Last Saturday, the second Islam seminar finally took place. The first one was on March 7th, and was led by two converts from Islam, and coordinated by Kevin for his students.  He’s been planning the second one for awhile, but it had to be canceled twice for various reasons. But last Saturday, it went off without a hitch, led by the same two converts along with Kevin.  This one focused on a lot more practical topics (the last one talked about what Muslims believe and that kind of thing) and it was neat for Kevin to see his students in groups discussing how to talk to their Muslim neighbors.  Here, probably 35% of the population is Muslim, and most follow a kind of folk Islam and don’t really understand a lot of it.  Out on the coast, almost everybody is Muslim, and there is a great deal of hostility toward Christians in many areas. Colleagues of ours have been stoned when sharing the gospel, and living among the coastal peoples can very tricky.  The ideal people to share Christ with the Muslims here are their friends and neighbors, but frequently the idea doesn’t even enter into the minds of the local Christians.  Through these seminars, Kevin hopes to give his students the information that they need along with the vision to share Christ’s love with these people. – C

Manioc is one of the main staple foods here.  I wish we could say that we like it, but unfortunately we don’t!  I think that it is not really the favorite food of people here, either, but it is a staple because there is an ability to dry it and keep it for many months.  At the top you can see a photo of it, just dug up.  It can be peeled and eaten raw, which is it’s tastiest form, or it can be cooked and eaten.  Mostly, it is peeled and laid out to dry on rooftops, then stored for future use.  In its dried state, it is pounded into a powder and then sprinkled in boiling water to make a porridge.  

Here’s another photo of a lady digging it up – it is the roots of a plant that can be seen in the last photo. It is a good dry-weather plant – it just doesn’t grow as fast without rain, but doesn’t die.  You see these plants all over the place – they don’t yield a lot of food (the photo pictures all that is gained from one plant) but it doesn’t require any care.  The leaves are also part of the diet here, and these are prepred by pounding them with a large mortar and pestle until they are in tiny pieces, then they are cooked up in a stew with onions, tomatoes, garlic, coconut milk, peanut flour, or any combination of the above. That dish is called matapa:  it is full of iron, and we ask our house worker to make it occasionally because we really like it.

The Bible says “Do not store up treasures for yourselves here on earth” and I think of that often as I look at the situation of people here.  It is not possible to store food long-term, except for manioc really.  You can sometimes store rice, and peanuts, but frequently the bugs and rats get to them.  I have tried various times to store food long-term, buying when it is cheaper, but things go bad so quickly.  Potatoes cannot be stored, because it is not cold enough, and things get moldy and soft pretty quickly.  Last year I kept onions for several months after buying in bulk, and these had to be laid out in the sun every week to kill the mold that wanted to grow on them.

So, it is understandable why people grow and eat manioc.  Unfortunately, the starch is not very nutritious, and is mainly used as a way to fill the belly.  There are quite a few people who don’t understand that children need to eat more than just manioc or corn porridge, and as a result, one of the local NGO’s estimates that 75% of the children of Nampula are malnourished.  We also try to tell people that we know that children (and adults, too) need a wider variety in their diet, but for poor people it can be a bit difficult.

So, manioc it is.  -C

Last Saturday, a friend and I planned a mini-retreat for the expatriate ladies of Nampula, at a picnic spot outside of town.  This place is really the only place I know of within 100 miles that you can go and sit outside in a pretty location and not be surrounded by wide-eyed children watching your every move.  We had a potluck lunch, with chicken donated by a kind single man, and then spent a couple of hours guided by my friend Cathy in some spiritual rejuvination.  It really was so pleasant, and I especially liked seeing everyone relaxing and enjoying each other’s company.  We had women from various countries, including USA, Canada, Holland, Zimbabwe, Swaziland, South Africa, Germany, and probably some others I can’t think of.

Here’s a photo of some of them arriving – we had 37 ladies at the event.

The expat women of Nampula face various challenges, many of which I have outlined on this blog, and we hope to have more of this kind of thing in future to encourage them as they try to support and implement various ministries and outreach programs.  – C

Inacio is our part-time guard, and he got married last weekend.  We were so pleased to be able to attend his wedding, and I’ll upload some photos here.

