In the Family way...

Shortly before I took off to teach a month and a half ago... my dog had just finished up her first cycle of being in heat.

Not fun.

I felt like a particularly hard-nosed warden as I locked her down day and night, chaining her to poles and chasing away her male suitors.

But I figured it would be worth it in the end not to have to deal with puppies.

Unfortunately, toward the end of her cycle --basically the last day or so-- I got lazy. I decided to let her out of her prison (aka: my house) and let her soak up the sun (while chained to my back porch).

I hadn't seen any suitors in a few days and thought her scent must have changed.

I was wrong.

After taking my eyes away from her for about 10 minutes, everything got errily quiet. So, I went out back to check on her.

Her chain had gotten stuck in my outside pipes and she was cornered by three male dogs. One was stuck with her... if you get my drift.

After almost a month of watching and worrying to avoid this very thing... I managed to mess it all up in 10 inattentive minutes.

Ugg.

Not sure if she could get pregnant on the last day of her cycle, I speculated on the probability of puppies with my neighbor and friend, Sarah.

As we debated the likelihood of it all, my dogs nipples changed.

I worried over them, insisting that she must be expecting. Sarah --always the rainbow to my rain-- suggested that I was overthinking it.

I didn't get to speculate on it too long, as I took the offer to teach a week or so later and left my dog in Sarah's care.

Every now and again, I'd return for a quick trip to Maforga. Initially, I didn't see much change in my dog's physique, so I started second guessing my initial pessimism.

However circumstances with my car prohibited me from returning for the last three weeks. By the time I got back, my dog was unquestionably 'in the family way'.

She is huge!

She waddles. She drools. She steals food from kids.

And have I mentioned.... she's HUGE!

Since I know the day she conceived, I can make the fair guess that she will deliver any day. If websites are to be believed, she will give birth on Wednesday June 10th.

Do EDDs on dogs vary as well? What happens if she goes post-dates? Do I have to induce her?

I will confess that I'm every bit the midwife to my dog as I am to women.

I rub her belly until she groans with pleasure and drools. I feed her every time she looks at me with those pathetically drowsy eyes until she falls into a food coma. And well... I basically let her be as cranky as she wants to be at any time day or night.

Just today, I was able to palpate one of her puppies. It kicked me (tehehe).

And I'm even contemplating shaving her belly so I can listen to their PHT (puppy heart tones).

This is going to be my first time dealing with puppies. I could use all the advice you can offer.

Life as I know it.

I’ve been asked more than once in the last few weeks what I do all day. Am I catching babies? Am I studying? Working? What?

The answer to that is simple; I do whatever needs to be done.

Some days it requires action with meetings, shopping, working, and such. On other days it requires less action and more prayer and a pulling aside to seek His face.

What do I mean? Well... let’s look at this week for example. It has been an unusual week in some regards, but not so unusual as you might guess.

Here goes:

Sunday: Wake early for housework and Bible study, then scoot off to church. Church is a loud, happy ruckus and we find ourselves sharing testimonies of Thanksgiving in honor of the Oh-so-American holiday a few days before. Lunch is a quick sandwich which I eat over my computer, trying to catch up on emails and back-logged everything. But the heat of the day makes much of the afternoon impossible. I find myself planting seeds on used egg trays and praying something will grow.

Monday: Wake early to talk with Jesus. So much to do. Today is a shopping day in Chimoio (a 45 min drive away) for construction supplies. I’m supposed to get the sheets of wood (if I can find them), paint, and concrete to complete some of the clinic repairs coming up next week. By mid-morning, I’ve completed the shopping but am disappointed to find out that the truck we rented to carry our supplies back to Maforga fell through. Something about a strike of bus drivers keeping all the major trucks out of circulation for fear of police retaliation, etc.

Disappointed but unfazed, I move on. The truck will pick up my supplies the next day. But I have something else in mind for this week. I have to go to Maputo to follow up on my clinic papers. So I buy a bus ticket to Maputo which leaves in the wee hours of the morning. I take the bus since it’s so much cheaper than flying, and since the highway is open again. Finally. Ticket in hand, I return home to pack and close up my house for the week. Later that night (achem at 2 am actually), I return to Chimoio to catch the bus.

