The Path

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about the path I followed academically and professionally to get where I am today. It's incredible how everything is interconnected; choices are never made in a vacuum, they are not static in time. Each small decision, each experience affects the range of possibilities for the next step, and so on exponentially.

For example: my life path changed radically when I decided to go to Brasil at age 15 for a year-long student exchange. The first significant choice was the destination. I still don't have a good answer as to why I wanted to go to Brasil given that I have no family ties there and no specific draw to the country. I briefly considered Venezuela and Hong Kong, but in the end Brasil was always my #1 choice. I was accepted to the program, and spent a year in Maringá, Paraná. It was a fabulous year, and I fell in love with many facets of and people from Brasil. When my year was up and my visa about to expire, I cried harder than I ever have in my entire life. I wanted desperately to stay, to create a vida tropical for myself.

Alas, I had to go home to New Mexico. However, already my exchange year had altered my path. First, while abroad, I'd decided that I couldn't possibly go back to the petty world of high school for my senior year. I applied early to the University of New Mexico (yes, without a diploma or GED - it's possible!), and was accepted. I only applied to that one college. I'm not really sure why. I went to a private high school that clearly groomed its students to pursue an ivy league education. All of my friends aspired to attend Harvard or Yale or Stanford. I never thought twice about UNM. Perhaps it was because they offered me a full merit scholarship plus a living stipend, a pretty sweet deal for someone hellbent on coming back to the US and retaining the glorious independence found while living overseas. Who knows. Maybe I thought if I wasn't accepted it would be a sign that I should be normal and go back to high school. It's funny, I read back through my diaries from that period and can confirm I never even contemplated an option B.

So choice #1 was to leave high school and go to college a year early. Choice #2 was to study Latin American Studies and Portuguese. It was a no-brainer, really. At that point I was so enamored of all things Brasil that the idea of getting a degree that would permit me to speak Portuguese (and recover my Spanish after being cannibalized by it's Iberian-rooted cousin), study Latin American history and culture, and take classes like "Musica Popular Brasilera" seemed absolutely fabulous.

I enjoyed my course at UNM, and loved the college life. I hung out with a crowd of exchange students and immigrants, played capoeira, and got in the back door of nearly all the bars in Albuquerque because the guys working security were all part of the Latin American crowd, all friends more than willing to let me and my sidekick A. in despite the fact that we were drastically underage. I traveled back to Paraná to see my host family and Brasilian friends at every opportunity, racking up an impressive amount of frequent flyer miles in the process.

Still, I longed to be back in Brasil on a more permanent basis. I started to research college-level exchange opportunities, and found a business school in Rio that sent students to UNM on a fairly regular basis, but had never received an American student to date. I didn't particularly care what I was going to be studying - all I wanted was to get back to the country I so loved. One day I called up the admissions secretary at that business school, explained my situation, and asked her what I needed to do to be accepted as an exchange student. She was thrilled, and essentially told me that all she needed was my full name and address, that she'd fax over an acceptance letter immediately. I was incredibly excited, and started making plans to go abroad again that next semester.

I moved to Rio in January 2000 with two suitcases, a hotel reservation, a copy of the acceptance letter from the business school, and a good dose of courage. My first two weeks in the city I spent based at the Hotel Florida, desperately looking for an apartment to rent and trying to figure out the most efficient way to take the bus and metro downtown to school.

I lived in Rio for a year and a half. It was another great experience, despite the fact that I wasn't particularly interested in accounting or finance classes. While at the business school, I met Ricardo (the full story is elsewhere on this blog if you are interested). I also convinced my mom to buy the Casa Rosa just 1 month before moving back to the US (where my wedding to Rico took place last year).

Obviously a lot more happened in 1.5 years in Rio, but the objective of this post is not to tell those stories. The point is, my experience in the cidade maravilhosa definitively affeted my path from that point forward. Critically, my time in Rio pushed me towards getting an MBA. I'd already taken the prerequisite courses, and UNM offered a 3-2 program whereby you could double up on courses in your senior year of liberal arts undergraduate work (taking the basic MBA classes during that time), then go directly to their graduate business program and finish your BA and MBA in 5 years instead of 6.

I wasn't especially enamored by the idea of a career in business, but I figured - with encouragement from my mom - that an MBA was a good meal ticket to have. Especially since I already had one essentially useless degree under my belt (after all, what is one to do with a Latin American Studies and Portuguese degree if one is not interested in working in academia, as a researcher or as a linguist??).

So with the wholly practical justification that an MBA would open doors and get me a good job and a better salary, I started grad school. Again, I only ever considered attending UNM, a fairly mediocre school as far as business programs go. It didn't matter to me, however, because my aspirations were not at all status-oriented and my objective was not to work in investment banking or as a broker. All I wanted was a better arsenal come time to get a "real" job, and for that purpose, UNM was just fine.

I finished my MBA in 2003, at the tender age of 22. Not surprisingly, I hated business school, although I was very good at business (and at school) and had graduated in the top 5% of my class. I had no idea what I wanted to do with myself at that point.

Through a series of coincidences, that I won't get into here, I ended up moving to Austin, Texas and - after a brief stint as a waitress in an Italian restaurant - got a job as Proposal Writer and Director of an HIV prevention program at a local NGO. Again, there are hundreds of stories associated with my time in Austin (bad relationship, crazy job), but suffice to say that I burned out after working nearly 2 years with the intense, high-risk communities that were the target of our programs.

That's when I got the call, from a long-lost friend from my business school days in Rio. He was living in Chimoio, Mozambique and was working as a freelance consultant doing fundraising for private sector agribusiness projects along with another classmate of ours from back in the day. Bruno, my friend who called, wanted to know if I wanted to move to Mozambique to work with him and our other classmate, who was Ricardo. I didn't hesitate even 5 seconds. Yes. I was in for the adventure.

And so I moved to Mozambique in 2005, full of high hopes and idealism, and put my MBA and entrepreneurial spirit to good use. That led - in a nutshell - to getting married to Rico and figuring out, after a 4 year run, that I don't want to work in the development world. It also led to discovering my passion for jewelry and taking my creative side more seriously.

