Doing the Happy Dance

The Great Depression of 2008 has ended here in Quelimane! With the arrival of Carolyn, the anthropologist working with FGH in Nashville, came the arrival of my new debit card. This last month has been what I consider to be a character-building experience. I'd like to take a moment to thank those who have helped me avoid insanity and malnourishment:

1. My lovely mom--She has been my advocate and has spent many hours on the phone harassing the bank people on my behalf. Not only that, but she has listened to my frustration-induced rants. Without her hard work, I'd still be moneyless.
2. The Bank of Amy--my sugarmama and source of no interest loans.
3. God--for making rice so cheap and filling.
4. The district of Nicoadala--the pineapple capital of the world. Thank you for selling delicious pineapples for less than a dollar a piece.
5. FGH--for having a week long training session for new employees here at the office and every day allowing me to eat the leftovers from lunch.
6. The Furuma Family--our Moçambican family who reminds us of the Cosby's. Thank you for charging us cheap rent and for giving us delicious ata fruit from your tree. And thank you for inviting us to your family wedding this weekend. (For real, we're going to our first Moçambican wedding on Saturday! We got a formal invite last night.)

Lost in Translation

Last Sunday I made a reverse house call to Troy, the pediatric infectious disease doctor who runs FGH here. Chivalry apparently being dead (kidding Troy! thanks for your help!), Amy and I hobbled over to his house so I could take a rapid malaria test. Sitting at his kitchen table while Troy pricked my finger to get a couple drops of blood for the test, he asked me the usual battery of doctor's questions. Each time I got to answer "no," Amy and I would high-five and add whatever it was to the list of things that were functioning well in my body: kidneys were working (bonus), heart was tickin', and my brain appeared to be working until:
Troy: Have you been drinking?
Me, without hesitation: No, but this morning I felt like I had a bit of a hangover.
Troy: No, you moron! Water. Have you been drinking water?!

Ata? Isso!

In a move so bold it would have made Martha Stewart's head spin, I have MacGyvered the ultimate Mozambican frozen desert: frozen ata custard. Between our house and the main house, there resides a little fruit tree that produces the delicious and perplexing ata fruit. You know Ernest Scared Stupid? (sidenote for Hannah: there aint no trees in Botswana. I know! I am a Botswanian lumberjack, and I aint never had a job.) The pods that the trolls grow in that hang from the trees? Ata looks like that, only spikey. Kind of like a big green spikey pear that is as big as my head. And you peel it like an orange to reveal a mooshy, stringy white pulp that tastes exactly like a green apple Air Head. So I mooshed a couple ata in a bowl, added a can of sweetened condensed milk, which ensured the recipe's success, and some creme. Then just mixed it up and threw it in the freezer and presto! You've got frozen ata fruit custard!

Malawi-wowwi

Just thought I'd add some lovely pictures from our recent excursion to Malawi. Crossing the border from Milange (Mozambique) to Mulange (Malawi) is like going from Tijuana to the US. You can just feel the GDP rising. And all of a sudden, you're driving on perfectly paved roads that weave through fragrant fields of tea next to breathtaking mountains. And then we got to Blantrye, which is like a cross between Harlem and the financial district of NYC. There appeared to be a middle class and Amy and I felt comfortable walking around without fear of being mugged or shot. It was liberating!

Malawi is a former British colony, so the official language is English. Some of the more amusingly named businesses include:
1. Hip Hop Barber Shop
2. Chris's Shop...Probably the Best Place
3. Skyway Boozing Den
4. G-Unit Club

I LOVE CAPITALISM

There's a group of about 10 people from Vanderbilt here this week. Trying to start a new project/collaboration within FGH that involves the business school, divinity school, anthropology department, and microloans and economic development. We met with them this morning, and I can't wipe the grin off my face. I'm not quite sure how to express what I'm feeling right now about capitalism and all the good that comes with empowering people to run their own lives and have the freedom to succeed. Not the guarantee, but the possibility. That little shred of hope and optimism. I'm seriously at a loss as to how I can express my current state of elation. Maybe I'll write a poem...or do an interpretive dance...or make up a song on my harmonica.

Work your magic

Saturday I went to Inhassunge for a meeting with about 20 curanderos, the term for witchdoctors, or if you want to be p.c. "traditional healers." I totally expected a group of pierced and tattooed individuals to emerge from the fields of palm trees and mandioca and arrive at the clinic wearing traditional dress and carrying eye of newt and chicken bones. Instead, about 10 men and 10 women showed up wearing t-shirts, blue jeans, and dresses. Turns out the curanderos in Mozambique have their own formal organization and governing body, sort of like the AMA. They also have a couple branches of practice: one group focuses on praying and casting out evil spirits, the other group works with herbs and remedies. Kind of like their version of medicine and surgery.

We set up shop under a tin roof, and the meeting commenced in the usual Mozambican fashion...everyone stands up and introduces themselves, we do a little chanting and clapping, and then someone starts singing and the whole place turns into a dance party for about 5 minutes.

The point of the meeting was to discuss HIV and TB with the curanderos in the hope of forming some sort of alliance with regards to patient care. So, when people get sick here, they go see the curandero, not the doctor or nurse at the clinic. As a result, people tend to resort to western medicine only when they are deathly ill, and many cases of HIV and TB go undiagnosed until it is too late. So we discussed what causes these two diseases, how they are transmitted, what the symptoms are, and what we do to treat them. Then we asked them that if they see a person with symptoms X, Y, and Z, they need to send the person to see us.

One of the most interesting parts was when the curanderos described what they believe about these diseases. Examples:
--When someone in a household dies, the curandero goes to the house to perform some sort of rituals. If someone in the house takes one of the possessions of the deceased person before the rituals are performed, that person will get TB.
--When someone in a household dies, the members of the household or family have to wait one week before having sex. If they don't, then they'll get TB.
--HIV can be transmitted by bad spirits.
--HIV is a curable disease.

Another interesting thing: we had bottles of pop at lunch. And before the curanderos drank it, they poured a drop out on the ground "for the spirits." It reminded me of pouring a little out for our fallen comrades.

When the meeting ended, we packed in the truck and headed down the bumpy dirt road for an hour, en route to the dock. 2 in the front, 4 in the back, and about 12 in the truck bed...singing, clapping, and chanting of course. The driver stopped the truck next to a field of mandioca. I looked outside and saw a couple of the twiggly trunks rocking back and forth. Then all of a sudden I saw a little furry face pop up from the side of the road and look at us. It was a monkey! The whole field was filled with little wild monkeys! This was a real rarity, since most animals in Mozambique were killed during the civil war.

The Great Depression

There are many things about my childhood for which I am eternally grateful. One being that I was raised by parents who were brought up with a Great Depression Era mentality, which was then passed on to me. Now, years of training on how to live frugally are paying off. Since Amy and I have only a small amount of money to live off for who knows how long, we made a list of needs/not needs/rations. As we constructed this list, Amy's face began to melt and I think she may have even shed a single tear. Turns out, Amy has expensive tastes and was not raised in a household that had a bomb shelter-esque room in the basement filled with non-perishables that were bought in bulk once a year when Meijer had their huge sale.

Needs: rice, beans (dried...canned is too expensive), coconuts, bread

Not Needs: restaurants, cheese, milk, chocolate, peanut butter, nutella, instant coffee, and frivolous shopping

Rations: jelly, butter, beer, diet coke

...the adventure continues