Tuesday: Travel from 3:30am to 10pm on a cramped, swaying bus which has been modified to fit more travelers than the manufacturer ever intended by squeezing them in makeshift seats in the aisle. Elbows rub ribs, knees knock against seats, butt cheeks cramp continually. Every inch of it is crammed with boxes, backpacks, and people. We inch painfully toward our destination but with the periodic stops (to pee alongside the road) and the massive potholes the advance is slow. Achingly slow. Finally we arrive in Maputo. I step out of the bus into torrential rain, find a cab, and make it to the youth hostel in time to find it still awake and bustling. I fall asleep in a dorm room with backpackers and vagabonds from all over the world. Sleep fitfully.

Wednesday: Rise early to prepare for the day. I have to return to the Ministry of Education to follow up on my application for my degrees to be approved. I tried for two weeks to follow up by phone but the number they gave me was ‘offline’ or ‘out of service’ each time I called. Thus the need to go to Maputo in the first place. I catch the bus to bounce through the capital’s streets, it’s glaringly clear not many foreigners take the bus. I’m conspicuously white but happy not to pay the outrageous fees for a cab ride there.

The office staff remember me well and ask if I was able to drive down. When I told them I had to come by bus they are surprised the highway is open again... but more surprised I took the cross-country bus in the first place. When the clerk asks why I didn’t call first, I informed them the number never worked and I had no choice but to follow up in person. Then I’m quickly informed that my papers are still being processed. However, on closer review only one was sent to be done. I ask that my second degree be processed and it is submitted immediately... but it still won’t be completed for another week.

The rest of the day is spent trying to stretch out my cramped legs in a street cafe full of smoking Portuguese and the occasional street vendor. I buy a newspaper off one of them and learn that the Ministry of health is inviting all NGOs working in the health sector to a planning and cooperation meeting the next morning. Do I stay and attend? A few phone calls to my team back at Maforga and it’s unanimous; they all think I should attend. I decide to postpone my return a day and attend it. I return to the backpacker hostel I’m staying in with a can of tuna and a piece of bread for dinner. I sleep well but the guy in my dorm room is too chatty for deep rest. I fall asleep late and wake up the next morning exhausted.

Thursday: I breakfast early and freshen up quickly to make it to the 8:30 am meeting in time. But when I get there, only three men in suits are waiting with me. The meeting room is set up for at least 60 people... and in the adjoining room movement for some kind of lunch is being prepared. But where are all the people? An hour goes by and only one more person arrives. I decide more coffee is needed for this kind of rigamarole but when I return, only one more person has arrived. I leave to get my book back at the hostel, ready to wait it out. But when I return, I find none of the original crew there. In their place, two new men with stacks of papers are shuffling around the room, looking rushed. Finally, I ask someone when this is suppose to start indicating that the notice on the wall said it started at 9am. She tells me it isn’t supposed to start until 11 am and smiles. Ugh! I leave.

Frustrated. I go have an early lunch in disgust and wait another hour or so. When I return, the room is full and everyone’s introducing themselves. The meeting is okay... but not what I expected. By 1:30 pm, I’ve had enough and head home. Feels like a complete waste of time. I finished up a few emails, then rush off to get my bus ticket home.

I’m not sure where I’m going so I go early to scope it out and buy my ticket. Two hours later, I have my bus ticket in hand and am feeling quite accomplished. I return to the backpackers to pick up my bags, eat a quick dinner, and head out again. But this time the traffic isn’t as bad and I make it to the station in only a half hour. It’s 9pm and I’m ready for bed. But with the constant comings and goings on the bus, more fitful sleep on stone hard seats awaits me. At 3:30 am we take off in a rumble of engines and diesel fumes.

Friday: Basically, the reverse of Tuesday. More cramped seats. More potholes. More street vendors through the cracked bus window. Fitful and cramped sleep. But when we get to the spot in the highway that has been under attack by the RENAMO forces, there are more delays than usual. This is the stretch of road that has the periodic rebel attacks and therefore must be patrolled by the military.

