the evil that’s been committed against others in the name of USA superiority…well, we just look like dumb cheerleading jackasses led by the biggest dumbest jackass of them all.

I will say that since I’ve been away I have come to appreciate the USA in a lot of ways that I didn’t think so much about at home. But the things I’ve become more patriotic about are small things that have less to do with my country as a whole and more to do with the people around me (which I guess by default has to do with my country). Things like: having friends that make music, being able to go out on the weekend and catch good music at local establishments (instead of whatever top 40 rock/hiphop crap is popular this week), people just creating in general. Where I live in Pretoria, the people seem content to just consume consume consume. No one here (that I’ve met) is really thinking differently or doing differently. No one has an interesting thought in their head. I can’t decide if I feel this way because I haven’t met people that are different or if it’s because they don’t exist in any great quantity. To be fair, I have had years and years to build and gather a community of people around me at home that create, think, and do. And to be fair to Pretoria, I have seen this spark in a few people…it’s just not that common. And believe me, I’ve collected those people for future use! I guess maybe what I’m getting at is that I don’t feel I can be patriotic about our country as a whole as long as we stay the course we have been on for many many years. What’s to be proud of? I think my pride in the USA comes at a more local level. A people level, not a country level. Because, man, I just can’t support our current agenda. It’s an agenda that is bound to blow up in our faces…selfish agendas can never last. For the people is always the way to go. For a great encapsulation of what I’m talking about, read the speech by Martin Luther King, Jr called “Vietnam.” You’ll get what I’m saying.

The pride in Moz is one rooted in the struggle of the people…and I think that’s a good thing to have in your brand of patriotism. Sort of a “look what we accomplished” feeling. Our struggle is so removed from who we are today in the USA because now our struggle is against imaginary bad guys called terrorists. Our struggle is something that is mythical, something you learn about in primary school on President’s Day. Patriots dressed up like Native Americans dropping the queen’s tea off a bridge. General Washington’s wooden teeth and cherry tree escapades. It sounds sort of fantastical, no? In Mozambique, the struggle for independence was won in 1975, so it’s more recent and vivid in the collective memory of the people. This is palpably infused in the population and it’s beautiful. In Maputo (the capital city), many of the streets are named after struggle/socialist/African heroes (Mao-tse Tung, Patrice Lumumba, Samora Michel, Karl Marx, etc.) Also a lot of things (buildings, streets, etc) are named after famous dates from the struggle for independence. I’ve never seen this on such a grand scale. I mean, we have the 4^th of July in the USA, but have you ever seen a high school named Independence Day High? 4^th of July High? Nope. You will in Mozambique. I think it’s interesting to commemorate a date in this way instead of immortalizing a person.

So why the heck did I go to Mozambique? Well, it was holiday time. My friend Raoni was there and I wanted to spend some more time with him before he returns to Brazil (which will be soon). And…it was time for some serious beach action! See, I sort of live in the Midwest of South Africa. That statement is a bit exaggerated (heck, this ain’t the Free State for crying out loud…that’s really the Midwest of SA), but the beach is still at least 8 hours away by car. That’s too far!!! I was also eager to check out Moz because I haven’t been there yet and needed a change from the mental chaos of South Africa. And where else can I really practice my Portuguese?? All these circumstances conspired together to produce a week and ½ in Mozambique.

I left South Africa with this as my destination: find Raoni in a town called Tofo at a backpackers called Fatima’s Nest. I have no idea where this place is. I have no idea how to get there. But, as I’m sure people get there…so will I. Usually when I’ve traveled I have taken a Lonely Planet type of country guide with me. I don’t have that now. I didn’t bring one from home. These books tell you how to get places. Where are good places to eat. Cool stuff to see. Cheap places to sleep for the night. Usually they are pretty good at helping a traveler out. I find the most helpful thing in them to be the maps of the towns, etc. If you have a map you are set. All other things fall into place. For me, I don’t like to have a list of “must sees.” I like to keep my goals simple. My goals for Mozambique were: sleep in a hammock, swim in the ocean. Simple, right? P.S. I accomplished both of my goals! It’s all about realistic goals!