So, the bottom line of this rambling post is the following: without all those twists and turns, coincidences and confluences of experiences, I would not be where I am today. It all comes together, full circle. Discovering myself and my true calling is an ongoing process, impossible without the multiple wrong turns and erroneous paths of the past to shape my vision and determine my way.

Looking back, sometimes I think, "Why didn't I just study art in the first place?" The answer is deceptively simple: Because I wasn't meant to. All of the elements of my path thus far have been necessary to prepare me for a successful incarnation as an artist. I've found my creative vision (thanks to Mozambique, the trade beads from Ilha, and the cultural fusion that defines expat experiences as well as my jewelry inspiration), I've honed my business sense (thanks mostly to the experience of being a self-employed consultant for the last 4 years, but also to my MBA and my entrepreneurial bouts inbetween), and I've recognized and put all of my faith and heart in the importance of DOING WHAT YOU LOVE, not necessarily WHAT YOU ARE GOOD AT. There is a critical difference therewith, and it's taken me this long to see it, much less embrace it. However, I don't lament any lost time; things come together when they are meant to, and in that I take great pride.

Aproveitando o Fim-de-Semana

Taking advantage of a few days to myself while Rico is up in Zambézia Province working on some business plans, this weekend I am:

- baking the most delicious banana chocolate-chip muffins with soft brown sugar instead of the granulated kind;

- finishing a custom jewelry order for a friend, including a fabulous necklace of chunky Ilha de Moçambique trade beads with assymetrical accents of Hill Tribes silver;

- learning herringbone weave with silver wire;

- designing and making Rico's 30th birthday ring;

- trying to build a light box so I can improve my jewelry photos (the current quality of my photos is a massive pet peeve of mine);

- enjoying the first mugs of hot chocolate this year (granted it's still super warm out, but I'm embracing the slightly cooler weather for all it's worth);

- working on a strategic plan for my jewelry business;

- doing a few observational sketches (my goal is to learn how to do portraits decently);

- catching up with my parents on the phone;

- cuddling two kittens and a big bruiser of a cat;

- having breakfast with a girl I met through the blog who recently moved to Maputo;

- exercising on the treadmill;

- drinking vinho verde;

- sleeping.

The Story of Zeca

When Rico and I first moved to Maptuo back in early 2006, we didn't have a car. We relied on taxis to go to meetings, to the supermarket on the outskirts of town, to the airport, out to dinner, to clubs - essentially anything that wasn't within walking distance.

Taxi drivers in Maputo are a notoriously unreliable bunch, and at any one point Rico and I each would have a list of about 25 drivers stored in our cell phones that we would continuously update, moving the good drivers to the top of the list and deleting the ones who would show up drunk, who would run out of gas halfway to our destination, whose cars seemed within even the Mozambican definition of "unroadworthy", who would blatantly lie and say they were on their way and then arrive 30 minutes later with an indignant look on their faces as if they were doing us some grand favor by even showing up at all. We went through a long list of drivers before settling on a marginally satisfactory rotation of two or three for the day shift, and one or two for the night shift.

Even among this group of decently reliable drivers, Zeca stood out. He always kept his taxi - a silver Toyota Corolla - in good repair and with at least a quarter tank of fuel at all times. He was courteous, a good conversationalist (Zeca lived in East Germany for several years in the 1980's, where he worked in a tire factory as part of the Mozambican government's worker exchange initiatives), well-groomed (unshowered drivers make for an unpleasant ride) and punctual. We even got to the point where Zeca would call and let us know if he was going to be even 5 minutes late.

At that point, Rico and I were using Zeca's taxi services on a regular basis. We easily spent at least 1,500mt (about US$60) per week running around Maputo, and figured he was turning quite a profit thanks to our business. Additionally, we started recommending Zeca to all of our friends here in need of a reliable taxi.

Our friend M. started using Zeca quite frequently, and made a joke one day that Zeca must be filling his pockets with money having all these mulungo clients. Contrary to what we all had assumed, Zeca proceeded to tell M. that no, in fact, he wasn't making any additional money despite the spike in his business.

Apparently, as is the case with most taxis here in Maputo, Zeca's taxi belonged to his patrão, or boss. The patrão would pay Zeca a fixed salary each month for driving, and Zeca would hand over his earnings regardless of how much or how little he'd made relative to his salary. Essentially, his patrão was sitting cool watching more and more money come in the door without lifting a finger (Zeca is very honest and would always hand over 100% of the revenues), while Zeca - who had won over all these clients because of his good work ethic and dedication - was not reaping any of the financial benefits.

M. discovered that Zeca's patrão payed him 2,000mt (US$80) per month as a salary, which made me and Rico feel extraordinarily ashamed that we'd simply assumed his situation was improving as a result of our patronage. Zeca earned a pittance of a wage, and had never once complained about his situation in the nearly two years we'd known him. He'd never had the handout attitude of "Estou a pedir-e" or "Está difícil, pá", and this very fact made us respect him even more.

Rico, M. and I hatched a plan to do something to support Zeca and help him reap the benefits of his hard work. We decided to finance a car for him. We did the math, and found that the 14,000 to 17,000mt (US$560 to $680) that Zeca averaged in revenues per month could easily cover his fuel and maintenance costs, as well as a small car payment and insurance. We decided that Rico and I would buy the car, and that M. would cover the insurance cost.

When we told Zeca about the idea, he was ecstatic. We were clear, however, that we wouldn't be able to purchase his car immediately because we didn't have the extra cash on hand. Zeca didn't mind, and patiently waited multiple months for us to save the necessary amount. In the meantime, Zeca started saving as well, as he wanted to make a contribution to the insurance cost. Even on a salary of US$80 per month, he somehow managed to save 5,000mt (US$200) by the time we were ready to purchase the car.

Zeca did all the legwork, and identified a silver Corolla that was in good condition and had a reasonable price. We gave him the money - just over US$5,000 for the car and US$500 for the insurance - and he and Ricardo went together to buy his new taxi. He asked Rico to bring a camera so he could record the day his life changed and - in his words - we became his "parents". Zeca and his wife always refer to us in this manner, and I find it funny but really endearing.