The church was decorated with paper chains and cutouts, some from English magazines.

The groom arrives first and sits on a plastic chair covered with a piece of cloth.  The bride and groom look totally miserable during the whole wedding.  They are supposed to look that way to convey the seriousness of the event.

Here’s the bride and groom sitting next to each other after taking their vows.  Now they are allowed to hold hands, but they still don’t look at each other.  They didn’t look at each other during the vows, either.  They are flanked by their “godfather and godmother”.  This is a couple who stays next to them during the whole wedding and who are to serve as their role models, advisors and counselors.  The godparents guide them in everything they are to do during the wedding, and even show them how to kiss each other, after they are married.  That part was quite fun!

The service lasted several hours, and included the vows, the blessing, signing of the license, and a sermon on marriage that lasted over an hour.  The boys did great, and sat on chairs looking at books and such.  They really have adjusted to sitting in church here.  We didn’t leave the church until after 1 pm, after arriving at 8:30 am.  Bride and groom didn’t show until closer to 10 am, though.

After they left the church and were driven (in our car) to the drop-off point, capulanas (the traditional cloth that is used for skirts, for wraps, for everything) were laid on the ground so the bride and groom’s feet wouldn’t touch the dirt.  After they passed, the capulana would be picked up and brought to the front of the line.  You can see one being thrown here.

Entrance to the wedding was strictly controlled, as apparently people try to sneak into weddings here so they can get a free lunch (which is a big deal).  The yard is cordoned off, and a bamboo structure made with black plastic on top to keep the sun off the revelers.  Long tables are set up, with benches.  We were part of the head tables and had plastic chairs.  As we ate, about 60 people stood and watched us from over the chest-high fence.  Somehow it just takes your appetite away to have people stare at you while you eat.  It is something we are getting used to, though!  It was a big deal to have white people at the wedding, something which conveys the idea that we have some grand importance.  We don’t, but some people here believe that we do since we represent money and power.  Sigh.

Anyway, here is a photo of the bride presenting a piece of cake to her mother and telling her that she is leaving her house and now all of the work she did for her like laundry and cooking, she will now do for her husband.  It was a very touching moment.

Another interesting part of the celebration was the feeding of the cake by the bride and groom.  The groom lays his head on the bride’s shoulder, and vice versa, and she feeds him a piece of cake while the master of ceremonies talks about how when he is sick and weak, she will care for him.  Here is Inacio with his new wife.

After the meal, which was some very excellent chicken and rice and cookies and cake, it was time for some dancing.  The second seating of guests were busy eating their rice and beans (head table people get a better meal), since there was limited seating, and the wedding party (only men) got up and did some dancing.  Kevin and Toby kicked it up a little, which was enjoyed by all.

It was a wonderful wedding, and we are so pleased for Inacio and his bride as they start their new life together.  He is about 27 years old and she is about 19 (normal age for a girl to marry, if not a little old).  He is just finishing high school this year (thanks to our sponsorship) and she is in 7th grade and likely won’t get much further once the children come.  Normal for here.  They are a committed Christian couple and we look forward to observing their life together. – C

Yesterday, our neighbors brought us some really nice fish, fresh from the coast (2 1/2 hours away). I don’t know what kind it was, but it was a nice light one, not too fishy. Perhaps a kind of snapper.

Anyway, I’ve been meaning to post with photos of some of the tools I use in my kitchen and thought this would be a good time. I made coconut fish yesterday, with a recipe given to me by a Mozambican lady in Beira (further south).

First, you start with the rice. Here, we eat only “machamba rice”. A machamba is a garden, but in people’s gardens they grow everything. It is much bigger than an American garden, generally. Manioc, peanuts, beans, tomatoes, lettuce, you name it. And quite a few people have rice machambas. We buy this “fresh” rice, which is dried but is much fresher than the stuff you buy in plastic packaging at the store. And ooooohhh is it good!

