Today Was One of Those Days

It all started when I was reading the paper this morning. There was a cutesie little feature on "quotes from dads" submitted by readers.

SHIT, I thought, not again*.

I'd forgotten Father's Day. Or so I thought for about 20 minutes until I frantically went on Amazon.com to pick out a present for overnight shipment, debating whether to cook up an excuse or just be straight and admit I'd forgotten, and saw a page full of grills and gadgets and geeky stuff perfect for Dad.

It's next Sunday. Sigh of relief. My present's already in the mail.

Then I got ready for a nice, productive day all by myself here at Casa Cali. Rico and my mom had an all-day meeting, so I was looking forward to organizing my office, making some jewelry, doing laundry and catching up on emails. We only have one car, so I was ready to spend the whole day at home.

It was too good to be true, though. I soon discovered I'd spaced a workout session with my trainer at 4pm - all the way in Oakland. And I had no car.

Thankfully my mom lives about a 30-minute walk from our house. I managed to email her in the middle of their meeting and get permission to use her car. I'd have to go on an unexpected walk, but I thought I'd solved my logistical problem...until I remembered that I HAD NO DRIVER'S LICENSE. It had stayed in Rico's wallet after our jaunt to the local bar yesterday to watch the World Cup game.

Shit. Again.

Still, I thought I'd go ahead and risk it. I walked to my mom's house, got her spare key, found her car in the building's garage, and promptly hit another obstacle. I couldn't figure out how to get the damn garage gate open from the inside without the clicker. My mom had said there was a box where you could use the key to open the door, but I couldn't find it anywhere.

I went in search of the maintenance man to help me, but he was nowhere to be found. I finally had to ask some random couple walking their dog if they could show me how to open the garage door from the inside. I tried to put on my most innocent, "I'm not trying to steal anything or break in" face possible.

The stupid key box turned out to be about the size of a walnut and was hidden all the way in the darkest corner of the parking garage. I never would have found it without that neighbor.

So then, after all the car and garage drama, I was finally with vehicle and on my way to the studio in Oakland to work out, praying for no cops along the way.

Upon arrival, my trainer - who is never, ever, ever late - wasn't there. Turns out she didn't have me in her schedule. I managed to work out with another trainer who was free at that time, but still, I felt so crazy.

I NEVER have days like this, where everything seemingly goes wrong, or at least deviates significantly from the plan. Sometimes I have a little scheduling hiccup, or forget about a doctor's appointment...but a whole sequence of stuff is rare. It sort of knocked me off kilter, so I'm doing what any sane girl would do at the end of a day like this:

BATH + WINE + TRASH TV.


* Last year I forgot my Dad's birthday, and couldn't believe I'd make a similar mistake two years in a row.

I Tried.

I made a resolution to get back into dancing in 2010. I found a studio in Berkeley with cool worldbeat and Nia classes. I checked their website. I called to be sure they were open and got an answering service with the list of classes for today. After absolutely no indication they might be closed, Rico drove me to the studio and I was greeted with a padlocked door and no information about when classes will resume.

So frustrating. It certainly wouldn't have taken much effort to replace the regular phone message with holiday closure information, or to put a little note on the website. You'd think with all the exercise-related New Year's resolutions out there, the'd be savvier to the needs of new clients.

Meh.

Try again another day, I suppose.

They Say It Comes in Threes...

Not the best day so far:

1. Woke up to Parceiro peeing on our quilt and licking himself, a sure sign of what is unfortunately his 3rd UTI in about 2 months. The vet recommended a special food for cats with urinary problems, but - of course - the only sell it in South Africa. Rico and I aren't able to go across the border right now (my passport is caught up in immigration for residency renewal, and Rico is working on a consulting assignment), but we've asked Hugh Marlboro to buy some of the prescription food for us when he goes to South Africa next week. Regardless, I'm putting the boys back on a homemade diet (we'd snuck in some crappy kibble in the last 6 months or so because it's easier and cheaper, and now I feel guilty).

