1,000 Words

I realize now that the first time I was in Mozambique I was never fully able to shake off the shock of being in a place, culture, climate, language, and society that was is different from my own. It was as if the intensity of all of this left me in a perpetual state of claustrophobia, which permeated all spaces except for that between my ears. Though the noise lessened over 2 years, it never fully muted. This time around it has just been easier. I know what to expect. I know how to read between the lines in a cultural that values non-confrontation. I know that a meeting scheduled for 8am really won’t begin until 10:30 so it’s best to bring a book along. I know that laughter that might seem intentionally directed at someone and offensive is nothing more than laughter. I know that I am watched every time I step foot out of my house and that my skin color makes it almost impossible for some people to consider me equal, regardless of what I say, do or feel.

However what I have not been able to do yet is to post some pictures of this place where I work and live; my slow connection has thus far prevented this. So here are 1,000 words instead.

In the corner of a 2m x 3m room there is a foam mattress resting on top of a bamboo mat on the floor. The sheets are bright blue with gaudy gold flowers and probably need to be washed. Just above the mattress is a small barred window on the front of the house, which is left perpetually open to cool off the room and allow for some sleep. The room is longer than it is wide so as I get up each morning I walk past a line of items currently just on the floor: stacks of books, a medical kit, rain boots, 2 duffel bags and a bottle of South African wine. Suspended from the rafters, just below the tin roof is a length of bamboo on which hang shirts and pants. Besides that the only thing not on the floor is a John Deere cap (unknowingly donated by my father in-law), which hangs off the only nail in the wall. The mattress is pulled a few inches from the wall because the cement covering the walls is weak and each time you touch the wall a small shower of sand falls to the floor, or onto my bed. In the far left hand corner opposite my pillow is the doorway leading to the next room, which like my bedroom also has one light bulb. Mozambicans are not a people known for their height; the threshold passes an inch above my head., but I’ve grown accustomed to pass through without ducking. The next room is the sitting room, but it is about a third as big as the bedroom so currently it contains a bike and some shoes; that may change once the rains begin. The wooden front door leads out of the house and onto the porch where a single light bulb hangs. Directly in front (north) are two steps that go down into the yard; the covered porch continues to the right for another 2 meters. There is another door on the same wall as my front door that opens into a kitchen that is just as wide, but less deep than my bedroom. If it were empty it would no more resemble a kitchen than a bedroom. There are not counters or a sink, or a fridges, or cabinets, or appliances. It’s just a room named kitchen as if a name alone creates the space. I have gathered some kitchen-like objects. There are 4 plastic buckets of varying sizes and colors holding water, which was carried from a well two houses over. There is a small bamboo table holding all manners of food, spices, herbs and a water filter. There is a woven bamboo 3-tiered shelf (round and 4ft tall) with purple accents holding plates, tupperware, onions, and tomatoes. There is a sack of charcoal on the floor next to a simple small iron charcoal stove that is only used outside. Next to it lie a few pans and bits of cardboard. The room also has one window facing the side of the house but its rarely open because there is no reason to stay in the kitchen for more than 5 minutes at a time. The porch is just deep enough to sit in a chair with feet up on the front railing. The whole house is made of bricks that were formed from the dirt in that yard, mortar and all, with some wooden beams to support the thin tin roof. Walking off the porch there is a yard surrounded entirely by a bamboo fence with 2 gates: one to the right that a car could pass through and a smaller one in the corner behind the kitchen. Just inside the main gate is a large papaya tree with fruit only accessible by the swinging of a long bamboo. Tied to the tree is one end of a clothesline with parallels the length of the fence down to the opening of the bathroom. The yard has not one speck of grass, just hard red sandy soil and bits of charcoal and ash discarded from the previous night’s cooking. This is the preferred style and is considered ‘clean.’ To maintain this, the yard is swept every morning and in fact it is the sound of the neighbors sweeping their yards with bundles of branches just before dawn that most often wakes me up. Walking off the porch and turning left on the side of the house is a large mango tree a couple months shy of ripe fruit. In its shade it is a small bamboo table anchored into the ground. About 3 meters in front of the table is the un-doored entrance to a structure that consists entirely of tin sheets (about 5 feet tall) nailed to wooden posts with no roof. As you enter there is a brief corridor, then on each side a room; to the left is an enclosed space with a cement floor and a hole in the middle; to the right is a space with a dirt floor embedded with rocks on one of which lays a bar of soap. This structure sits in the corner of the yard opposite the small back gate and from it you can easily peer over into the neighbor’s yard. Running enthusiastically and perpetually throughout the yard is 3-month old puppy named Marcelino. His paw prints can be seen everywhere including in the new vegetable garden directly below the bedroom window. Though the fence is complete there are plenty of puppy-sized gaps between the stalks of bamboo and Marcelino eagerly makes use of them all especially when you want to go somewhere without him; only a handful of dried fish will keep him distracted long enough to make an escape. In the spectrum of houses here, this one is above average. Surrounding it on most sides are narrow dirt paths leading to smaller single-room bamboo houses sitting in the shadows of unfinished brick houses. Mango and papaya trees fill in the gaps.