So, since I don’t have a guide to make everything simple for me, now I usually resort to asking people around me what their advice is on the situation. This can lead to tragedy or triumph…with the answer usually lying somewhere in between. When I asked people about Mozambique (in South Africa), including asking South Africans, travelers to Mozambique from many countries, and Mozambiquans in South Africa, well…the answers I got were sort of scary. But I’m not usually one to listen to popular opinion, especially in South Africa. Only one girl from Mozambique told me everything would be okay and that I wouldn’t need pepper spray to get to my destination. See, I hear what people advise me, but listening is at my discretion…just ask my mother. It’s called selective hearing ;) Don’t believe the hype, remember? I have found that, particularly in South Africa, people are a little on the tweaked side and so their opinions of things are a bit on the tweaked side of the spectrum. A lot of times people haven’t even done the things they are advising me against, so really they are usually talking about something they don’t know anything about. This usually needs to be gauged when trying to figure out how useful someone’s response is going to be for me. Also I’ll do a lot of things other people won’t. This holds true in all landscapes foreign or domestic. Asking about Mozambique was no different. When I asked people how they thought best for me to get to Tofo without a car I mostly encountered horror and disbelief at my choice of transportation. Well, choice is maybe a strong word. The car-less can’t be choosers…

So I set off. Took a coach to Maputo and on the bus I met a girl from Mozambique about my age that was going home. I have been learning Portuguese (piecing it together from what I learned in Brazil as well as learning new things from Raoni…I’m not doing so bad, if you ask me. I can tell jokes, greet people, and tell someone off if I need to), but I realized that when I was going thru some of the phrases I might need in Mozambique (like “what time is it?”) that I didn’t have all the tools I needed to communicate in Portuguese. I still don’t have all the tools…but I make due. So, I started speaking to this girl because I needed some more Portuguese phrases. We began to talk and in the end helped each other out. I helped her out at the circus that was the border crossing (1 person stamping passports for 100+ people = chaos and mob mentality. The police were needed to help organize things) and she helped me on the Mozambique side. When I arrived in Mozambique I was greeted by a Rotary sign (telling new arrivals of all the club meetings in Maputo) and a cold beer from a stranger. Now this is a place I could get used.

I mentioned the mental chaos of South Africa above. Let me elaborate. Since I have been in South Africa there has been a lot of static in my brain. We have a similar static in the United States (I think it might be called white fright…), but it’s way more intense and real in South Africa. Everyone really does have to watch his/her back here (this ain’t the sleepy streets of Urbana), but people do survive and lead reasonable lives here…so it’s not all doom and gloom. Please don’t forget that. Because of history and other circumstances the groups of people that live in South Africa don’t mix. They actively don’t mix, although this is slowly changing. There is tension and sparks that fly from the friction. It’s always there flying around your brain, having to be dealt with. The wonderful thing about going to other countries around South Africa is that this mental baggage leaves your head as soon as you step into that world. Literally. I was sitting with a lot of Mozambiquans on the bus to Maputo so my release happened a bit before the border, but basically the instant I hit Moz soil, err…sand, my head was free. Relaxation set in. I didn’t feel that constant mental static, even when walking through the streets of Maputo at night. It was so wonderful. It makes relations with other people so free and easy…even if my skills in Portuguese weren’t that great. I just don’t understand what this attitude problem is all about in South Africa. It causes more problems than it’s worth. Relaxed is way better than taut…heck, even enzymes work better when they are relaxed. (Sorry, biochemistry nerd moment). But this mental chaos is inescapable in SA. Everyone is affected. So, it was nice to be all chilled out and mentally free in Moz. I guess the difference is that in South Africa every stranger on the street is seen as a potential threat. In Mozambique every person on the street is seen as a potential friend. Or at least that’s how I felt. In Moz, strangers on the bus will hand you their children to hold if they can’t put all of them on their own lap. I just don’t know if this happens in SA. People are too tweaked out. Again, these are generalizations…my generalizations, so let me know if you feel differently.