2. Got to work and received an "FYI forward" from a colleague of a scathing email this man at headquarters wrote to the CEO and CFO blasting the report I just submitted. Reading it made me see red. I was asked by the Moz office to "clean up a mess" with this one program's reporting, received little support or feedback from certain key people (i.e. the author of the angry email) in the process, was told by my boss to go ahead and do the report in the best way possible given the information I had, distributed it to a group of people for feedback prior to submission, got approval for submission to the donor, and now this man comes out of left field and tears my work to pieces! I stand by my methodology, and while I believe this guy has some valid points about weaknesses in internal communication, his approach really pissed me off.

3. On the heels of the whole report thing, I got a call from our cook, Américo. "Epa, senhora," he started out quietly. I knew his tone of voice meant bad news. "Tudo bem, Américo?" It wasn't. He explained that the glass pyrex in which I'd had him bake a massive quiche for lunch had shattered while in the oven. I told him not to worry, to clean up the oven, be careful not to cut himself, and throw the whole mess in the trash.

Relatively speaking, not the end of the world...but still, ufff! I'm ready for this day to be over.

Changing: Seasons and Jobs

After a couple of windy, nasty days, summer is finally here in Maputo. Today it is bright blue skies and feels like it's easily 40C. I'm excited about the onset of summer, even though it is unbearably hot and humid at times. This year I am determined to take advantage of living in such a beautiful place. I want to do more trips to the beach, visit new places like Tofo and Ponta Mamoli, finally go to Kruger, and continue the trend that A. and I started the last weekend it was this hot - freshly squeezed Bloody Marys using our juice extractor and the tomatoes and veg from her garden.

Along with the weather, today marks the end of a chapter in my professional life. I have accepted a full-time job (gasp!) with an organization whose tag-line is something like "Business solutions to rural poverty." Technically they are an NGO, which has me a bit wary given my general opinion of aid, however they *are* heavily private sector focused, and their mission is to strengthen business operating environments and develop specific sectors, cooperatives and entrepreneurs. One thing that has me cautiously optimistic is that they use quantitative, business-inspired indicators to measure their activities and successes - or lack thereof.

If nothing else, it is always good to understand both sides of an argument. Leaving the private sector for the time being will give me valuable insight to the day-to-day workings and strategies of a business-oriented NGO in Mozambique. I continue to believe there is some model out there that provides a positive impact, though on my more cynical days all I can think about is how all donors and capacity-builders and long-term sustainable developers should just get the hell out and leave Mozambique and the Mozambicans to sort themselves out - same thing for all "developing" nations.

Anyhow, it will be an experience, that is for sure. I hope to take something good out of it, as well as contribute something valuable in the process. One thing sem dúvida is that I am ready to leave Big International Corporation. For all the private sector, bottom-line-focused, small-business-enabling rhetoric around here, my end evaluation after working as a consultant here for 8 months is that it is one of the more supremely, maddeningly, absurdly inefficient institutions I've ever encountered, both internally and externally. So much for the "private sector is more efficient" argument, although BIC is more like an aid organization in that their funding for this particular fund comes from donors, and therefore heads don't roll in the face of non-performance like they do in traditional financial institutions.

So what will I be doing in my new job? A lot of different things, but I hope that keeps me interested. My title is Director of Stakeholder Relations, which I am trying to ignore because I hate the wishy-washy sound of it. Essentially I will be responsible for: 1) ensuring the quality and timeliness of all written proposals to funding sources; 2) ensuring the quality and timeliness of all reporting to funding sources and other stakeholders; 3) managing the volunteer consultant program; and 4) developing and implementing knowledge management practices, including trainings and mentorships for staff.

The part of the job that I am most looking forward to is working with the volunteer consultants. This particular organization brings very high-caliber individuals to work on specific projects in each of the countries where they operate. For example, an executive from Shell Oil might come to Mozambique to work for 2 months helping a group of coconut producers develop a biodiesel business plan. Or a consultant from McKinsey might come for 6 months to create a marketing plan for the country's cashew industry. I am hoping that the interaction with all of the volunteer consultants keeps me inspired, on my toes, and interested in my job.