Anyway, to prepare it, first you put it out in a flat basket (pictured) to sort out any rocks, bugs, hulls, or anything else that you don’t want to eat. I have two of these baskets in my kitchen and they are useful for anything you want to spread out and shake around (like beans, vegetables, etc.). They are sold all over town, as are all the things pictured. Probably cost less than 50 cents each. So, you sort the rice, while you put the water to boil. We don’t measure a certain amount of water for a certain amount of rice. When the water comes to a boil, you pour your clean rice into a bowl and cover it with cool water, and stir it around with your hand to clean it some more, then pour out that water and handful by handful scoop your rice into the boiling water. Once it comes to a boil again, set the timer for five minutes and stir it occasionally. Throw some salt in. After five minutes, you tip the extra water out of the pot into the sink. You can save this water to give to someone with diarrhea (a frequent problem here), or just dump it down the drain. The trick is to leave just the right amount of water in the pot. Then turn the heat low, cover the pot, and let it simmer about 10 minutes. Stir it occasionally and look to make sure it is not burning. That’s it.

Next is the fish dish. Usually, a fish arrives in my kitchen completely intact. Which means I have to cut off the head, scale it, and filet it. This is why we rarely eat fish, since I hate that job and unless I have someone helping me that day I don’t want it! This fish arrived already cut up, though the scales were still on. Cut your fish into pieces and marinate it overnight in lemon and garlic. Leave the skin on. Next day, cut up 1/2 cup green peppers, 1/2 cup tomatoes (these are from our garden), 1/2 cup onion and throw it all into a pot with 1/4 cup oil. Meanwhile, flour and fry your fish. 

Now it is time for the coconut milk. To make coconut milk is a fair amount of work. First, you have to crack it open with a hammer. Toby is always eager to do this, but so far has not been successful and I have to finish it up. I’m just waiting for him to smash his finger! The water that drains out is not coconut milk. It is refreshing, but useless for cooking this dish.

Now, to grate the coconut. Here, we use a little stool. You sit on it sideways, and holding half of the coconut in your hand, you scrape it over the sharp, scalloped, rounded scraper attached to the end of the stool. Every household has one of these. Grate your coconut meat into the bowl strategically positioned below the scraper. This takes a fair amount of muscle! Every visitor I’ve given this job to has given up, and it has taken me some time to be able to do it without my arm being sore. It takes me about 10 minutes, but my guard can do it in five. Lately, he gets the job. By the way, I feel compelled to say that this photo makes me look like I’ve gained about 100 pounds, but I haven’t. 🙂

Once you have your coconut meat, add water to it and squeeze it in your hand so that the milk comes out of the meat. Do this until the water looks milky.

Then, it is time to pour the milk and meat out of the bowl into the strainer, which is a little wooden box with netting and chicken wire across one side. Every household also has one of these. If you don’t have enough milk for your recipe (this receipe calls for 3-4 cups), add more water to the meat and squeeze it some more, then strain it into the bowl of milk.

Pour your milk into the pot with the vegetables and bring it to a boil, stirring occasionally. Then, let it boil 1-2 minutes, stirring constantly. Turn in down slightly, put the fish in the pot and let all cook together for 10 minutes. Serve over the rice. Enjoy! -C

I help teach the Sunday School at our little church, once or twice a month, and one of the other church members does the other weeks. A few weeks ago, we were doing a lesson on the nature of God (we are starting with Genesis and working from there) and he held up a little picture of a snowman and was talking about it. I wasn’t paying close attention, since Benjamin was acting up for the upteenth time and I was busy disciplining him, but Toby told me later that the teacher had said that the snowman was God. I said he must be mistaken, and that the teacher was really talking about the verse that was pasted on the picture.

This week, Toby wore his Christmas socks (with snowmen) at home one day and our guard told him that he had ghosts (spirits) on his socks. After Toby told me this, something clicked in my brain and I said “oh no!”. Because it occurred to me that the Sunday School teacher had indeed told the children that the snowman was God. God is a spirit, right?