As we arrive, we are told there had been some shooting around noon and we might have to wait until morning to pass through. Discouraged but with nothing left to do but wait. We sit curbside and chat. I meet a darling granny named Teresa Maria with a unique story (which I might tell another time) and we look for water together. The water we find is salty, but still wet. She drinks it. I don’t.

After 2 hours of waiting, the convoy arrives and we are allowed to cross into the heavily guarded stretch of brush, but we must wait another hour or so before the escort is ready. The soldiers usher us through the 100 km stretch, stopping now and again to walk --guns at their shoulders-- ready for combat. Because of these delays, we arrive in two hours instead of one.

Once safely passed, our bus driver starts praising the Lord over and over again marking his praise with progressively louder “Hallelujahs”. More driving. More stopping. I make it back by 9:30 pm and am thoroughly worn out. I’m welcomed back to news of a possibility that RENAMO has been suspected of scoping us out in hopes of attacking the clinic for our outdated meds and linens. (More about that later.) I go to sleep --once again-- fitfully.

Saturday (today): I wake rested, but late. I spend my morning in my pajamas since the on and off rain storms have cooled my cabin to a slight chill. The lush and low clouds of mist invade my house and I feel protected. But in the distance, I can hear the sounds of preparations. Today is Maria’s wedding. (More about that later.) Maria is one of the orphans who has grown up at Maforga. She married a man named Manual, a widower almost twice her age and with four kids at home. A beautiful bride. A happy groom. A church full of dancing, food, and deafening keyboard music with the occasional (painful) speaker feedback. Ouch! Food was fabulous. Everyone leaves by 5pm with high spirits and full bellies.

This is what life looks like for me these days. This is what life is like... as I know it. 

I share it with you so you might pray. Please pray for perseverance and a drive to move forward in all He asks --day after day. Pray also that I would not grow weary in doing good, and that I’d have more wisdom and patience in the details... and not get distracted along the way. Also pray, that I’d find a way to avoid those silly buses in the future. Ha!

Thanks!

Caterpillars?

Months and months ago... yes, it's been impossible to blog about it before now because the internet would NEVER allow me to load the pictures... I went to Zimbabwe for my long-term visa. While I was there, I took advantage of the opportunity to shop for things that are just not found in Moz.

Bag of bugs! Yum!

The aisles and aisles of goodies in the local supermarket were startlingly cheap and I confess I went all out.

The thing is... they had things I'd never seen before. The most surprising of these options were caterpillars.

Hard.    Spiky.    Crusty.    Dried up caterpillars in a bag.

I picked it up to make sure my eyes were not playing games with my mind. Peering through the plastic, I inspected one black creepy crawly after the other until I was convinced.

The crawlers before they were cooked

A black man stocking the shelf beside me caught my eye and I turned to him for help.
-- "Is this really what I think it is?" I asked innocently. "Are these caterpillars?"
He smiled, nodded his head, then said, "Yes. They are really tasty."
-- "Tasty huh?" I said with a smile. "But how do you eat them? Do you just eat them like chips... out of the bag?"
-- "No, no, no," he laughed, taking the bag of critters from my hands, "You cook them first. They are delicious. I always have a bag full in my car for snacks."
-- "Really?" I said with excitement (I'm always looking for new, crazy foods), "Can you tell me how?"
He smiled wider, assuring me it was simple and taking me through the steps one by one.

Caterpillar Recipe: 

Step One~
Soak, then boil the caterpillars until they are soft.

Step Two~
Boil them so they get cleaned out and turn rubbery. 

Step Three~
Dice onions and tomatoes and whatever else you think will be tasty. 

Step Four~
Strain the softened caterpillars and toss out the water.

Step Five~
Sautee onions and caterpillars in a saucepan, seasoning with salt and pepper. 

Step Six~
Add the tomatoes, keeping heat low so it does not burn.

Step Seven~
Dish them up and enjoy! 

Fun note: I found them to be wetter (and chewier) than I expected from the store clerks recipe. So I asked a Zimbabwean friend what I did wrong. His reply was that it was perfect, but if I wanted snacks for the road, I'd have to fry them longer.

(Optional) Step Eight~
Fry in more oil, until crispy.














Note: So I did what I was told... but I fried them too long and got this.