I'm counting down the hours until I say goodbye to BIC. More than anything, the bureaucracy drove me crazy. I already knew that I'm not cut out to work in an environment that doesn't embrace innovation and flexibility, but this experience confirmed it 100%. The saddest part is that BIC is staffed with some of the most intelligent, committed people you could hope to come across, both Mozambican and expats. The cumbersome, ineffective system, however, almost negates that fact...

Adeus, senhores. It's been a good ride, but it's even better to get out when the time is right.

Limits: They Do a Girl Good

I've still not been able to sit and have the big contract and salary-negotiating meeting with Hugh Marlboro. First he was out of the office, then I went home early one day, then there were the riots, and now he is in South Africa. I am already a week over my período de experiência of 3 months, and while I was glad to accept a very low salary during this trial period, I would like to sit down and figure out just what the Banana Empire is willing to pay me for my work.

You see, I dish out this exact advice all the time to the boys in the warehouse. Don't work if you haven't already clarified your what your wages will be. Don't work overtime without compensation. Be assertive and ask for what you know your work is worth. Don't let management brush you off. Fight for your rights as a worker. Today I put my money where my mouth is, so to speak.

Ludmila, a person with whom I already have a complicated relationship for several reasons, interrupted me while I was having a conversation with Ahmed and demanded that I come upstairs with her, that she had some work for me to do. Mind you, Ludmila is not remotely my boss. The way she approached me really rubbed me the wrong way, especially since she was asking me to cover her work, do *her* a favor, with a tone of voice that was as if I'd screwed up somehow and she was now doleing out the consequences. I told Ludmila that I was in the middle of a conversation with Ahmed, that I'd go upstairs as soon as we'd finished speaking. She looked at me and said, "Make it quick," then turned and headed up to her office. Oh, that was not the way I wanted to start out my day...

When I finally went up to Ludmila's office, she handed me a stack of legal documents and told me that a group of trabalhadores would be coming into the office this morning to look for her, that I must give them the legal papers on her behalf, have them sign a receipt form, direct them to the agricultural workers' syndicate, and set a meeting for the 10th to discuss labor relations. Then I was to track down phone numbers for about 20 depot workers, call them to reprimand them for not showing up to a contract meeting, then ask them to come to the office on the 14th.

Then, once I'd received those instructions and agreed to help her out, Ludmila raised her eyebrows and said, "So, can I give you some more work?" Excuse me? No, not really. I'm currently working without a defined salary, without any job description, without having been able to sit and give input to my boss about my experiential period, and Ludmila wants to give me work that she herself can't get to? Whatever. I told her quite simply, "No, I'd rather you didn't."

She just about keeled over when I said that, then asked why I was unwilling to do her work. I calmly explained that, while I was happy to do her a favor and do the tasks she'd already passed on, I wasn't inclined to do much of anything else until Hugh Marlboro and I have had a chance to sit down and discuss my salary and contract. Ludmila said, "But we're all a family here. Nobody will give you a salary that is unfair! You shouldn't worry about it. Go ahead and keep working."

"Sorry," I said, "I have a right to know what my salary will be before taking on work. More than anything, I want to have a clear agreement about the terms of my employment so that we can avoid resentment in the future."

Ludmila looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. I didn't care. Especially after finding out yesterday what Ahmed and Paulo are being payed as a salary. I won't put the specific figure, but suffice to say it's shockingly low for what they do here at the company, especially considering that Paulo is in the midst of getting his degree in management! College, people! These are not physical laborers, yet their wages would lead you to think otherwise.

I spent about an hour in the morning resolving Ludmila's human resources problems. I made my calls, scheduled the labor meetings as requested, and attended to the 7 men who came in to receive the legal-looking notifications. I had a look at what I was giving them, and I felt a bit depressed when I saw a typical legal-ese letter, referencing articles in the Labor Code, and using archaic and complex terms that even *I* need a dictionary to understand.

I recognize the need to deliver certain information in a legally sound manner, in accordance with time-honored structures and regulations. However, why must there be such a gargantuan gap between the language used to deliver a message and the language necessary for the recipient to understand it? Is it not possible to make two versions of a notice, one that is legally sound, then one that puts the document into layman's terms so that the recipient has a fighting chance of understanding it??