Didi, the girl I met on the bus, ended up giving me a ride to my next transportation connection. She bought me a really cold beer, got me some food, offered me a shower at her house, and made sure I had a spot on the bus to Inhambane (the next town I needed to get to before Tofo). Aren’t Mozambiquans nice? So I got on this bus (called a chapa, said: SHAH-pah, but I call it the ‘fun bus’) and was on my way. The bus ride was grueling. 10 hours in hot hot heat (the only wind blowing in the window was like sitting next to a Bill Taylor Kalyx Center original bonfire…shutting the window was actually cooler) and I was cramped into the seat above the rear wheel…so no leg room. But it was the best bus ride I have ever been on in my life. The people in the bus were so friendly and by the end we were all one big family laughing and joking. The man next to me spoke some English and I spoke some Portuguese, so we made it work. He proposed marriage to me a few times before the trip was over (not uncommon in solo travels as a woman), but it was really nice. Not aggressive, just sweet. I still had to decline. A woman in front of me (who joined the bus trip about 30 minutes after we left Maputo) was pretty drunk and an absolute hoot. She sang funny songs about people on the bus (I didn’t understand the words, but could pick up that they were hilarious), made funny suggestive sexual gestures to me for a few hours at the end of the trip (I think it’s more common in Moz to tease people in a very sexual way...), and generally provided comedic relief for the bus. A guy behind me (a friend and wine supplier to the drunk lady) kept giving me wine. It was the worst warm red wine I have ever had, but how can you say no to hospitality? I will eat fried toenails if they are offered to me in a foreign place. It’s like a whole other kind of peer pressure! Another woman on the bus (about my age and traveling with her brother…whom she tried to set me up with) offered to let me stay at her house when we arrived in Inhambane (cos it was about 10pm), but when I insisted I must travel on she organized a ride for me with a man driving in that direction. A few other people on the bus were really concerned about me when we arrived in Inhambane and I really had a choice of places to stay in that town thanks to my chapa family. Altogether, it was a wonderful bus ride I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

One thing I touched upon, but can really illustrate with my bus ride, is the beauty of informal transportation. After about 4 hours on the bus I was thinking…”how the heck am I going to make it 8-10 hours without peeing?” I’m a person with a small bladder that cannot hold it. And I was drinking a lot of water and stuff cos it was hot. But, not to worry. When you are on a bus that is dictated by the people’s needs then you just ask to pee. The bus stops. You get off and pee on the side of the road (or at a gas station if you are lucky) and you travel on. When the bus stops in a town to pick someone up or drop someone off then people crowd around the bus selling everything from cabbage to snacks to cool drinks to fried fish. It’s way better than taking a stupid coach with programmed stops at gas stations with bad or fast food options. At one “stop” I wanted to buy some nuts from a guy on the opposite side of the bus. I asked my marriage-proposing neighbor to get his attention for me. He misunderstood and thought that I wanted to buy tomatoes from another lady. He bought a grocery bag full of tomatoes for himself and one for me. I told him, embarrassed, that I actually wanted nuts. But here he was with 2 big bags of tomatoes. He wasn’t bothered though because he was planning on asking to the bus driver to stop where his family lived (on the way) so he could drop off some things to his sister. He would just give the tomatoes to his sister. So, I’m thinking we will be stopping in some town to hand off the tomatoes. A few hours later we stop in the middle of nowhere in the dark. He shouts “Juliana!” a few times and, presumably, his sister comes up to the bus and grabs the bags of tomatoes and some cloth he bought in Maputo. And then we drove off. That’s the beauty…the bus stops where the people need it to stop. Is the wine finished? “Bus driver, please stop at the next bottle store so we can get more wine.” It’s as simple as that. I think this mode of transportation is so cool because it’s more fluid. Yeah, it took us a few extra hours to get to our destination, but everyone was satisfied on the way. We peed when we needed it. Ate when we needed it. Picked up people where they needed it. Dropped them off where they needed it. That’s the way transportation should work!