Step Nine~
Enjoy with gusto! 

Side Note: As I'm sure you can see... they look exactly like they did out of the bag. So I can only assume that I overcooked them.

However, my Zimbabwean friends didn't mind at all. Nor did I. Honestly, I found them better when crispy. They are easier to chew.

So there you have it. Once again, I'm convinced that any bug is yummy if deep fried long enough!       

Moral of the story: Some people eat chicken. Some people eat steak. And some people eat... caterpillars?  
             ---Yum!

A Blue Ribbon?

On the way to the garbage pit the other day, I stumbled across a snake in the grass.
    --Literally.

I was almost on top of him before I noticed the opalescent blue of his skin and stopped to process.

There was a long delay in my brain as I flipped through the rolodex of “blue things”... and “long, skinny things”.... and “things lying in grass”. But even after a good 20 seconds, it still hadn’t come to a definite conclusion.

It had never seen anything like it... and so naturally my brain made a new rolodex card and informed me that the best guess was “snake”.

SNAKE!

At this news, it mounted the appropriate alarm, shooting gobs of adrenaline through my veins, and causing my body to jerk back with an involuntary jolt.

High on adrenaline, I was then alert enough to ‘play possum’. So I froze in my gum boots and waited.

Absolutely nothing raced through my mind.

Nothing.

All I could do was stare at this thin, blue, ribbon-esc thing in the grass and hope it wouldn’t bite me.

I was transfixed.

An embarrassing amount of time went by before I realized it was dead.

Its head was intact... and its body was whole, but its tail was unnaturally short. Something had chewed it down to a crumbled nob, then just left it there.

Eventually, I leaned in to inspect it closer and saw slight indentations on its body, as if something had knocked it about... or squeezed it about its center.

Had you been there you would have laughed at the loud sigh of relief I made.

Then somehow my feet worked again and I continued down the path to the garbage dump.

However on the way back from the dump, I decided to pick it up and take it home.

In my brain, Logic argued with Reason insisting that ‘since it was dead, I should just reach down and pick it up with my hand’.

But Reason would have none of that and started screaming, “No! Whatever you do...you never touch snakes. NEVER. Especially ones you don’t know.”

And again... I stood there hesitating over the lumpy, half-chewed beast.

Eventually, Reason won the argument and I found a long stick. Using it, I picked up my new blue ribbon by its middle, and carried it home with me.

Half way home, Lumpy, the white pregnant cat, came to greet me. And I laid the blue ribbon in front of her thinking she might enjoy a snack.

She is always scrounging for new treats and often comes to beg.

However when she approached my “gift”, she too did the same involuntary jolt, jumping back a good three inches.

Hilarious!

Apparently, even pregnant cats have their limits and this was it! She would not eat it. Instead, she sat several feet away and watched it out of the corner of her eye.

Eventually she left it undisturbed on my porch for one of the orphans to find.

He he he...

Life in Pictures: June & July

 

This beautiful chameleon was brought to me by Danny, my neighbor's son. He remembered from my last visit that I like them. But learning from past experiences, I decided not to bring him into my home (there are fortunately not enough bugs for him to enjoy inside). Instead, I placed him on the tree out front. He stayed four days, then meandered off. 

This funeral procession left the local hospital. Driving slowly behind, we could hear them singing worship songs. Remarkably, the deceased was in a real hearse.

It is tomato season right now... but despite the massive amounts being sold on each side, no one has discounted them. They are, in fact, MORE expensive than ever. I wonder if Mozambicans street venders fully grasp the concept of supply and demand?

Yummy tomatoes!

Not long ago, Nana (the lovely septuagenarian in orange) had her children visiting. It was the first time all four of them have been together in a long time. As a result, we called them forward at church and prayed over them all.

Cleaning Party!

Last Saturday --in an effort to make the clinic a bit more presentable for when the director of the ministry of health comes-- a group of us gathered at the clinic with mop and broom in hand.

We started early by pulling apart each room and cleaning it from top to bottom. So much work was accomplished in such little time that we were able to close up shop by lunch.

But I credit this more to my enthusiastic helpers than any work on my part!

Afterwards as a reward I threw my happy little helpers a party.