The day Zeca announced to his old patrão that he had his own car and wouldn't be working for him anymore, his patrão was in such a state of disbelief that he actually accused Zeca of stealing. He thought it was the only way Zeca could have possibly come across the necessary cash to buy a car (or get the minimum collateral for a bank loan) given the miserable salary he was paying. In order for the patrão to believe that Zeca's clients had financed a car for him, Rico had to draw up a "contract" with Zeca attesting to the loan, as well as talk to the patrão himself. I can only imagine how that man (and his wife with a hefty shopping habit) must have felt the day they saw their goose with the golden egg walk out the door, ready to become an entrepreneur.

As a guarantee, the taxi is in Rico's name until Zeca finishes paying us back. We have an arrangement whereby every Monday he deposits 2,000mt (US$80) in our account - the equivalent to his previous monthly salary - and the same amount each month in M.'s account. We charged Zeca a modest interest rate for the financing, more than anything to respect the idea that money has value over time rather than to cover our risk as lenders.

To date, Zeca has payed back over 75% of the value of the loan. He has never missed a payment or been late, and we never have to remind him that he needs to deposit the funds. He is like clockwork. Zeca has also started putting away a bit of money each month so that he has enough savings in a year's time so that he can buy a second car, or upgrade to another vehicle should he want to.

Since Zeca became self-employed, his income has increased multiple-fold and he will soon have an asset in his name. He and his wife just moved into a larger house in a better neighborhood. Because of Zeca's improved financial situation, his wife was able to leave her job as a maid in an abusive family and find a new employer. They are both much happier.

To say thank you, Zeca threw a churrasco party for me, Rico, M. and his wife K. He made it clear that he wanted to cover all the costs, up to about US$100. He bought us meat, shrimp, beer, sodas and all sorts of other treats. We had a nice barbeque in M. and K.'s backyard. Zeca and his wife gave us a heartfelt toast of thanks, we took some commemorative photos, and then settled into a comfortable rhythm of conversation, chatting about current events, sports, Maputo politics, cultural differences and whatever else came to mind.

Without a doubt, helping Zeca get his own taxi was the greatest "development" impact we have had during our time in Mozambique. Rico and I often muse about opportunities for replication of our intervention with another decent taxi driver, or perhaps something with our maid or our security guards. However it's not easy to find another Zeca. The combination of his personality, his work ethic, his line of work and the timing all made it a unique situation.

Still, we're not giving up hope. We're doing a bit of an experiment with our maid, Dona Lídia, to finance a small house adjacent to her own residence that she can rent out for a modest income. I'll keep you posted on the progress as things move forward...

The Micro Difference

In a comment regarding yesterday's post, my friend Safiya wondered what can be done to make a difference in peoples' lives if one does believe that Aid is Dead. This is a really intersting topic, because for all of my cynicism and burned-out state, I still believe there are ways to have a positive, meaningful, sustainable impact outside the traditional "development" model.

In my personal experience, the successful models are all on the micro-scale, grassroots in the true sense of the word. While the notion of micro traditionally refers to the amount of money at hand (micro-lending), or the size of a business (micro-enterprise), I believe the successful models are micro in the sense that they are from individual to individual, with two or perhaps three people involved in the "program".

Rico and I have one great, crowning "development" success story - that of our taxi driver, Zeca. In our minds, there is no doubt that the small intervention we did (with the help of our friend M.) is the most significant impact we will ever have in our work here in Mozambique.

Alas, I have to go to a meeting, so I can't tell Zeca's story right now. I will, however, as my next post.

When You Realize It's Time

Today I am feeling very impatient and cynical. It's the kind of day where I realize that there is high burn-out in certain industries for a reason...after a determined point, your heart isn't in it anymore and you can't see your work through anything but gray-colored lenses. There needs to be a reasonable level of turnover, to keep ideas fresh, motivation rolling and spirits high.

The problems start when, as I did today, you sit in a meeting and think, "I don't care about any of this, I don't believe any of it will make a difference." I don't care about soy, I don't care about small-scale farmers, I don't care about malaria, I don't care about the Gates Foundation, I don't care about new proposals or budget categories or stakeholder meetings. It's all just one big cycle - AID begetting AID - even when it is packaged in the alluring label of "private-sector focused".

I find it laughable that the people in the meeting room - including myself - are discussing the future of farmers, of industries, of countries. I can talk the talk - we all can - and some of us certainly walk the walk...but I feel a bit as if I've been tasked to conduct a seminar in astrophysics, that's how far removed I am from the plight of the poor peasant working a plot of maize in Mozambique. And, much like astrophysics, at the end of the day it's really not my passion.

I feel very bad admitting this, like I've stated that I hate kittens and small children and sunshine. Obviously it's not a black-or-white situation, this development game, and the ultimate positive impact or damage of any program is a question of perspective. However, I know that I am burned out in my work here in Mozambique, and that likely I was never the right ambassador for a lot of these projects in the first place. I feel that I am essentially at the end of my line, just as I knew I was at the end of my line when I was directing an HIV Prevention Program in Austin back in 2005. Something shifted, the frustrations became more frequent, the apathy almost constant.

Still, it's hard to make the decision that it's time to walk away. I know I do a good job, despite my bitter days. I know my work is thorough, ethical and high-quality. I know that I have something beneficial to contribute, even if if said contribution is in the context of a system I disagree with. I try to remind myself that, fundamentally, I am lucky not only to have a job, but to have one that pays decently well and offers me so many opportunities.

I need a change, though. I know it's time, and I believe it's the right thing to do. For me and for the supposed beneficiaries of this work.

Stay tuned for what's next. It won't be immediate, and I certainly don't have a plan 100% forged in my mind, but it's gotta happen. Soon!

Fallen Lilac

The seasons have changed in Maputo, the sun suddenly setting a full hour earlier than what I remember from the summer months. Although rationally I know it happens one minute at a time, it seems as if someone snapped their fingers and suddenly the sun changed its schedule from retiring at 7pm to disappearing at 6pm.