So…we arrived in Inhambane (the closest major town to Tofo) around 10pm at night. I was pretty sure that Tofo was close…but I didn’t know how close. One of the people I met on the bus (the girl traveling with her brother) lied and told me in was 2 more hours away. After a bit of research I discovered it was only 30 minutes away. When I confronted her she said she lied to me because it was late and she didn’t want me to travel anymore. She wanted me to stay with her. It was really sweet of her. But in the end, like I said, she organized a ride to the place I needed to go with some guy that was driving in that direction. So, I got in a truck packed with random goods that we brought on the bus from Maputo (televisions, ironing boards, corrugated steel, etc) and was off to Tofo.

After over 24 hours of traveling straight through I arrived in Tofo late at night, found Raoni, and got a place to stay in the dormitories. I was expecting to camp with Raoni cos that is what we have done in the past. But when I arrived and saw him sprawled out in his undies in his hot (and small) tent I just couldn’t disturb him. I really didn’t like staying so far away from him (although it was just on the other side of the property) because I had come here to hang with him, but it all worked out in the end. Later in the week I moved into a tent overlooking the beach and stayed with a really cool German girl called Gundula. After I absorbed a bit into the culture and flow of the place (he had already stayed at this place for almost 2 weeks) we were a team again. Adventures abounded!

For the next week I basically got up to some things balanced with a lot of time on the beach doing nothing. Swimming in the ocean, playing hacky sack, chatting in the sun, napping. My sun tan tells a million stories and speaks in all languages the world has to offer. Just ask it. It will tell you a thing or two. At night I drank beer, danced, and refused the advances of eager Mozambiquan men. During the day we went to Inhambane, walked up the beach, danced, and played. It was wonderful.

Fatima’s Nest is a backpackers that is built on a sand dune right on the beach. How the heck you build a solid structure on a very fluid thing like a sand dune really escapes me, but people do it. The crowd was mostly international mixed in with locals (some of which spoke tons and tons of English…thanks to the massive influence of tourists on the area). It was really cool to be at a place with all sorts of world travelers from all sorts of countries. I met people from Portugal, Italy, Brazil, England, Germany, Australia (by way of Spain), Zimbabwe, South Africa, Canada, Swaziland, USA and we all just generally chilled out and enjoyed the vibe of the beach. I would consider myself a bit of a world traveler and generally this means when you are with your friends at home or with other people you are singled out in this respect. At times, I find it hard to relate to people in this aspect of my life.

“John, you’ve been on the go ever since you were born. But I imagine few people in the world today have traveled as much as you have. Now why?”
“Well, I don’t know. I suppose some of us are cave dwellers, some of us live in houses, some of us like loose footing…I’m a rambling man.”