Our party consisted of massive amounts of bread pudding, custard, cookies, and pie!

As I brought each new dessert out in thanks, I got enthusiastic applause and freshly cleared plates.

But by the end of the third dessert, their appetites waned. Apparently, teeny-boppers really can saturate on sugar!
    --Who knew?

And naturally when I pulled out my camera, my over-sugared guests immediately morphed into supermodels --posing for shot after endless shot.

This led to massive amounts of laughter which closed down the evening in style. And my giggling guests eventually left with a song on their lips --their happy voices trailing after as they went.
    --What a crazy day! 

African Moments: Mixed Berry Yogurt

I was visiting friends in Zimbabwe a week or so back... they have a man who helps them around the house named Sam.

It’s hard to guess Sam’s age just by looking at him. His brown eyes clouded in cataracts tell me he is more on the end of life than the middle of it.

The years have not been kind to him, but you would never know it from his demeanor!

Greying with a slight hunch, he greets all visitors with cheerful (yet broken) English and a huge smile.

Sam loves Jesus and as such, there is kindness and love in all he does.

One day Sam introduced me to the gardener, Louis, by saying, “Dis is Stephanie. She missionary. She loves Jesus. She number one!”

With such a glowing recommendation, I could not help but smile. Louis smiled back and we chatted a bit about Mozambique. Louis is Mozambican by birth but has lived in Zimbabwe for a number of years.

Later that same day, I was enjoying (an overpriced but delightful) mixed berry yogurt I’d found in the supermarket.

As I savored the creamy splendor of ‘home’, I asked Sam if he liked yogurt. He smiled and said he didn’t know.

-- “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’? I asked flatly.
He continued to wash the dishes with his back turned to me, then repeated himself. “I don’t know the taste.”
-- “Here...”, I offered him, putting a glob of it in a small bowl. “Try it. You’ll like it.”
He smiled and took it with joy, but then put it aside until the dishes were done.

And I went back to slurping mine down.

A few minutes later, Louis passed by the half-opened door and Sam eagerly called him over. Happy to share his new treasure, Sam spooned out a generous glob of his portion into Louis’ cupped hand.

I smiled widely as I watch Louis lick the yogurt tentatively from his hand while heading back to work. His eyes brightened with the taste.

Shortly afterward, Sam took his first bite and smiled widely.

They agreed it was delicious.

Sigh.

Do you remember your first bite of mixed berry yogurt?

Name that fruit?

 

The other day I bought a mystery fruit in the market. Roughly the size of a potato with smooth, waxy skin covered in spikes, this fruit immediately caught my eye.

I like trying new fruit. Heck... let’s face it. I like trying new things. Period.

So... naturally, I picked up a couple to taste.

Cutting them open reminded me of a squash with only seeds. But instead of pulpy flesh, I was welcomed with a refreshing, grassy, slime that tasted a lot like jello.

Green jello to be precise. Except this green jello had a bit more texture.

I have to say, I’d happily buy it again. But next time, I’d put it in the fridge before I serve it.

Warm, crunchy, green jello just doesn’t sit quite right.

If jello needs to be crunchy... it best be cold.
       --Just sayin’.

Question: Anyone have any idea what this fruit is named? I seriously don’t know where to start looking? My dictionary is woefully lacking in the spiky, fruit department.

Wintering in

Winter is starting here and I’m kicking myself for not bringing warmer clothes. I foolishly thought I’d be fine with just a few light jackets.
    --What was I thinking?

It’s been rainy and cold --gusty and damp-- but at least the trees are still green, right? Soon winter will wither the grasses and strip the trees and this magical land of cool lushness will fade into browns, charcoal grays, and black.
   --Sigh. I’m not looking forward to that.

Interior view of my cottage

The small cottage I call home lets in the draft but up until last week my heater was working just fine. However, it is now wonky... so I’m back to lots of layers and warm slippers for my feet.

It is hard to imagine how those without windows keep out the cold.

Anyway... this past month I’ve spent quite a lot of time organizing my house and furnishing it --tables, curtains, kitchen pots, towels.

View from my back door. Beautiful!

It’s surprising all it takes to make a four walls a "home".
 