Now, an American will burst into giggles at this kind of a mixup. Hillarious, isn’t it? We did indeed have a laugh, but after we finished we felt rather sober. Because there are all kinds of wierd stories circulating about all kinds of wierd things (for example, rumors circulate about various things that foreigners do to gain power or money). Obviously, at some point someone saw a snowman depicted in a photo and had some ideas about it, and those ideas have spread to the general population. People here have no concept of snow, and why would they? It is a completely foreign concept. So, this white blobby thing that looks vaguely human would indeed be taken for a spirit. Makes me really wonder about the few Christmas decorations that are put up in town by unknowing foreigners! I’ll have to watch this year to see if any snowmen go up. Gives a new meaning to the phrase “Spirit of Christmas past”.

Anyway, I determined that I must speak to my colleague about it and after we discussed it he did indeed say that he thought this was a spirit and he was trying to explain to the children how God is a spirit. Ok, I don’t have a huge problem with that. However, we do have to erase the snowman image from their minds, because they are going to see it occasionally and they mustn’t believe that is an image of God. I’ll have to sort that one out, perhaps by providing some other kind of picture for them to look at, like a bright light or something. Meanwhile, we just shake our heads! – Cami

This entry has two titles, for good reasons you’ll see in a minute.

One of the hardest things in adjusting to life here is just being so darn wierd. At home, I am a fairly normal person, and as I walk down the street people do not drop their packages, punch their friends in the arm and point, shouting “Look, there she goes!”

Ok, I am exaggerating a bit. But, there is more interest in my comings and goings than I am used to in America, and this is because I am a white person. In town, driving around in my truck, people do stare at me, but it is just general interest. When I ride the motorcycle, however, I feel like I am a freak from the circus. What, do I have two heads? Two years ago, there was only me and another lady in town who were riding around on motorcycles. We got a lot of attention. People’s jaws would actually drop. Crowds would gather as I came out of a store, unlocked my bike, and rode off. Trust me, any narcissist would have a heyday here. Nowadays, there are lots of ladies on scooters and some on motorcycles, and interest has calmed down a little. But, my blinding whiteness still creates a lot of stares, pointing, and laughter. I wonder sometimes “Are my clothes unbuttoned? Do I have something smeared on me? Why are they staring so hard?”. Just something different, that’s all.

Staring here is not considered impolite. Do this in America, and people get angry. Here, there is nothing wrong with staring at someone for a protracted period of time, and if you ask “What are you looking at?” then you would be considered the rude one.

This has been especially hard for Toby. No kid likes to be stared at (unless they are parading by with their fancy new toy) and in the beginning he didn’t like to go to town at all. If I am a novelty, small white children are even more so. I made the decision last year that the kids and I would walk to church, which is about a 35 minute hike from our house, through winding dirt paths, the back of people’s yards, into the mud-hut slum area, past the market and on. I wanted the kids to get used to being in “the bairro”, which is the area where almost everyone in Nampula that Kevin works with is living. I hated driving up in my car (which would be like arriving at church in a Porsche in America) and playing the role of the rich American. Plus, Kevin often needs the car on a Sunday for his preaching trips.

So, we walk through the bairro and it was so miserable for Toby. People would point and laugh as we passed, sometimes in an unkind manner. Many were friendly and would greet us, but groups of children sometimes followed, chattering about us. “Akunha!” (white person) was shouted at us over and over. This is also not considered rude, but was discomfiting for Toby. Finally, I came up with a game: each time Toby hears the word “Akunha!” he gets one metical. The value of this is about 4 cents. By the time our walk is finished, to and fro, he sometimes nets almost a dollar, and is pleased. Once, he walked way ahead of me, out of sight, because he felt that he would get more shouts and make more money, but I had to put a stop to that. Now, whenever he hears it he grins widely and his eyes light up. Funny!

We are getting used to being objects of interest, though sometimes it can feel stressful. One missionary family I know drove into a small town and everyone stopped to watch them drive by. Their youngest son said to his brothers “Just smile and wave, boys! Smile and wave.” (This is a line from the movie Madagascar, by the way). Now i know a little bit more about how minorities feel where i come from. Meanwhile, sometimes I take a deep breath before I begin my walk to somewhere, because I know that my presence will create interest, and I’d rather blend in. Just not possible, unfortunately. On those occasions where I am considered more “normal”, it is such a relief!