It's not just the number of daylight hours, the light is different, too. More filtered, less intense. Wholly different from the scorching days at the beginning of the year when one can't stand to be in the direct sun for more than 10 minutes. Now the weather is perfect, warm and mild, though for some reason it makes me sad. Something about the retreating days of summer, a reminder that time is passing and that we will never be able to relive this period again.

I notice other changes, too. The jacarandas, which were in full bloom in November, are now heavy with green seed pods. In a short time, the streets will be littered with these seeds, brown and dry and ready to be joined with the soil. I particularly notice the jacarandas because I would watch the lilac blossoms fall from a tree outside the veterinarian's office when Parceiro was dying. I would meditate on those flowers, ask for some divine intervention that might save our cat. It wasn't meant to be, sadly, but I will forever associate the jacaranda blooms with our gray baby. We were at the vet's on Friday to have the little ones vaccinated, and I noticed the tree that was the focus of my attention for those three long days, now full of seeds and completely absent of the clusters of lilac I so remembered.

In a few short months, there will be another change in the seasons and we will actually feel cold. Granted a mild version of cold compared to true frigid climates, but cold for us nonetheless. I will wear my sheepskin slippers and snuggle under a blanket while watching tv. We will sip hot chocolate and, on particularly chilly days, even wear scarves and jackets.

Right now winter seems at once an eternity away and just around the corner. Time is funny like that.

Taxing

I am in the process of preparing my taxes. I thought I'd file late - and actually have an extension to do so - but since we want to buy property this year it seems having a 2008 tax return asap is in our favor. So I'm sucking it up and doing my taxes at the last minute. It's not exactly straighforward, since I married a non-resident alien and have foreign earned income and capital gains. Still, I'm plowing through it (mostly thanks to my mom's advice, who is an absolute tax genius). I'm actually filing on my own, on paper, with no TurboTax or similar software to assist me...mostly because my situation is more complicated than the Basic Tax Package will accomodate, and I'm not willing to pay $50 for somethign I can do on my own with a bit of effort.

The good news? I get a big, fat exemption for foreign earned income.

The bad news? Nobody sends me 1099's (or if they do they don't arrive!), so I have to literally go back through my bank statements and invoice records to piece together my 2008 income. So annoying! But strangely satisfying at the same time. I honestly had no idea what my yearly income was at the end of the day - and now I do - which is interesting.

I'm still plugging away at the taxes, but I did have some fun during the day. Today is a holiday in Mozambique - Women's Day - and I had two of the volunteer consultants from work over for lunch. I made homemade pizza, which was delish. On one pizza I put New Mexico green chile, cherry tomatoes and onions, and on the other I put white asparagus, mushrooms, red peppers and onions. It was a very nice treat, and the company was super enjoyable as well.

Now I have allergies - which I fully blame on my taxes, not on the wine with lunch - and am trying to make it through 1040 Schedule D without bailing out to watch the Style Channel. Wish me luck!

Enjoying the Memories

Photo montages from our wedding, compiled by my step-brother's girlfriend (did you get that?). It was an incredible night, and these photos always make me smile.

Desvio

It's been a week of reflection for me, a time for analyzing and re-analyzing the path I'm on, the steps I've taken thus far and where I believe I want to go in the future.

How does one distinguish between temporary feelings of frustration, discontent, boredom and cynicism - the unavoidable dips and lulls we experience in our jobs, relationships, friendships and vocations that we must work through and have faith that an upswing is around the corner, that it is simply part of the cycle - and recurrent streams of such feelings that signal the need for change, that are life's little clues that you are not, in fact, on the right path?

This is what I have been pondering lately, in particular with regard to my "job". This is not a new topic for me - I spent the better part of 2006 and early 2007 wondering whether I was a consultant with a writing and jewelry hobby, or whether I was a Writer and Artist who consulted to pay the bills. Ultimately, I came to the decision that it wasn't necessary to decide, that my identity didn't have to be either/or. For a while I found peace in this resolution.

However, these thoughts have flooded me again in the past several months. I feel it in my bones that a change is necessary. I wonder if I am wasting my time, despite the belief that all steps in a journey - no matter how random or misguided the may seem - are valuable and ultimately part of a greater picture. Still, I feel I am approaching the end of a chapter, without necessarily understanding all the details of where the story goes next.

Laws on Employment of Foreigners in Mozambique

There seems to be a lot of confusion lately regarding the laws for employment of foreigners. There have been several changes since I moved here in 2005, namely the establishment of a quota system for full-time foreign employees, and a limit of 90 days per year on contracts for short-term foreign consultants.

Below are links to the law, both in Portuguese and in English. I suggest that any of you concerned about how your employment may be affected by these changes read the law for yourself, as I've received (and heard of others receiving) incorrect advice from HR departments and even company directors.

Portuguese version of Law on Employment of Foreigners

English version of Law on Employment of Foreigners

Raid at Mundo's Last Night to Find Foreigners Who Are Illegally in Mozambique

I've heard this from a couple different sources, and it seems legitimate.

If you are a foreigner living in Mozambique, be sure to carry your *original* passport and visa/dire documents with you at all times. Technically a notarized copy is sufficient, but given what has been happening lately, I no longer believe this is sufficient.

Also, if you are in an irregular situation in Mozambique, beware that crackdowns are happening on all fronts it seems, from surprise workplace inspections to last night's restaurant raid. If you don't have your papers in order, it looks increasingly unlikely that you will be able to "dar um jeito" and get by...

Here is the report from Notícias, the original in Portuguese and a rough Google translation in English below:

RUSGA CRIA MAL ESTAR

Maputo, Quarta-Feira, 1 de Abril de 2009:: Notícias

Entretanto, uma rusga inesperada efectuada por funcionários da Direcção Nacional de Migração contra estrangeiros em situação ilegal no país, gerou um mal-estar no seio dos utentes do Restaurante Mundo´s, na cidade de Maputo, por volta das 20 horas de ontem.

