I think I'm getting used to Africa time. We were supposed to meet at 7 AM, instead ending up leaving at 9:30 to play handball an hour away. When we got there, it was raining, so I and one of my students caught a ride to the beach about 30 minutes away. It was his first time to the beach, and so he collected some sand in a Ziploc I brought with me. We devoured the two sandwiches I'd made, got back, played the game, then got some fresh cashews before leaving.
The game was fairly uneventful. I played decently well after getting my bearings but was infinitely frustrated with our defence. It was simply lazy, which I think happens becuase sports here are more for show, than for results. I got laughed at plenty for trying hard and screwing up whereas the players who weren't trying all that hard but making risky and nice-looking passes caught the oohs and aahs. As must as this bugs me because I'm used to being judged on effort and not aesthetics, it's a welcome relief from the win-oriented American style. Though I get the feeling a Mozambican would be similarly relieved in an American system. Certainly, there's some middle ground?
That aside, it was a nice day to walk around and really appreciate the country. I saw small things, like gardens and private houses that I've passed by many times but never really seen before.
Walking near the beach, we saw this one house built on a hill. Typical Colonial Portuguese architecture with a twist. The master bedroom was built on a second level, giving it a fantastic view of the lagoon. Outside, a beautifully manicured garden, fenced in and guarded, made me lose my bearings. Where was I, really? Could this, in fact, be Mozambique? How confusing is the face of poverty? It occurred to me how easy the lives of these people must be, but they still buy the same rice, the same flour.
Walking around my own town (in fact, a city), I came to realize how willfully I've been dispensing amenities. Nimi and I ate a chocolate bar together while he bought restaurant-style hot sauce and we watched newer cars goes by. Granted, the cars were stolen, the hot sauce was ridiculously expensive, and the chocolate was pretty standard - but that same store even had cheese. Refrigerated. It's a good thing I can't afford it.
Diamentino essentially admitted that he stole the money. We just have to get it back now.
An open call for HIV/AIDS workers in C--- to come and get to know other workers happens tomorrow morning. I hope it's a success.
Pretty soon, it will be one year since I left Cleveland. They say missing home gets easier, but that's only because you get closer every day to returning to it.
I watched "Traffic" and "Air Rage" tonight at the Macias'. I forgot how true "Traffic"'s message of changing the social structure of modern families to combat drugs really is. I also forgot how bad movies can be, something "Air Rage" reminded me of. But Dinho enjoyed it, even though I had to explain the plot (the subtitles go too fast for most people here to read). Goofy violence seems to be pretty popular.
Peace
John