The essence of the document was that these men had been caught stealing bananas from the trucks - 90 kilos, to be exact - and reselling them on the local markets for a profit. As a result, they had been suspended for two weeks, and were being fined the equivalent of 20 day's wages for the infraction. I had to give them the letter, have them sign a copy of it for our records, then direct them to the syndicate to clarify any questions before the big resolution meeting with the company next week.

One man, when it came time to sign the receipt acknowledging he'd received the document, obviously struggled to form the letter 'F', then the letter 'e', then the letter 'r' as he tried to print his name. He managed to scrawl out 'Fer', then stopped, pen hovering awkwardly over the paper. Ahmed was in the office with me (he was covering Roberto's day shift), as was another of the banana workers involved in the theft case. The guy's friend prompted him, saying "next comes 'N'", and drawing the letter on the palm of his hand. It wasn't enough, and Ahmed quickly scanned the top of my desk for something that could help. He found a report cover with big, bold letters in the title. "Here, like this one," he said, and pointed to the 'N' in 'PLANTATION'. Then came 'A'. Ahmed and I both pointed it out on the report cover, our fingers knocking in mid-air. We went on like this until the guy had laboriously printed his name on the piece of paper.

"Hey, brother," Ahmed said, pointing a finger at the guy, "you've got to copy your name 1,000 times so that you get used to writing it!"

I was incredibly humbled by the experience. This was the first time in my entire life I'd come across someone incapable of printing his own name. I've worked with many illiterate people over the years, but all of them have been capable of printing their name, even if it is just a collection of initials.

"What happens to people like him?" I asked Ahmed. "How on earth will he understand the letter I've just given him? Is there someone at the syndicate that will sit with him and explain what is in this notification, what he is being punished for?"

"In theory, yes, there should be someone available to help represent workers who are illiterate." He shrugged his shoulders, then continued, "But I don't know...I've never worked with anyone from a syndicate. I don't know if it really happens like it should."

I would be curious to know myself. Is there anyone who will sit with this man and explain, step-by-step, the process he is about to go through? Though I felt inclined to do it myself, not only is it not my job, *I* didn't even understand the full contents of the legal document.

Yet another reason I want to have this overdue meeting with Hugh Marlboro: if my job here is to include resolving human resources issues, a distinct possibility since there is nobody dedicated to that function at the moment, my salary expectations are going to go way up. While certainly an important part of running a company, especially given my recent rants about low salaries and management providing adequate compensation to the workers, I absolutely DETEST working in human resource management. We all have our price, however...

Cimentos de Moçambique - the Toxic Cloud of Dust Continues

Friends, I am on a mission. I may need your help, though, because while I have a good idea of how to act on this particular issue, I never underestimate the power of the blogosphere and your multiple and unexpected connections.

Here's the deal:

About 1 mile from the Banana Empire Headquarters in Matola, there is a cement factory run by one of the country's largest businesses, Cimentos de Moçambique. Every day, there is a disgusting plume of pollution billowing out of the factory. While certainly not the ideal situation, I accept that some industrial operations cannot function without a certain level of pollutants and noxious byproducts being generated; I just usually assume that there is some sort of procedure in place for dealing with said pollution, or that the company runs a social or environmental program somewhere that offsets what they are spewing into the air on a regular basis.

Unfortunately, Cimentos de Moçambique does not stop just at the daily column of pollution rising out of the factory. No, my friends, this company does a massive belching-out-of-toxic-dust once a week. They literally release a cloud of cement particules and God knows what else into the air that is so dense that it filters the sun and makes it look overcast and nasty outside.

The first time I witnessed said major-pollution-dump, I was at the office and the warehouse boys called and told me to look out my window. When they told me what was causing the hazy white-gray sky, I literally couldn't believe my ears.