Num caso que deixou perplexos tanto os proprietários e funcionários do restaurante, que não se recordam de nenhuma visita do género desde que foi criado o sítio, os agentes da Migração invadiram inesperadamente aquela casa de pasto e exigiram que os presentes – em plenas refeições – se colocassem em dois lados, as mulheres de um e os homens do outro e que cada um devia exibir os respectivos documentos de identidade.

Xavier Mulhovo, chefe da equipa da Migração, disse à nossa Reportagem que se “trata de uma rusga rotineira ao abrigo da Lei 5/93 que visa procurar estrangeiros em situação ilegal”. Acrescentou que é uma acção legislada, que, no entanto, não tem sido efectuada por falta de meios, desconhecendo daí a última vez em que foi efectuada.

Segundo a nossa fonte, a referida lei dá a acesso incondicional ao pessoal da Migração à qualquer espaço público a verificação dos documentos dos presentes, dispensando a apresentação de credenciais para o efeito.

Entretanto, a entrada repentina daquele pessoal, acompanhado de agentes da Polícia armados de metralhadoras AK47 deixou alguns utentes do espaço, principalmente nacionais, à beira de um ataque de nervos na medida que a saída ficou condiciona à apresentação de documentos.


Raid Creates Malaise

Maputo, Wednesday, April 1, 2009:: Noticias

However, an unexpected raid by officials of the National Directorate of Migration against illegal aliens in the country, generated a malaise among the users of the Mundo's Restaurant in the city of Maputo, around 20 hours yesterday.

In a case that has puzzled both the owners and employees of the restaurant, who cannnot recall of any kind of visit of this type since the site was created, the Migration agents unexpectedly invaded that house of grass and demanded that those present - in the middle of their meals - place themselves on two sides, women on one and men on the other, and that each should show their respective identity documents.

Xavier Mulhovo, the team leader of Migration, said in our Report that "this amounts to a routine raid under Law 5 / 93 which aims to look at illegal aliens." He added that it is a legislated action, however, that has not occurred for lack of means, not stating when the last time one was made. According to our source, the law gives unconditional access to the staff of Migration to any public area for the verification of these documents, with presentation of credentials for the purpose.

However, the sudden entry of these staff, accompanied by police officers armed with AK47 machine guns left some users of space, mainly nationals, on the verge of an attack of nerves as they exited the condition was the presentation of documents.

Update: I was just at the US embassy and they confirmed the raid last night did actually happen, and said this type of thing may become more commonplace. Also, they said the police detained several foreigners who were at Mundo's without proper id.

Things I Look Forward to in the Midst of Uninspiring Times

I once commented to my mom that I always need something to look forward to - be it a cocktail with my girls at the end of the day, or a trip to Rio at the end of the year. Having something to look forward to keeps my spirits high, and helps me get through dull, routine days.

I'm in a bit of a rut at work these days, waiting for feedback on a particular document so that I can kick off a special project, and this is what I look forward to in the meantime:

- Buying some Mozambican gemstones and commissioning my own piece of jewelry at the goldsmith's. I am leaning towards tourmalines - rubelite and cupertine, if I can afford them.

- Snuggling with our cats.

- Drinking vinho verde and/or champagne at night for no particular reason, just to relieve the heat and relax a bit.

- Cooking on the weekends.

- Going to the beach, even if it is just Macaneta.

- Our trip to the US in September/October. In one fell swoop, we will visit my family, go to my 10-year high school reunion, and go to my friend Meghan's wedding.

- Finding and then buying an awesome loft in San Francisco. Ideally during said trip to the US. Can't let this unique investment window pass us by...

- Picking out my clothes and doing my makeup.

- Using my Brazil Nut exfoliating cream from The Body Shop in the shower, and then the corresponding body butter afterwards.

- Lunchtime.

- Talking to my parents on Skype.

- Making the next pair of earrings in my latest series of trade bead fusion designs.

- Seeing my friend M.'s lapidary equipment and, perhaps, learning a basic thing or two.

- Sleeping in on the weekend.

- Catching up with K., J., Z., and H. over some nice South African wine.

- Going grocery shopping.

- Cuddling with Rico in the morning in those glorious additional 5 minutes in bed.

- Visiting Ilha de Moçambique.

- Pilates with our trainer.

- TV. Preferrably Law and Order, Clean House, Top Gear, House and trashy movies. Need I say more?

When I make a list of it all, the day/week/month seems much easier already...

Glamorizing Poverty or an Innovative Way Out of It?

Check out this article, called "Rio tourists to slum it in style" about a German developer who believes that building a high-end hotel in Vidigal favela is the next big thing for tourism in the Cidade Maravilhosa.

Depending on the day, my mood, my geographic location, the latest news, etc. I can understand - and likely argue in favor of - both side of this type of story.

Be it favela tourism in Rio, visits to Khayelitsha in Cape Town, homestays in empoverished but breathtaking Sapa in the hills of Vietnam, or any other such venture offering an "authentic" experience to those willing to pay, it is hard for me to decide whether I believe the end result is exploitation or a fascinating way to bridge social differences and recognize the value of otherwise marginalized people and communities.

For each altruistic, socially conscious visitor who is truly interested in understanding how others live, I imagine there will be 10 others who are keen on staying in a favela hotel for the Experience - just so they can take the requisite photos of "innocent schoolchildren walking home past another child, only slightly older, holding an AK-47 and keeping watch over a drug sales point" or "visibly destitute but smiling favela resident dancing samba with beer in hand and view of city lights in background" - and return home to impress friends and family with said photos and tales of authenticity and how, despite the occasional brush with gun-wielding drug traffickers (referred to in a very nonchalant manner), they were truly accepted into the Vidigal community during their 4-day visit.

As much as I am annoyed by the "Quest for Authenticity" in tourism (staying in a penthouse in Barra and eating sushi every day is just as *authentic* as playing cards on a stoop in Rocinha, although it's not necessarily *representative* of the way most brasileiros live...), is it really a bad thing? Is it harmful?

Again, back to the questions I can argue either side of, depending on the day.

Thoughts?