-“Rambling Man” Lemon Jelly

It was really refreshing to be among “my people.” I met people that had been all over. People that were traveling the world and were just stopping by Mozambique on their way somewhere else. I met a guy that had driven a Land Rover from England overland down the continent of Africa. He has a really cool website that I highly recommend: mafrica.co.uk. Check it out! Beautiful pictures and cool stories peppered with the flavors of adventure. Met people from overseas working in Mozambique. Met an artist from Zimbabwe that was in Moz to sell some of his art. Etc etc. Sometimes when you are among people that haven’t really traveled much you feel sort of special in that respect. But when you are with people that have been doing the same things as you, but in different ways and in different places, you don’t feel special. You are one in crowd of amazing people. It reminded me of a character on the BBC show “Little Britain.” If you haven’t seen this show…get to the internet or your local video shop. It’s absolutely hilarious, if you dig that cool, dry British wit. There’s a character called Darvy that lives in a very small Welsh town and is the “only gay in the village.” He is super flamboyant and very stereotypically gay. He wears tight flashy clothes and has a wannabe trendy clubber haircut. He’s always complaining to this bartender that he’s the “only gay in the village” and how lonely it is. But in each sketch he is confronted with other gay people that have made their way to this small village. He gets all angry and acts funny to them because his image is built up on being the “only gay in the village.” He doesn’t know how to deal with these encounters and instead of being excited that he’s found his people, he shuns them and maintains that HE is the “only gay in the village.” Being around these other international travelers felt like this at times. There have been so many times where I was the “only gay in the village” (which has sort of become a part of who I am) and when I was confronted by all these people like me the natural response was to maintain that I was the “only gay in the village.” And to feel a bit incredulous at the fact that there were other people like me. But the better feeling took over…getting together with your people instead of trying to hold onto your supposed individuality. And this was better because it was nice to swap stories, learn, and enjoy the company of those on the same tip as me. It was also envigorating and inspirational at times to hear about these other vagabundos (Portuguese for vagabond, a favorite word from Raoni) and how they got to be where they are and where they were going. It was a reminder that some people are always taking the path less traveled. This is a reminder we all need sometimes.

I have to speak now about some American kids I met. I don’t really meet Americans that often. I met some Peace Corps volunteers this week in Pretoria, but they are really the first I’ve met in 10 months in Pretoria. I just don’t think Americans, especially students, come to Pretoria. I don’t blame them. If you are going to be in SA for one semester, rather do it near the beach. Cape Town, Durban, etc. Don’t come to Pretoria!! So I met these 20 year old (at best…I think some of them were still 18) American kids who had been studying in Durban. From NY, Iowa, Maine, Maryland. One of them was even wearing a Bud Light T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Whoa, the UIUC Greek system comes rushing back to me. First I thought they were so cute because they are 20. I can tell I’m aging/maturing/getting older, whatever you want to call it, when I meet 20 year olds. Cos I just think to myself “awww…you’re 20 and so full of shit, and it’s so adorable.” I was 20 once and probably just as full of shit. I’m still full of shit, it’s just had a bit more time to decompose and provide my spirit with nutrients. Also two of the kids were hiphoppers, so that was really cool. One of them kicked a really awesome freestyle rhyme for me (I was skeptical at first cos they seemed like wannabe white guys…when will I ever learn?) that incorporated stuff like Marques’ 100 Years of Solitude and other heady topics. Nice! I loved speaking American with them. I realized that I haven’t spoken American in quite some time. That sounds weird, but I talk different here. If I don’t adapt to the way people refer to things here then sometimes people don’t understand me. I can’t use favorite phrases like “kickin’ it” or “salty,” even with people my own age. They just don’t translate. There are some universal slang words that have infiltrated South Africa because of the influence of American music/TV/films…but it’s just not the same as talking to genuine Americans, especially American hiphoppers.

Also my references to certain things don’t really translate here cos people weren’t exposed to the thing I’m referring to. A great example: there’s a song by 50 Cent out right now called “My Buddy” and the hook is “borrowed” from a jingle that was for that doll “My Buddy,” a life-sized doll that you could take wherever you go. Remember? “My buddy, my buddy, wherever I go, he goes too.” And then they came out with the Kid Sister model for girls. So I heard this 50 Cent song for the first time a few weeks ago and just started cracking up because this supposedly “hard” rapper was using the jingle for a giant doll made for boys in his thugged out rap song. 50 Cent’s buddy is his gun…but I know the truth. He must have a life-size boy doll somewhere in one of his closets. My friends here think this is such a cool hard core song. I just have to laugh. They don’t know the cultural context of the hook 50 Cent uses, so to them it has no other meaning than what 50 Cent puts to it. It’s very interesting sometimes. But it also means that sometimes people don’t understand my jokes.

