You'd be surprised

Today is women’s day. All morning, I stood (and then sat) through speeches and about how women are valuable members of society. After the speeches, groups of women danced and sang about Josina Mucher. Professor Ruben leaned in close and explained to me that she was a proponent of women’s rights, and that the 7th of April is the anniversary of her death. He said a lot of other things about her that I didn’t catch because I was too busy concentrating on his proximity. Eventually, Eli and I were discovered and commanded to come up to the “stage” area and sit on chairs with the rest of the bigwigs, as my colleagues looked on from the crowd. As soon as we were pulled up, I knew that somehow, I’d inevitably be forced to dance. And, I was.
I don’t know how they do it.

This morning was conselhos de notas, and instead of having to sit for hours in the hot and crowded teacher’s room (known as “sala de professores” to my colleagues), I simply turned in my grades and walked out. I was ecstatic. Thunder is rolling in the distance, and gray clouds have managed to covertly sneak their way into a blue sky when I wasn’t paying attention, and I’d much rather be home when the storm hits – to collect the drips with buckets. Also, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to fill a water bucket with rainwater. It always gives me a sense of accomplishment. Look how much water I don’t have to go to the well for now. Well, more appropriately, look how much water I don’t have to pay someone to go to the well for now.

Before I moved to Mozambique, my sister (who am I kidding, it was me)… I had a tendency to work into the conversation with whichever bank teller or supermarket clerk or homeless person who was being paid to interact with me that I would soon be living here – in the gorgeous, often ignored Southern hemisphere. The conversation usually started like this:

Weary Target Employee/Philly Crack Addict: Good morning.
Me: I’m moving to Africa soon!

Once, it was – in fact – my sister who initiated the conversation, and the lady went on for an uncomfortable period of time about how “Africa needs their wells”. I’m fairly certain at one point she just gave up explaining and said, “Wells wells wells wells.” Well, Mozambique has wells. What we need is running water. Maybe she should send her kids to Africa to supply my house (and my neighbors, of course – I am a humanitarian) with indoor plumbing. I'm not actually concerned with my house having running water - I've been doing just fine without it. I am, however, concerned about Ile's hospital. Pamela and Riley – Ile’s NGO workers – are generously fixing the town’s water pipes (Ile had all sorts of cool amenities like running water and road systems before the civil war), so the hospital will have a water supply. Yes. Our hospital does not have a water supply. It doesn’t even have a tap. Can you imagine a hospital functioning without water? The hospital staff is made up of many superstars.

Speaking of stars, when I’m falling asleep at night, I often watch a particularly bright star through my window that twinkles aggressively, occasionally blinking red. I'm still thrilled that I can see practically every. star. in. the. milky way. I am so far from Philly, where it was a good night if you saw one. Yesterday, when I was checking on dinner down at Renee’s bachelor pad, I forced him to look at the dying star with me and to listen to a lecture about the speed of light. I waxed quixotic about how the sky is like a map of the past. It was the stuff hallmark cards are made out of. I don’t know if he’d agree.
Thinking back on it, it was more like an episode of Star Trek than a hallmark card. I even waved my hand across the sky for emphasis while I said, “The sky is like a map-of-the-past”. I sincerely hope that it was a one-time Captain Kirk moment. Renee is a good sport.

Eli and I were talking about how clever he is – Renee, not Captain Kirk. He knows exactly which of us to go to in order to get what he wants. For some reason, he thinks that I’ll give him things like cigarettes and liquor… which is more of a reflection on me than him. He also asks me for stuff like chocolate milk powder and money when he’s run out. I’m apparently the sympathetic ear – the trailer trash mom in our dysfunctional family. Renee is really responsible, so I don’t mean to imply that he’s a bad kid for asking me for liquor and smokes (or that I am in possession of them). He is every teenage boy. He neither drinks nor smokes, but who can blame him for being curious? So, when he has a headache and needs compremidos, he comes to me (and I tell he needs to drink more water before I give him ibuprofen). When he runs out of his food money for the week, he comes to me (and I tell him to learn how to manage his money better). When he wants to see if he can handle heart or liver disease, he comes to me (and I tell him, “Hell no” or, “That’s my Amarula, and you can’t have any”). When he needs something more technical, he goes to Paul. And, when he wants to have a more than superficial conversation, I suspect he goes to Eli. Eli is good at saying “No” - if I’m the mommy, then she’s the father figure - but one day – Eli hypothesizes – he’ll go behind Momma’s back and ask Daddy.