Note to Self: Book a Massage

I did pilates last night and it totally kicked my ass. I am constantly amazed by the effect - both mental and physical - that stress and a lack of sleep have on me. During my last pilates class, I performed at a very advanced level and the trainer consistently pushed me just a little bit harder. It was incredible, and I was very satisfied with my progress. From my performance in class yesterday, however, you'd think I'd never done pilates in my life. I could barely hold my legs up, and they shook uncontrollably the entire time due to one measly little stretch I did during warm-up.

This is not the first time I've observed my body totally unable to function physically on the level I know I'm capable of due to being tired and stressed. I always knew stress affected me, but now I can quantify exactly how much by comparing my pilates performance.

It's really humbling, and one can only imagine what stress does to other parts of the body.

Still, there's nothing quite like exercise - even if I shake and feel like an absolute beginner - to make me relax and forget about everything that is on my mind.

Good Change Incongnito

It's a good thing I'm not an overly-sensitive person when it comes to things like titles and ranking on an official organizational chart.

Today, on my first day back in the office in 2 weeks, I was met with a director's staff meeting.

In said staff meeting, a new organigram was passed around along with a wholehearted monologue from our Big Boss regarding how this restructuring was a good thing.

The changes, as they affect me directly?

I was bumped from the Director row, just below the Big Boss, to the bottom of the heap. No, not demoted one level, bumped to the absolute lowest rank.

I was also stripped of my title.

I was also reminded that it will not be possible to hire me full-time (as well as several other expat workers) due to the strict labor laws that impose quotas on foreign employees, although a full-time job was what was promised to me when I agreed to come onboard 5 months ago.

I was also informed, in a round-about way, that the 4 tasks that appeared on my original scope of work have now been absorbed by the other Program Directors.

Seems like the epitome of a shit meeting for me, no?

In fact, while I was slightly shocked, I wasn't really that sad or disappointed or offended.

After all, the changes our Big Boss set into motion today are the result of about a month of me giving him pointed feedback regarding what was working and what wasn't about my job. We needed to make some changes, as the previous arrangement for reporting and other tasks simply wasn't sustainable. I told him without hesitation what I thought would work, and why.

He took my advice.

It freed me from several tasks that involved constant nagging of my colleagues and a building sense of resentment on my part - and theirs! - because I felt I was being pressured to do their jobs. It freed me from a lot of headaches that bogged me down and distracted me from the bits of my work that I do honestly enjoy.

For a while I thought I might need to look for a new job, as my old tasks have been absorbed (putting accountability where it should be) and I was technically demoted and de-titled, never mind that I suspect that bit was politically motivated.

I flat-out asked Big Boss and my new immediate supervisor whether I should look for a new job.

They said, no, that they'd really hate to lose me.

That going forward we will reformulate a new job description for me, according to what I am happy doing (assuming we can make it fit in with the programs and thus be eligible for donor funding).

I feel very strange, like it could have been a terrible day but really it turned out to be a wonderful one.

They say you should be careful for what you wish for... Professionally speaking, for the time being, I think I just got mine, no matter how camouflaged the package it came in.

Of Note Yesterday

- I had jet lag.

- Rico and I slept late for the first time in ages.

- I confirmed our suspicion that Nina is a stinky kitten by nature, and there seems to be nothing we can do about her foul-smelling rear end since it is spotless and regularly licked clean by both Pria and Nina herself.

- I finally satiated my months-long craving for crab meat (everywhere we'd go to try and eat crab lately, they'd be out).

- I was given two really incredible hardcover books on jewelry and jewelry techniques by a friend.

- Said friend accidentally locked his keys in the trunk of his Mercedes while getting out my presents.

- Rico made friends with 2 guards and a police officer while drinking beer and standing in the parking lot of Zambi to be sure nobody drove off with our friend's car.

- Meanwhile, friend and I went on a tour of Maputo rounding up all the spare Mercedes keys at his house, his dad's house, the office, etc. to try and open his car.

- I was bitten on the hand by a miniature poodle (that belongs to the father of our friend) while minding my own business sitting in the driveway of his house during the Great Key Roundup.

- Yappy little shit (the poodle, not our friend or friend's father).

- Rico and I brainstormed and made some exciting plans for the next year or so. We always do our best scheming over a glass of wine and a meal, it happens quite naturally.

- I went to bed too late, fueling yet another cycle of jet lag for the coming week.

- I vowed to get some work done today (can't you see how well that's going given that I'm blogging right now?).

Right...I guess I really should get on that last one. Happy Sunday to you all.

CEAGESP and Mercado Municipal - São Paulo

Rico's dad took us on a tour of São Paulo's wholesale scene on our last day in Brasil. We woke up at the crack of dawn and visited the flower and plants section of CEAGESP, a big outdoor market, then went to the Mercado Municipal to check out all the speciality deli items. While at the Mercado Municipal, we ate steaming hot pasteis (fried pastries filled with cheese and other goodies) and marveled at the size of the mortadella sandwiches that are enjoying a surge of popularity with the paulistanos. Each sandwich contains 250g of mortadella, which when piled up on a roll is easily over 2 inches thick!

Rico and I were both very impressed with how clean the Mercado Municpal was - seriously, you could eat off the floor in that place if you were so inclined and likely not suffer any health consequences.

After the markets, we walked along Av. 25 de Março, famous for its cheap shops selling fabric, shoes, underwear, kitchen items, toys, costume jewelry, "designer" goods and everything else under the sun that can be mass-produced and hawked from a small stall. This is where many of the Angolans and Mozambicans come to stock up on Brasilian clothes to sell in botiques back home.

Here are some photos from our excursion:

Family Times, Brasilian Edition

So to take my mind off the fact that I was the victim of identity theft not once but *twice* in the past week, let's concentrate on the more enjoyable aspects of our recent trip to Brasil.

Dinner at one of São Paulo's best Japanese restaurants to celebrate Rico's dad's birthday.

We spent a weekend in Angra dos Reis sailing with Rico's aunt and uncle. We stopped for a swim at this little beach called Pingo d'Agua (Drop of Water)

The water in Angra is the most beautiful shade of tealish green, and is as warm as bathwater - just how I like my ocean experience!