I know that when we return to the land of more varied skin colors, it will seem strange to us. What, aren’t we interesting any more? 🙂 Until then, we steel ourselves, try to understand why, and attempt to use the attention for good and not for stress. – Cami

Kevin always gets me something really good for my birthday, and this year I got two great things. He started making me a dehydrator for our anniversary in August, and finally finished it the day of my birthday. He’s seen me spend many hours trying to sun-dry tomatoes in the sun (or using the car as an enormous hot-box), only to burn them in the final drying session in the oven. So now, I can use my homemade dehydrator to make dried tomatoes, banana chips (I hope) and dried mangos.

He asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I said a new stand for our water filter. You can see from the photo that our big white filter is kind of ugly, and it squats on our counter next to the sink, a constant eyesore. Necessary, but ugly. So, I asked him to get a welder to make a metal one that we could paint the same color as the window frames, and I would make a removable cover to remove the eyesore. Here you can see the results, which I am very pleased with. I’m 39, by the way, and had a wonderful birthday celebrating with out-of-town friends who brought me a bottle of shower gel, which I promptly spread on my skin because I thought it was lotion. Sigh. Obviously I’ve been here too long. 🙂 – Cami

Ok, I need to give Toby some PR as well, and say that he started second grade today. But for him, it is old hat already. He was up very early this morning and woke us up to tell us it was school day! He’s been anticipating it for weeks (even though break was only about 5 weeks). Off he went, happy as a clam, back to his familiar school and the same teacher he had at the beginning of last year. Tonight, I asked him how it felt to be one of the “big kids” and he said “Oh man, it’s great!”.

But for Ben, today was very special. For about six months now, we’ve been pointing out his preschool as we drive by and saying “there’s your friends” when we see the children outside. I took him two weeks ago to sign him up, then to buy fabric for his uniforms. The leader of our church (also a tailor) sewed them up, and when they arrived yesterday he couldn’t wait to put them on. Every day lately, he’s been saying “Is today the day?”. This morning, we dressed him up (isn’t he CUTE?) and he and I went off. It went pretty well, though i could see he felt very insecure because everyone was speaking to him in Portuguese. Every time the teachers spoke to him, he hid his face, and didn’t seem to understand anything they said. He stayed very close to me all morning, though when I ducked out for an hour during snack time he seemed ok with that. I’ll gradually decrease my time with him at school, and feel confident that eventually he’ll do fine there. We dumped Toby in a Portuguese preschool in Portugal and he was miserable for months. We regret that to this day, so with Ben we’ve decided to be more gentle about it. We can’t wait to hear our little Ben speaking fluent Portuguese, and able to interact with people here more easily. Please keep him in your prayers. – Cami

We are foreigners here, and for us that frequently means that we make mistakes with the language, social gaffes, or misunderstand pretty much anything. Our most infamous mistakes are language ones. For example, when we lived in Portugal, Toby was enrolled at a local preschool and one day the teacher told me the kids were going on a field trip to “Quinta Amarela” or something. Now, I looked up quinta in the dictionary and it said Farm, so we spent about a week prepping Toby with all the animal names. Every afternoon, we’d look at picture books with animals and teach him the names. On the appointed day, we dressed him in his jeans and rubber boots, and sent him with a jacket and a sun hat. After we picked him up, we asked him how the farm was, and he said “We didn’t go to the farm, we went to a movie!” Apparently the name of the movie house was Yellow Farm. Another time, the teacher spent some time explaining to me that Toby needed a particular thing, and I didn’t know the word. Finally she wrote it down, and I went home and looked it up. A toothbrush. He needed a toothbrush (like all the other kids) at school. Sometimes we felt so dumb! She would look at me with pity because I was so stupid!

