Poetry

Amone, a health worker for FGH, and I sat on my porch and talked for a bit last week. During our conversation, poetry came up, and he offered to write a poem for me. I should’ve seen the red flag there and tell him no thanks, but I am narcissistic and enjoy the idea of poems dedicated in my honor. It didn’t cross my mind that it would be a poem about me, which speaks a lot about my own naivity. It is a Mozambican male that I’m dealing with. A few days later, I received two poems, neatly written out on A4 paper. One compares me to a rose, “tua beleza é incomparável”. The other mentions the smell of my hair, more specifically, how the smell of my hair kills him. At no point during our conversations has he hit on me or suggested that we namorar. And now I have two poems that say that I am the fire that burns his soul. Granted, it is a Mozambican male that I’m dealing with, who tend to use very romantic language, and I’m looking at this in the eyes of an American. There are a lot of people who insist that sort of language is just friendly, but when I ask Dio and Quadrado they shake their heads furiously and say that there are definitely ulterior motives.

Amone went to high school during the civil war and had some really interesting things to say about it; on his walk to school it was common to find dead bodies dumped on the side of the street; every once in a while soldiers would come into classrooms and murder teachers in front of their students; the usual war atrocities. Renamo and Frelimo, ying and yang. They wanted the same thing; control, but their tactics were on opposite sides of the spectrum; Frelimo’s construction to Renamo’s destruction. Frelimo built schools and orphanages. Renamo murdered whomever they could find, pillaged houses, destroyed road systems, burnt down homes and schools (complete with students and teachers). They meant to weaken the standing government so they could stick their military boot in the door, but they only succeeded in creating a stigma behind Renamo, ensuring that they will never be elected into power. Presently, they are the only opposing party, political pork, but they fail every election year and they will until the older generation dies off and people start to forget. How could they be elected when the velhos still have the physical scars of Renamo’s brutality? Quadrado’s dad was attacked at home by Renamo soldiers. They tried to cut off his head with a machete, but he blocked the hit with his arm and has a nasty scar from wrist to elbow to prove it. Then the soldiers burnt down their house, with his young sister inside. She escaped, but barely. Renamo was also secretly supported by a few major world powers; S.A., the good old U.S. of A. Frelimo was socialist, and Renamo was “democratic”. So, the States funded what was essentially a terrorist organization. What strong morals we have. We’re curiously selective when it comes to our country’s moral values.
Frelimo eventually went democratic anyway, fueled by capitalism. Our influence works all by itself, without us needing to meddle in wars.

My nephews are here, playing with the puppies. They spend more time at our house these days that their own. Valerio is 10, and extremely considerate. He wants to be a nurse one day, and has the heart for it. Brain for it, too. When Vivaldo is too demanding, Valerio comes behind to put a verbal band-aid on the situation. Vivaldo is 7, and his name is his person, “vivacious”. He’s sweet, but strong. He’ll be a government figure one day. They often bring a friend, usually Elton who is small and quiet and slower. They come every day to play with the puppies, to draw, to visit Tia Jessica. Vivaldo was a little aggressive towards Quadrado at first, but I think it was a male thing. He quite obviously admires him and just wants Quadra to like him. They feel his absence when he’s sleeping or needing personal time. The other day Valerio drew a hilarious, homoerotic picture of a man lounging shirtless on a couch, complete with abs and pecs, and someone above him with a film camera. He explained that Quadrado was a model and I was filming him. I asked to keep it. Good kids. They offered to light my charcoal earlier, and now they’re sorting beans.

School did not start this week, so I’ve spent my time with the kids or playing with the puppies (so cute). Yesterday, Quadrado and I went to the river to wash our clothes. In the afternoon, the kids and I watched Bolt, with Portuguese subtitles of course. Today is special food day, so I’m going to buy a chicken and we’re going to make typical Mozambican restaurant food; grilled chicken, French fries, and cabbage salad. Maybe I’ll make cookies for desert, though I’ve gained a kilo or two due to constant craving for chocolate cake. Dangerous.