The pier at R and M's condo, just a minute's walk from their house...definition of "vida dura".

On this fateful day I discovered that I am a much happier sailboat passenger if I take Dramim.

Rico in his preferred natural environment.

For the past 8 months, the top tier of our wedding cake has been in Rico's mom's freezer. Since we won't be in Rio in July for our 1-year anniversary, we decided to go ahead and eat the cake on this trip. I love the fact that we were able to eat our anniversary cake in the exact same spot where our wedding reception was, while looking across the street at the church where we got married.

We all agreed that freezing actually made the cake more delicious than on our wedding night! The vanilla pound cake was super moist, and the apricot and brigadeiro branco filling had intensified in flavor.

Dinner in Rio with Rico's brother, our sister-in-law and her family - including our newest nephew, little B.

Our trip to Brasil was unfortunately shorter than we would have liked, and I had to work on a proposal for work nearly the entire time we were there. Still, at least if I had to be glued to the computer, it was with a beach in front of me and a cocktail in my hand, surrounded by people we don't see often enough.

Beware of Credit Card Fraud in Johannseburg International Airport

Friends, I am sad to report that the O.R. Tambo International Airport in Johannseburg, South Africa is a confirmed site of credit card fraud.

My credit card was cloned either at The Body Shop or at Frasier's (a shop in the new part of the airport selling handbags and wallets). It was then used to make fraudluent purchases of $400 at a watch shop, $1,250 at a furniture shop, and $1.05 at a cable tv operator (watching porn with my stolen credit card info, I imagine. Fuckers.).

Please excuse my language. I'm pretty pissed off.

I suspect my card was cloned at Frasier's. Why? Because I always buy at The Body Shop when I am at the Joburg airport. I bought some creams there when we were on our way to Brazil 2 weeks ago. I remember the vendor. She was nice. No unauthorized charges appeared after that initial purchase.

Then, while in Brasil, I had the bad luck of losing my wallet while out for drinks one night with Chocolate, our best man. I went to get Rico's wallet from my purse, and probably knocked mine out and onto the floor in the process. It was dark and crowded in the Bar Informal, and we didn't notice my wallet was gone until the next day.

Since it is Rio, and since I am not an otária, I had cleaned out my wallet on day one of our Brasil trip. I took out everything but the essentials - driver's license, copy of passport, 2 credit cards and my health insurance card.

When I realized my wallet was gone, Rico and I immediately called to cancel the credit cards. On one, there were no bogus charges. On the other, someone had spent R$400 (about US$180) at a pharmacy. We entered a fraud claim, and will have to dispute the charge at the end of the month.

While I was pissed about losing my wallet - I *never* lose things, to me it is a red flag that I am under unnecessary stress - I was at least satisfied that the loss had been minimal.

I switched to using my backup US credit card, which has a very high limit but is a pain in the ass because they charge 3% on all international purchases. I avoid using the card because they will not budge on that service charge, and my other cc gave me a much better deal for foreign transactions.

Anyhow, fast forward to me in the Joburg airport on our way back to Maputo, armed only with my backup 3% charging credit card. Since I lost my wallet in Brasil, I had to buy, well, another wallet. I remembered seeing one that I'd liked a few months earlier, made of ostrich skin. Rico and I found the store - Frasier's - and I selected a beautiful pink wallet.

After buying my replacement wallet, I went to The Body Shop and purchased some body butter since I had absent-mindedly left the one I bought 2 weeks prior in my carry-on luggage and it was seized at the security check (over 100ml. I should know better).

Anyhow, the girl who helped me at The Body Shop the second time around was the same one who helped me on our way to Brasil. She was very sweet. I know this is no guarantee, but I just don't feel she was the one who commited fraud on my account.

Now the Frasier's people? They are the ones I like for the cloning. I've never purchased there before, and the first time I do, I have problems. Coincidence? Who knows. I think not.

Either way, beware. I only used my backup credit card two times after my wallet was stolen, so the fraudulent charges either came from The Body Shop or Frasier's. Please be careful in the Joburg airport. I know these type of problems are common in the Nelspruit Crossings and the Riverside Mall, but to have it happen in the secure section of an international airport is surprising.

Please be careful in your travels. Use cash whenever possible, and keep a good relationship with your card company. Take out fraudulent purchase insurance if this is an option. Call and cancel your card immediately if you suspect you've lost your card or it has been cloned or stolen.

I have certainly learned my lesson. Cash is King.

Nothing Quite as Sweet

Rico and I arrived back in Maputo yesterday. Despite a nearly sleepless journey, the trip went well and we are enjoying the singular happiness of being home. The cats gave us an especially warm welcome, with Pria even letting me hold him for several minutes, all the while purring at full volume and doing torties in my shoulder. The little ones have grown so much, and they are now easily over 1.5kg and able to hop up onto the kitchen counter.

We all snuggled together last night in our bed and watched tv. It was wonderful, despite the jet-lag that had me and Rico up intermittently at odd hours.

Today I am working from home trying to finish the draft of a big proposal for work. I spent a good portion of our time in Brasil last week stuck to the computer as a result of this proposal, and I'm looking forward to finalizing the draft for tomorrow. I still have a lot of work ahead of me, but at least the document has taken shape and I am feeling the writing groove materializing.

It seems the weather shifted while we were away. Upon arrival we were greeted with gray skies, a bit of drizzle and very mild temperatures. I am hoping this means the horrific heat waves we experienced through most of February and early March are behind us.

Photos and stories from our "holiday" to come later, once my draft proposal is finished.

Retrospective

"Rico, come on. Just 10 minutes. Please? I want to show you my latest surf videos," pleads Brother.

Rico is drunk from the afternoon churrasco and tired from the 6-hour drive to Angra earlier that day. He is not at all interested in travel videos, especially since Brother's epic films consist primarily of an unrecognizable figure on a surfboard, peppered with the occasional unintelligible expression of awe after an especially big wave.

"Fuck, man. I'm exhausted," Rico says. "We can watch your videos tomorrow."

"But tomorrow morning we are driving back to Rio. Early." That last word is carefully emphasized by Brother, who knows Rico will be in no mood to be awake before 8am.