Random story: One of the American kids (Patrick) came up to me in the bar one night and was like “Lynsee, I just heard this crazy story about a monkey and I think that you are the only person that will appreciate it.” So he proceeded to tell me some random hilarious story about this guy he had just met that had a monkey he couldn’t get rid of. The guy was moving back to South Africa and had to get rid of the monkey, but no one would buy it…and so on. It was a really funny story and I dig having that effect on people. That they feel they can just come up to me and relate strange stories. Cool!

The locals at Fatima’s were also really interesting. It was strange to speak in English to little kids selling food and bracelets on the beach and to the people that ran the activities and operations at Fatima’s. But also really cool because a lot of times when you go to a place where English isn’t the first or second language then you miss out on a lot of explanation and flavor of what people in that place are really getting up to. You kind of have to guess when you have questions about cultural items. It was cool to be able to relate to people my own age that lived in another place. But also this does mean that tourism has had a major impact on the lives of people in that area. Depending on your view of things, this can be good and bad. Bad because it means that since tourists run the economy then their wishes and desires run a lot of stuff. The locals lose some control in this aspect. Bad because catering to tourists means bowing to them instead of them bowing to you. Bad because I tend to see a higher value placed on foreign things (culture, music, etc) rather than appreciating what local flavor has to offer. But I guess this happens all over the world. The grass is always greener, right? Bad because some weird things happen like young guys trying to get with foreign women for their money. I sort of picked up on this, but Raoni got a better chance to talk to the guys that worked for the backpackers (in Portuguese) and they told him some things I wasn’t privy to. All I can say is that I’m glad I didn’t kiss any of those guys! Good because it means people have jobs and money is coming into the place where it might not otherwise be. People from Tofo will braid your hair on the beach, sell you food and bracelets (the kids that do this are SUPER shrewd business men), show you around the place, hike up their prices to near Zimbabwean inflation levels, etc. Good because even though a lot of times the influence of foreigners on a place can be negative, there is still a cultural exchange going both ways…and that’s always a beautiful thing. While we were in Tofo there was this big celebration put on by the tourism board in the province for “O Dia Mundial de Turismoooooooooooo.” Which means World Tourism Day. There was tons of dancing, some weird beauty contest, singing, home-cooked food, and was a really good time. But it was sort of strange to be in this small small town and celebrating tourism on such a grand scale. Tourism does funny things to a place…

I think the coolest local guy I met (and wish I had spoken to more) was a guy named Bumbo. He worked at the backpackers behind the bar and always had shirts written in Thai. This was the most confusing thing I picked up on. He played his drum on the beach everyday all alone and as far away from people as he could reasonably get. He was quiet and wasn’t trying to chat up all the foreign ladies in the place. I did speak to him a bit later and it was really interesting. He apparently spent some time in Thailand just because he wanted to go there and try something new. He said he got frustrated in Mozambique because the people there were satisfied with just doing the same thing everyone else was doing. People weren’t doing new things, thinking new things, creating. Does this sound familiar? I am feeling the same in Pretoria, so it was interesting to relate to Bumbo in this way. It gave me something to think about. Kindred spirits are everywhere I guess…you just have to look beneath the surface. They are the quiet ones walking softly, but carrying a big stick.

Another local person to mention is Johnny Cash. I don’t actually know his real name. He just calls himself Johnny Cash and wears a Tshirt of the Man in Black. I wonder how he got that name. Does he know the music? I don’t really know. Johnny Cash is one of the kids on the beach that are a constant presence. He’s probably about 12 years old. I shrugged off most bracelet advances, because I was there to chill…not buy stuff. But you can only say no for so long. Johnny Cash was the first one to win me over. He kept trying to sell me a bracelet w/2 cowrie shells that he promised could tell time if only I would buy it. It would only start to tell time once I bought it. It wasn’t the prettiest bracelet in his pile, but I dug his selling approach and after a few days I bought it. It was a fun joke to “tell time” from my “watch” when someone would ask me what time it was. Mostly I think people just thought I was crazy though. It’s good to have a watch that tells cowrie shell time…it’s a much more relaxed schedule compared to that schedule cluttered with numbers that we all seem to be running on.