Over the holidays, when the cleaning of the office became a bit lax, the dust that settled in the nooks and crannies of our filing cabinets and desks, once affected by the super humid air of this region of Moz, actually began to solidify and turn into something resembling grout! If the cement residues that are released from Cimentos de Moçambique transform in this manner inside my closed office 1 mile away from the factory, imagine what they are not doing, for example, to the lungs of the people working for that company!

So here's the thing: Cimentos de Moçambique's majority owner is Cimentos de Portugal, CIMPOR, a company that is listed on the Euronext Lisbon stock exchange, and prominently professes on their homepage to "adopt concepts of sustainable development in an economic, social and environmental way, respecting scrupulously a serie [sic] of ethical values".

Excuse me?? I see tangible evidence on a constant basis that this statement is complete bullshit. Or, perhaps this ethical, politically correct mission statement is only applicable for operations in Europe, where there are consequences and fines to pay for the blatant disregard of environmental and human welfare?

I am certainly not the first person to complain about the dust released from the ciment factory in Matola. I have heard many Mozambicans lamenting the pollution from the company, and concerned about the effects this may have on their own health. But it is always with an air of resignation, which I totally understand, because honestly, what on earth can one feasibly do to stop such things in a country where laws are poorly enforced, officials can be bought off, and the price of "development" is many times readily accepted as a necessary ill on the path to prosperity. [To be fair, this kind of thing is also an uphill battle in a country with a funcitonal judiciary system and strictly enforced environmental regulations...]

Unfortunately, this problem has been ongoing. In September 2003, at the Mozambican Foro Empresarial para o Meio Ambiente (Business Forum for the Environment), the Director of Production for Cimentos de Moçambique, one Engenheiro José Machado, spoke about the environmental challenges of producing construction materials. After his presentation, the audience presented a series of questions regarding their collective concern about the dust clouds coming from the factory. His response was that the company has dust collection filters, however given the constant oscillations in the supply of electricity in Mozambique, the filters are not effective. The Engineer then commented about the company's dedication to training, and summed it up by saying that "cement is the barometer of development." [See transcript from the Forum here, in Portuguese.]

I'm sorry, but I find it wildly difficult to believe that in the past 5 years Cimentos de Moçambique hasn't been able to find a better solution to their filter problem...

I plan on photographing the toxic cloud that is released from Cimentos de Moçambique. I want to send the photos and a description of what this company is doing to some sort of watchdog group. I'd also like to send my information to the management of the Mozambican and the Portuguese operations, because if they are not motivated by a concern for the environment, perhaps they will be spurred to act to avoid a PR fallout. I mean, it's not exactly a positive thing for your investors and shareholders to hear that you are content to operate in your ex-colony in such a hypocritcal and damaging manner...

Not to mention the fact that as a "breather" of Matola's air, I'd like to avoid the possibility of my lungs turning to cement!

So, friends, any suggestions of places where I can send my information? Greenpeace? Is there some sort of Environmental Ethics watchdog group in Portugal? Please send me your ideas...

On Capitalism. Yadda, Yadda, Yadda.

I was all worked up - and continue to be - about the difficult situation of the boys in the warehouse, the low wages, the insane hours accepted without protest...

Life in upper management is easy. *My* life is easy...

I attended a series of meetings with Hugh Marlboro this afternoon that really got me thinking. He has two big projects in mind - one is an expansion of the Banana Empire's current operations; the other is a new venture altogether, but has the potential to create many jobs and generate significant revenues for the Province of Maptuo, as well as, obviously, for Hugh Marlboro himself.

I come out of meetings such as these invigorated, excited about the possibilities of entrepreneurism, motivated by the transformation potential on a national level of these types of projects. Then I go back to work, look at the reality of my warehouse friends, and become more of a realist.

I think the Banana Empire - along with most profit-oriented businesses (certainly those in the developing world, but I think in general) - could stand to provide better wages and more benefits (who am I kidding...ANY benefits!) to their front-line workers.

However, I clearly see the other side to this coin.

Hugh Marlboro is the largest employer of women in Mozambique outside the Government. Think about this for a minute. It is a pretty incredible statistic. He employs nearly 1,000 workers in rural areas of the country where there are painfully little job opportunities and the population has significant aid-dependence.