   --But I’m happy to. So happy!

This is the first time in 7 years I’ve had the privilege of hanging pictures and arranging flowers. I dreamed of this day for so long!

   --What a blessing!

My cottage is a one bedroom en suite with a living room and kitchen. It’s cramped for entertaining... but certainly ideal for just me! I love it!

There are a number of things I still have to work out of course --hot water heater, electrical shorts in the wiring, more furniture, flooring, kitchen sink, etc.

Nevertheless, I feel blessed to call it home.

Kapulana Store!

 

The other day we went shopping for curtains. This brought us to the kapulana store.

Kapulanas are the colorful wraps worn by Mozambicans. They are called by other names in other countries, of course, but the idea is the same. And each country has its own colors, designs, and quality of material.

Some are worn tied up over one shoulder --like in South Sudan. Some are sown in a circle and climbed into before you wrap them around you --like in the Philippines. But here, they are flat, square cloths worn over pants or leggings.

And they are very useful at that!

I couldn't help it and bought a green and brown pattern for a skirt. It was just too lovely.

... but I was not able to find anything I liked well enough for curtains. Maybe I'm just not African enough yet! Ha!

House Warming Present

This morning a white cat with pale green eyes came to visit. She meowed until I went out to greet her. Only then did I discover she had brought me a half-dead lizard as a house warming present.

When I didn't eat it but rather encouraged her to enjoy, she ate with gusto leaving the spasticly wiggly tail as dessert.

As I watched, the tail jumped and bounced like it was still full of a frantically desperate life.

But not for long... Yum!

TIA: This is Africa

For those who follow this blog regularly... I’m sure you’re more than a little confused. Didn’t I say I was going to Mozambique? Didn’t I raise all this fuss about support and prayer because I was going to the land of Moz?

Didn’t I?

The clear and easy answer to those questions is YES!

Yes. I fully intended to be in Moz by now... but I’m not.

In fact, I landed in Johannesburg almost two weeks ago and have been here ever since.

The kindly and most hospitable crew at Calvary Chapel Johannesburg has welcomed me into their guest room. And here I have been resting, hanging with the locals, and slowly getting my affairs in order for Mozambique.

“Why the delay?” you ask.

Good question. Reasonable question. But one that is not so simple to explain.

Well, actually it is quite simple.

This is Africa.

When I say TIA (This is Africa), I don’t say it with a sneer; I say it with a sly smile and a quick shake of the head.

Let me explain.

My ride into Moz depends on my directors, Roy and Trish. And although they are deceptively white they are most assuredly not Westerners. I suspect if you took a Brillo pad to their skin, you’d find a brilliantly gorgeous black underneath.

They are Africans. Pure and simple.

So when we arranged to have them come to Jo’burg to pick me up, I was thinking like a Westerner. They were not.

The first day we met up, they told me they wanted to stick around Jo’burg for a few days to get refreshed, and I smiled to myself. For I knew that a few days to them might be more like a few weeks.

I was right.

One week turned into two. And soon it will be three full weeks before I arrive in the ever elusive land of Moz.

At first I was disappointed by the delay --the let down, the dashed expectations, the expense, etc. But I don’t feel that way now.

To be honest, I’m relieved.

I left the States very tired --the constant goodbyes, the relentless repacking, the last-minute details. But now after a time just sitting at His feet in the early morning sun and sipping on coffee in the late-afternoon heat, I’m rested.

Praise Him!

I’m told, however, that we’ll be heading to Mozambique sometime this weekend. So please pray for traveling mercies. The roads are better in Zimbabwe, so we’ll head that way first, then dart over into Mozambique.

I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes!

Also... thank you so much for praying for my bags and my ticket reimbursement. My bags made it here safely within a day or so. And I was finally able to sort out my ticket reimbursement just this week!

What a relief!

Port au Prince in Color ~

Here are a few more pictures of my time in Haiti. It was hard not taking pictures; the colors and life that is lived out loud in the streets there is such a symphony of wonder.

Enjoy!

Port au Prince in Black & White

I took these pictures of Haiti over a couple of days. The movement, the noise, and the overwhelming need resonates with my soul.

Enjoy!