Gosh, I’m up to 12 pages on Microsoft Word and I still have so many things to say about Mozambique. I’ve only scratched the surface. I think I’ll have to stop soon, for fear of losing you. But stick with me while I relate a few more things about Moz!

I have never been called fat as often I was called fat in Mozambique. In the USA being called fat by someone is a HUGE (pun intended) no no. People will go out of their way to describe someone as “husky” or “big-boned” instead of using the dreaded F word. If someone does call you fat…those are fighting words. You just don’t do it. In Moz, though, it’s okay to call people fat. It’s sort of a nice thing. A way to affectionately tease someone. In Portuguese (and Spanish) the word for fat (like when describing a person) is “gorda” (for a woman) and “gordo” (for a man). A lot of people would come up to me and say “Hey, you are fat.” One lady in the market used it to get me to come and buy nuts from her stand. She came up to me and said “hey, you’re fat. Come over here and try my nuts. You will like them. You should buy some.” Okay…that’s a new selling tactic. I really enjoyed this though, but mostly because it was a way to make a joke and engage in more Portuguese talking. In Portuguese there is a suffix that adds a cute or affectionate spin to a word. The suffix is “-inha” (woman) or “inho” (man). It’s like in Spanish w/ “-ita” or “-ito.” In Spanish, “chiquita” is a cute affectionate word for a feminine thing (like a little girl) that is small. So if someone would call me gorda I would just say to them “I’m not gorda…I’m gordinha” and I would do a little dance that said “I’m all that and a bag of chips.” It is a guaranteed crowd-pleaser! A guy that was trying to pick me up also called me gorda, so I used my line on him. He also liked to call me “Fofa.” Which means squishy (like a spongy cake) or doughy. “Fofo” for a man. I would also say to him “nao fofa, fofinha.” Nao means no or not. It always brings out a laugh J I remember in Nicaragua also being called fat (at one backpackers I stayed at they called me gordita w/glasses), but nowhere near the level I heard it in Mozambique. It was cool because it made light of something that is taken way too seriously by me and my own society.

“Who cares if hair is long or short or straight or partly gray?
We know that hair ain’t where it’s at.
There will come a time when you won’t even be ashamed if you are fat.”

-Frank Zappa, from the album “We are only in it for the money”

Wow, so many more things to say about Mozambique, but I think I’m going to stop here and left things unsaid. Maputo is a really cool, tired-looking old city. Brazilians have the coolest Portuguese swear words. The best place to eat food is at the market cos the food is cheap, you get a lot of it, and someone’s mom is usually cooking for you. There’s a really interesting history in Mozambique that I recommend reading about. It involves treachery, deception, ultimatums, and eventually a people’s triumph. There was a civil war going on in Mozambique (perpetuated by the Rhodesian/ex-colonial regime in Zim and the apartheid South African government…sort of parallel to what happened in Nicaragua c/o the USA in the 1970s-80s) that lasted into the 1990s, although the country gained its independence in 1975. The country is coming back slowly. There are still landmines in some places in the countryside. People are, overall, living in poverty and the infrastructure in the place is pretty crap. But…the take home message is that Mozambiquans are the nicest people on the planet (well, that I’ve met so far anyways). You will feel happy and warm there and not just because you are at the beach getting a suntan…

If you haven’t already been…check out my Moz photos at:

I have photos there that I took, photos from Raoni, and photos from one of our friends, Gundula. There are also new photos in the general photos album, Rotary album (my picture w/the new DG and his wife), as well as new “Day in the Life” photos (at the end of the Day in the Life album). So what are you waiting for?

Keep the faith, and spread it gently

Love
Lynsee