Grrrrrrr...

Wow. I’m in an incredibly foul mood today. Every little thing is getting on my nerves… I feel like complaining so, in the absence of an actual person to hear me gripe, I’m going to air my frustrations on the internet.

The biggest thing pissing me off right now has to do with my clothes. I thought it was bad a couple of weeks ago when the maids were destroying my underwire bras and staining my pants. The bulk of my clothes have already been ruined to one extent or another, but at least I still have them. I’ve learned to live with a bleach stain here and an iron burn there. But now it’s getting serious. My clothes are fucking disappearing. First it was an eggplant colored tank top from Zara. Then a white shirt. And now my favorite black pants from Express that fit like they’d been tailor-made for me. Most likely one of the maids or one of the handymen here took my clothes off the line in the backyard to sell at the bazaar and get some extra cash. Apparently this is a common problem here in Mozambique. To make matters worse, it’s not like I can go out and buy a new pair of pants and some shirts. This is Chimoio. There are no clothing stores. Everything is second-hand and irregular and rejects from other, better-off countries. I now have only one pair of long pants to wear. Thank God Ricardo is in Brazil right now and has promised to buy new clothes for me. I am concentrating on letting go, being less materialistic, realizing that it’s just clothes and not the end of the world. But I could just scream right now…

What else is irritating me today? Hah. There’s a list.

I’m totally stressed out with work. I’m not currently receiving a salary (although Ricardo and BL have guaranteed that I will be paid pending project success) but am shouldering the majority of the responsibilities for Agrolink while Ricardo is away. The amount of work obviously has me stressed, but it’s not what is pissing me off. It’s the fact that all of the other shareholders made a big stink about how I couldn’t have any responsibilities or take on clients in Ricardo’s absence because I wasn’t a formal shareholder and therefore didn’t have the right to receive any information. And then everyone discovered that it was easy to pass things off onto me, that I would follow-up and do a good job. That I am overly responsible and a perfectionist. All of a sudden it’s not a problem that I’m not a shareholder. Everyone is putting the most tedious, time-consuming tasks in my hands. Part of me is flattered by this; I wouldn’t have responsibilities if people didn’t think I was capable of doing a good job. But part of me is also pissed off. I want to turn to the people that made a fuss about how I shouldn’t be allowed to work on major projects and flat-out refuse to do what they’re asking.

I’m also in a bad mood because it’s cold as hell in Chimoio right now and I spend most of the day freezing. It reminds me of winter in Maringá. We have no heat in the house and I have to work and sleep totally bundled up. I’ve taken to draping myself in a blanket while I work at the dining room table, carrying it around with me like a cape every time I go to the kitchen or answer the phone. I sleep under three blankets with my red wool overcoat draped over me. I have to wear two pairs of socks so my toes don’t go numb. Thankfully we have hot water in the house, but it comes out of the showerhead in a slow trickle and only covers a small part of your body. As such, every time I take a shower I get goosebumps and end up even colder than when I started. I don’t have a hair dryer, either, so I have to let my hair air dry. I’m amazed that I haven’t gotten sick yet.

I hate having a maid. Okay, obviously I like the fact that I don’t have to do dishes or scrub the toilet, but I despise having someone in my space, messing with my things. I feel uncomfortable every time I am around our maids, resentful that I have no privacy. Dona Gina and Dona Margarida barely speak Portuguese. They survive on a meager salary. They scrub the floor with a sponge and hand-wash all of our clothes. They clean up after five white foreigners. I hate it all. I am filled with bourgie guilt every time they ask me for money to buy dried fish and maize meal for lunch. I feel terrible even complaining about the fact that they probably stole my clothes. These women need the money much more than I need the clothes; they have suffered already so much just by virtue of being Mozambican…but I’m resentful. I’m pissed off. This fucking sucks.

My back hurts. I sleep on a sad excuse for a mattress – it’s lumpy and the springs poke through what is left of the fabric cover, making it impossible to get a good night’s sleep. My work arrangement doesn’t help one bit. I sit in a plastic lawnchair and work on my laptop at the kitchen table. The chair is too low and the table way too high. My fingers fall asleep as I type. I’m getting ingrown hairs on the backs of my thighs because I sit all damn day. I can’t seem to stretch my back enough to make the aches go away.

Finally, I miss Ricardo. He has become a fundamental part of my life here in Chimoio, and I am counting the days until he returns from Brazil…Sigh.