Thus comes the age-old development quandary: is it better to provide employment, any employment, even if it means measly wages, long hours and no benefits? Is this better than the alternatives of joblessness and destitute existance, and total dependence on foreign aid or the State (oh, wait, they are also dependent on foreign aid!) for subsistence??

I flip-flop in my evaluation of this argument on perhaps a monthly basis. Sometimes I see the clear benefits of Capitalism with a capital 'C'. How else can you ensure real accountability and efficiency in service provision? How else can you create a market that will be self-sustainable and not clogged with subsidized, unfeasible entities? On the other hand, there are the clear social downsides to this model...

Sigh..

La Despedida

Yesterday morning, Ahmed came into my office and announced, "Estou a bazar," slang for "I am outta here."

I asked where he was going, thinking perhaps he was making a run to Shoprite for some lunch curries, or maybe to Maputo to run some errands for the day. From the way he looked at me, however, I knew it was more serious.

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"Estou a bazar," he said again. "I won't be seeing you anymore at work."

My heart froze. What did he mean he was leaving work? Hadn't I just reassured the boys the other day that their jobs were safe, that despite these times of transition, they would still be around at the Banana Empire?

"Como assim?" I insisted on more details.

"Mr. Luigi put me to work on the night shift, starting today. I'm going to be supervising the banana operations from now on."

"What about Paulo and Raimundo?"

"They're staying on the day shift to sell the eggs in the warehouse."

Ahmed and I looked at each other over my desk, each of us suddenly without words as the news sunk in that our fabulous team of four was being broken up. He held out his hand, asking for mine, and gave me a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm really sad that you're leaving," I said, unexpected tears welling up in my eyes.

"Não chora," he said. Don't cry. "Life goes on."

And with that, Ahmed turned and left my office, leaving me staring at a blank computer screen.

Obviously I am very relieved that Ahmed still has a job, no matter what the hours are. I am glad that all the boys managed to retain their jobs. But selfishly, I am incredibly sad that Ahmed will no longer be working with us during the day.

After he left my office, we texted each other, trying to figure out when our schedules would cross and we could all get together to hang out and have a beer. There is only one possible time - Saturday afternoon - and I silently vowed to do whatever it takes to make sure we meet at least once a month outside work.

I went downstairs towards the end of the day and sat a bit with Paulo and Raimundo. We all agreed that work simply isn't the same without Ahmed, without his incessant shouting for the workers to load the trucks faster, MAIS RRRRRRRÁPIDO, without his jokes and gifts and stupid cell phone ring that blares out Brazilian funk every time someone calls. The three of us will certainly continue with our lunchtime rituals and camraderie in the workplace, but without Ahmed it's incomplete.

Yesterday evening, while cooking carne adovada, I spoke to Ahmed on the phone as he was on his way to work. I asked if he'd sorted out his working hours and salary. He said mais ou menos, that he still needed to get exact figures. I am always urging the boys to be assertive when it comes to things like unpaid overtime, working on holidays without extra pay, no benefits. If they don't say anything, the powers that be here at the Empire will gladly move forward without giving the workers fair compensation. Not that they are running an exploitative business here, it's just that it's all too easy to give someone the short end of the stick if it means you get a higher profit and have less of a headache in the process.

Last week, for a few days, all of my warehouse friends worked double shifts, from 7am to 11pm, without a break inbetween. I asked if they'd sorted out their extra pay for these insane work hours, and they said Mr. Luigi their supervisor was beating around the bush and avoiding a detailed discussion. The boys worked anyway. I later found out what they'd been paid for the additional shift, an amount negotiated after the work had already been performed: EIGHT DOLLARS. Eight fucking dollars!

This makes me upset on so many levels. Disappointed that management is willing to pay so little to 3 guys who are definitely a rarity in terms of work ethic. Sad that the boys didn't push for fair compensation for their hard work, be it because they themselves don't recognize the value of their work, or because they don't feel comfortable talking to the big boss. Upset that the quest for the biggest profit possible at the end of the year makes these types of decisions commonplace.

