I am back in Ile. The new year has started off … well, I’m in Mozambique. The same surreal cocktail of shock/awe, rockstar-status, “Estou a vir, rato” applies. I came back to Ile on the 3rd to find my place broken into and a suitcase gone. They stole my dictionary, the bastards. I don’t know the word for broom, and I’m desperate for one. A Mozambican friend gave me a makeshift broom made out of dried twigs, but it just doesn’t get the rat poo out of corners well enough to satisfy me. Despite the theft, it ended up being a pretty good day.
In Gurúe, on the 1st of the new year, Allison, Stacey, and I got lost in a beautiful barrio that sits on the edges of a valley, in the depression of which is a waterlogged rice patty. A local offered to lead us out. Her name was Sarah, and her shortcuts were dangerous. We had to tightrope walk across a tree trunk bridge over a fairly deep crevice. On our way out, a little girl who was walking up the incline saw us, started bawling, and almost tripped over herself as she waddled back down the hill to her family. Everyone involved, including her family, laughed hysterically. The same thing happened to me today, except it was a lot less funny. I have a favorite loja in town run by a friendly man from Bangladesh. Today, his little girl sat on the counter, and started to cry when she saw me. If you’ve never seen a white person before, it could be frightening.
I am eating frozen pineapple, and it’s the sweetest, most delicious candy you’ll ever taste. I’ve affirmed my suspicion that I have a mild citric acid allergy, but that will never prevent me from eating fresh fruit. I can’t wait for avocado season.
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Encountering people who have never seen someone remotely like you sounds incredibly intense. I can't decide whether I think everyone should have that experience or that no one should ever have to.
My family moved to a tiny Alabama town when I was five days old and we moved back to my hometown when I was about five. There apparently were not many, if any black people where I spent the first years of my life because my mom told me that shortly after we moved back, I ran bawling to her that a chocolate boy had stolen my bicycle and was riding it around the trailer park we were living in at the time.
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