It’s a lazy Sunday in Chimoio. I’m sitting outside on dog-ravaged wicker furniture, trying to get a breath of fresh air and at least create the illusion that I’ve gone out of the house. Our three Rhodesian Ridgebacks are sprawled out on the porch keeping me company. There is a group of boys in the street playing an improvised game of soccer that really consists in taking turns kicking a half-inflated ball as far as possible, then chasing after it screaming. Each time the ball bounces past our gate, the dogs look up excitedly. About every third time the lure of the game is greater than their laziness and they run to the gate, barking like crazy, trying to chase after the kids.
Concentrating under these circumstances, as you can imagine, is a challenge. About an hour ago, at the height of the barking and excitement from the game, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked up to the gate, put on a stern face, and yelled at the kids.
“Can you guys move further down the street to play? You’re driving the dogs nuts.”
One of the older boys looked at me smugly, hands on his hips. Who was this white girl asking them to interrupt their Sunday soccer? He gave an answer fit for a teenager trying to impress his peers. “It’s not my fault your dogs are barking!”
The other kids broke out laughing and defiantly started kicking the ball around again. The dogs raced up and down the length of the gate, stirring up clouds of dust.
My patience was at an end. I raised my voice and called over the boy who had spoken earlier. “If you don’t move around the corner to play I’m going to set these dogs loose!”
He cocked an eyebrow and I walked over to the huge lock and chain that hold the gate closed. I had no intention of setting the dogs on them, but wanted to give the brats a good scare. I fished out my keys, jangled the lock and chain, and watched with satisfaction as the kids all sprinted around the corner to continue their game far away from our house.
The dogs have since chilled out somewhat, only barking when the ball escapes and makes it this far down the block, and I can finally write in relative peace.
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So the main thing on my mind lately has been Hurricane Katrina. My housemates and I have been accompanying the storm online, from the time it hit the Florida coast through the various botched relief efforts in New Orleans. I am overwhelmed by the size of this disaster, and my heart goes out to all the people that were affected by it.
People here in Mozambique have been quite sympathetic to the tragedy. After all, they know a thing or two about severe flooding. In 2000, excessive rains punished the southern part of the country, and the major rivers in the area spilled over their banks. Huge expanses of land were completely submerged, and help was slow to trickle in. Some of you may remember one of the most shocking images from the floods – a woman giving birth in a treetop, surrounded by dozens of feet of murky water. If the US is struggling to respond adequately to Hurricane Katrina, I can only imagine what disaster relief efforts must be like in countries that are void of forecasting technology and have fewer resources in the first place.
Hurricane Katrina has also put a very humbling spin on my philosophical musings about the concept of home. I can only imagine how tremendously difficult it must be to know very well where your home is, only to have it wiped off the map overnight along with all of your possessions. I have several friends that are passing through this very scenario right now…
Meghan, my friend from high school, had lived for 7 years in New Orleans with her boyfriend. They were able to make it out of the city in time, but were not able to take much with them and are now bouncing between relatives houses, trying to figure out where and how to start anew. Their apartment building is likely going to collapse from the soggy, unstable soil around it before they are allowed back in the city. Even if it survives, they are unsure whether or not they will return to New Orleans.
Even more gut-wrenching is what happened to Erin’s family. Last year, after losing nearly everything in the 4 hurricanes that hit Florida, Erin’s mom and dad decided to leave Pensacola and start over. They moved to Biloxi, built a beautiful beachfront home, and had a year of relative calm until Katrina. Thankfully, Erin’s family made it out of the storm’s path and is safe, but the water and wind literally ripped their house to pieces and they lost everything. I talked to Erin on the phone the other day and “overwhelming” was the only way she could begin to describe losing your home and all your possessions.
My heart goes out to them, as well as everyone touched by this tragedy.
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In other news, Ricardo almost certainly has Hepatitis A. He noticed last night while brushing his teeth that his eyes were yellow. We compared our eyes in the bathroom mirror, and the difference was shocking. Even his skin was jaundiced, making my pale complexion look pink and vibrant in comparison. He is also experiencing all of the other symptoms of Hepatitis A – abrupt onset of fever, abdominal pains, dark urine, loss of appetite, nausea…It’s hard to know if he had malaria and then came down with Hep A, or if it was his liver causing trouble the entire time. Even if he didn’t actually have malaria, it is much better to be on the safe side and take the course of treatment. Hepatitis A, while a pain in the ass, is not a fatal disease. Malaria, if not treated, almost always is.
Unfortunately, there is no treatment for Hep A other than bed rest and a low-fat, alcohol-free diet for 6 months. I am thanking my lucky stars right now that I overcame my fear of needles and got all of my shots before coming to Mozambique. Had I not been vaccinated against Hep A, I would likely be yellow-eyed and miserable along with Ricardo right now.
Speaking of things health-related, I am going “home” to San Francisco at the end of the month for a week of medical and dental appointments. The main reason for the trip is that my moles have been changing and growing in a way that is making me super nervous. Nothing serious so far, but I need to get them biopsied and potentially removed. I’m going to take advantage of being in the US and also get my teeth cleaned, go to the gynecologist, go to the dermatologist, and get my hair cut.
Yes, it’s a butt-buster of a trip just to have some basic procedures and tests performed, but it is well worth it in my book. Theoretically, I could get everything done in Nespruit, South Africa and use my international health insurance, but between the flight and hotel and exam expenses, it would be nearly the same price as a ticket back to the US. Also, there is something priceless about having your mom available to hold your hand while you freak out at the doctor’s office (something I’ve been known to do more than once).
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