Yes, I understand that the principles of capitalism create this situation, and in general I think the private sector, profit-oriented model is the best (or even the "least-worst") way forward. But I also believe there is space in the capitalist model for fair wages, employee well-being, certain benefits. Little things that yes, at the end of the day take away from the bottom line, but end up buying a tremendous amount of goodwill, which in theory leads to productivity and loyalty.

I doubt the people who decide the wages that these boys - and all the other manual labor/seasonal/warehouse workers - receive have ever stopped to think what it means to live on minimum wage in Mozambique. I think there is a perception that life for "those kinds of people" is cheap, that they are quite content and able to make do with a monthly salary that is equivalent to what I often spend on just one meal in a restaurant.

Paulo and Raimundo were telling me yesterday that the price of chapas is set to increase here in Maputo. Currently, the price for taking one of the insane public minibus taxis is 5 to 7.5 meticais, the eqivalent of US$0,20 to $0,30. The new price will be 14.5 to 17 meticais, or US$0,60 to $0,70. This may seem extraordinarily cheap for public transport, when compared to US or even Brazilian bus fares, but bear in mind that these are largely unregulated, unsafe, uncomfortable vehicles.

Raimundo got a calculator and did a simple equation for us. In order to come to work, he must take 2 chapas each way. The end figure for 26 working days a month was 1,500 meticiais, or about US$63 spent on transport. Minimum wage in Mozambique is around 1,600 meticiais. You do the math...

In other news, yesterday was Hugh Marlboro's birthday, but as he was away from the office all day, we are celebrating today. The financial manager and I have organized a small party. I sent one of the warehouse loaders to Shoprite to buy a cake and some cokes. The only cake available in the supermarket's bakery was one that is fit for a little girl's princess-themed 11th birthday. It is light pink, covered with hearts and flowers and silver sprinkles. I can't wait to see Hugh Marlboro's reaction!

Why??

Okay, I have about a hundred other things I'd like to blog about, but can I just vent for a moment?

My freaking coworker Ludmila just called me ALEXANDER!!!!

Unfortunately she has a very boring name in real-life, otherwise I'd equivalently mess up her name and see how she likes it.

Grrrrrrrr. Stupid people.

Look Out, I'm Feeling Unpleasant

In mood, mostly, though the old goopy eye is giving my foul temper somewhat of a run for its money.

I am annoyed as shit right now.

The mouse touchpad on my laptop has some sort of perpetual bug that, even after supposedly being fixed, insists on messing with the function of the left click button. This is driving me slowly insane, not to mention it has made me lose several comments, blog posts, and even part of a Word document because I forget the stupid button is broken and go clicking away like normal.

Speaking of computer problems, Rico and I are working on a translating job and I managed to lose all of the work I accomplished this afternoon. For some reason, my zipped document failed to save. So I had to start all over, 4 hours of work down the turrrrlet.

There was something else on this list - the big clencher of a thing that was making me feel pissed off just 5 minutes ago - and honestly, my mind has gone blank. I can't remember what on earth I was so worked up about that I felt compelled to blog.

Now my faulty memory has me annoyed, but that wasn't it...

Think, Ali, think.

Ah, just got it back. It has to do with my name.

For the last 3 weeks I've been collecting CVs for the position of Financial Director at the banana empire. I very clearly stated on the announcement that potential candidates should send me a cover letter and CV. I put my name and e-mail on the ad. I even prefaced my name with "Ms." to avoid any confusion.

So why the hell do people feel compelled to switch things around and address their applications to "Alexander"??? Do they do it because they expect a man to hold my position at work? Is it sheer laziness? Are they unfamiliar with one of the more classic, internationally friendly female names out there, opting instead for the masculine version just because it rings a bell with something learned in 9th grade world history?

I'll let you in on a little secret: I rejected every single person that sent me a cover letter calling me Alexander. Perhaps it was a bit harsh, but it made my screening process much easier, and gave me a slight sense of retribution for all these fools messing up my name.

Okay. Time to get back to catch-up translating work.

I wish I had some cheesecake. That would make me feel better.