Lately, however, our knowledge of Portuguese is much better and our mistakes are funnier. Here in Mozambique we asked our guard to wash the car. We mixed up the verbs for “clean” and for “wash” and asked the guard to “wash” the inside of the truck. “Are you really sure?” he asked us about four times. We were sure. But later on, Kevin ran frantically to stop him when he saw him washing the inside of the truck with a hose! It was completely soaked. Luckily it dried out fine.

A few weeks ago Kevin was visiting the church where the boys and I regularly attend, and preached a sermon on the “peas and the goats”. It had me in stitches – I could hardly manage to correct him! The others in the church were much more polite and probably would have listened to 30 minutes on how God will separate the peas from the goats, but I just had to stop him.

The social gaffes we make tend to be more serious. Unfortunately, the ones I make are the kind that start rumors. Here, suspicion of sexual promiscuity runs rampant. There are good reasons, mainly because a great many people are promiscuous. But you have to be super careful to not raise suspicions about yourself. I went over to visit my lady neighbor some months ago, and found her not at home. I was standing in the yard, about 15 feet away from her husband, chatting amicably for a few minutes for heading back home, when two men from his church came in the front gate. The looks on their faces were total shock. It was obvious that they thought something was going on, even though we were standing in an open yard. My neighbor looked very embarrassed and I went home, uncomfortable with the idea of what rumors I had just started. Another day, I invited an elderly pastor to sit on our screened-in veranda and have a cold drink and a tangerine while I did some things in the house. After about 15 minutes, I emerged and packed a box of things on the table while we chatted a bit. He looked uncomfortable and finally we decided that Kevin wasn’t coming home soon, and he decided to leave. As I opened the door to let him out, I found our guard kneeling by the steps “working on some flowers” there. It was obvious to me that he was trying to keep an eye on what he thought was an inappropriate tryst going on inside the veranda. Good grief. I learned my lesson – now all visitors have to sit on a straw mat or a chair out in the garage. Better yet, make them sit in the front yard.

Of course, the situation with white men is even worse. We had a young white man staying with us and Kevin was out teaching a class. The boys and I were eating dinner with this young man, and we were talking about something funny and laughing. My guard (a different one) came to the back door for something and he looked furious, though of course he didn’t say anything. Here, although I am allowed to feed my male houseguest, I mustn’t enjoy his company so much. Sometimes I feel like I ought to go into purdah (isolation) and wear a burkah, but mostly I just try to follow the social rules once I am aware of them.

One mistake that I am trying very hard to remedy is an impatience on my part. Here, it is so important to greet people. You can’t rush into “can you tell me what time it is?” or “How much are those carrots?”. Once, I asked the teller at the Shoprite if the credit card machine was working that day and she very pointedly said “GOOD MORNING” before she answered my question. You must remember to slow down and acknowledge people before starting any business. The relationship is always more important than the task!

I have to remember, too, that people are not always trying to cheat me. I’ve had quite a few bad experiences in the past with vendors trying to cheat me out of a few cents or more, and quite often I jump to that conclusion when change is slow in coming, or is given in many coins, or math is done creatively. I snapped at a minibus taxi driver once when I stood for awhile waiting for my change and he seemed to be ignoring me. I felt quite chastened when he finally got change for me from the person he was talking to. Although, as foreigners, we frequently are charged higher prices or someone will try to steal something from us, in general the vendors and taxi drivers are helpful and honest with us. Of course, I may not be receiving a full two pounds of the rice I bought (because the scales have been tampered with) but I do get correct change. I just have to keep in mind that things run a lot more slowly here, sometimes people are not very good at math (when we work together to come up with the amount of change, it is always correct) and generally folks are kind and friendly. Slow down, speedy American, and remember that people are more important!

Of course, trying to be too polite can be funny as well. I always say “no, thank you” to the vendors on the street (selling oranges, perfume, shoes, you name it) and I had a group of church ladies in my car one day when I said this. They thought it was the funniest thing they ever heard and explained to me that I mustn’t thank the vendors when they hadn’t done anything and were in fact pestering me. So, sometimes, it is ok to be rude (in my perspective)!! – C