Brother shoots me a sideways glance, pleading for support. I know that the videos aren't from one of his trips. I am in on the secret. He filled me in earlier over a caipirinha, hushed information passed while Rico was distracted by Lara, the bumbling Sharpei his cousin got as a birthday present. We all laughed when I realized that Lara looks more like a mini-hippopotamus than a dog.

I try to convince Rico that the video will be entertaining. He isn't buying it. The siren call of a soft bed is much more appealing. My wifely attempt at making a surf video sound fun has failed.

Brother has to act fast in order to keep his attention. He shoves a last beer into Rico's hand and pops in the DVD. "Check this out, man. It's awesome. You'll love it."

Rico silently curses Brother. Typical older sibling behavior, Rico thinks, always putting his interests over other people's priorities.

His thoughts are interrupted by a grainy image of a small child in a red speedo running around a swimming pool. The child has inflatable orange swimming floats on each arm and, despite the poor focusing abilities of the obviously amateur cameraman, big almond eyes clearly brimming with excitement.

"That looks like me when I was younger," Rico says.

I am impressed that he has recognized himself so quickly.

After a few minutes, there is sound on the video. Rico's father's voice hasn't changed a bit in 25 years. "Jump in the pool so I can film you!" he says, in the same voice I know from the speech he gave at our rehearsal dinner.

Little Rico doesn't need any additional encouragement. He splashes in the water, giggling in delight. In the background, a group of adults drink beer and keep watch over Rico and what I recognize to be his siblings.

"Holy shit, that is me," big Rico exclaims. He bursts out laughing together with Brother. "I must be, what, 4 years old?"

"Yeah, something like that. I told you you'd like the video," says Brother. They clap each other on the back in a masculine hug.

"Yeah, it was worth it," says Rico. "Oh my God, look at Sissy!"

Sissy, now nearly 40, is about 12 years old in the video. She is wearing a Jane Fonda-inspired maillot and has her hair cut in big, layered waves. A close-up reveals that her front teeth are still disproportinately large for her face, albeit in an almost Lolita-like way given that the rest of her is undeniably very beautiful, very grown.

Brother is in the video as well, smiling at the camera and yelling to his father, "Você só vai filmar o Rico, é? Me filma, Papai, me filma!" Like any pre-teen, he is out for some attention while trying to look very cool at the same time. He alternates between pleading for his father to film him, and puffing out his chest and running his hands through his hair.

Little Rico jumps in the pool several more times, escaping from attempts by Brother to splash him and then dunk his head under the water. We all comment how much Binho, our little nephew and the son of Brother, looks like Rico. The resemblance is striking.

The video then turns to the adult members of the family. Everyone is displaying bad fashion choices - the men sporting short-shorts, overgrown beards and gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses; the women showing off big hair and unabashed experiments with neon, bright colors competing with the tropical foliage and flowers in the garden in the background. All of the women are chain-smoking; the men drink endless glasses of cold beer.

I recognize Rico's mom, her beauty shining through even the bad 1980's clothes. She is quiet, almost shy in the video. I can see where Rico gets his eyes. She and Rico's dad engage in the kind of banter that is familiar to couples who have been together for several years: playful, yet totally acomodados. No surprises anymore, just simple jokes, day-to-day pleasures, predictable anectdotes.

I think to myself how strange it is to see couples together on film who haven't been together in real life for over two decades. Rico's mom and dad divorced some 5 years after the video. Tia Lina and her husband, who appears in the video playing the guitar to the delight of the children, have also split. Lives are on different paths now, altered, unexpected, sometimes diasppointing, other times joyful.

Rico's maternal grandmother appears in the video as well, so young and agile I don't recognize her at first. She is sitting with her husband, the Portuguese man who came to Brazil accompanied by an uncle at the tender age of 8. Unbeknownst to the family, he changed his name for the trans-Atlantic journey so that his surname would match his uncle's and they could pass as father and son, facilitating the immigration procedures. Rico and his mom only discovered this years later, when retroactively applying for their Portuguese citizenship, a process that required obtaining Vovô's original birth certificate. Thanks to a very elderly great-aunt living in near Oporto, they tracked down the notary's office where Rico's grandfather's birth was registered and discovered his original documents. Rico later told me about this great-aunt, "Everything from 50 years ago she remembers perfectly. Yesterday? Not so much."

Rico's Portuguese grandfather died many years ago, when Rico was still relatively young. His grandmother was devastated, as was his mother. We all grew quiet upon seeing Vovô and his wife together on the grainy film, witnessing the knowing laughs and tender caresses preserved in time.

"Has my grandmother seen this?" Rico asks.

"No," Brother responds. "But I'm sure she'll love it! She'll be able to relive the good old days, see Vovô again, remember what it was like to be young. You have to show it to her when you guys go to Rio."

"I don't know," muses Rico. "What if she gets depressed? Vai acabar com ela. "

I suddenly feel sad, nostalgic for things I've not yet lost. I imagine what it might be like to watch a similar video in my old age, memories long buried in the past unexpectedly dredged up to be relived, savored, mourned. I try to imagine what I would want were I the grandmother who had lost her love, given the opportunity to see times long gone reanimated on a screen.

"I think we should tell Rico's grandmother that the video exists, and what is on it. Then she can make the decision for herself to watch it or not."

Rico and Brother agree, somewhat to my surprise.

Watching the video, I remember my journals, volume after volume of meticulously recorded experiences from my adolescence. I started the first journal at the age of 15, the day I left New Mexico for my year-long student exchange in Brazil. I wrote faithfully about each day of that year, through culture shock, homesickness, my first serious boyfriend, adventurous bus trips through the arid northeast and the verdant beaches of the South, grief, reverse culture shock and everything inbetween. After my exchange year, I continued writing. It was my way of coping, of expressing what I was certain nobody else could possibly understand. I wrote for 7 years, filled enough blank-page journals to occupy an entire shelf on my bookshelf.

I think about my journals, and how difficult it is - even now, more than a decade later - to read through some of my words from the past. There are certain episodes that I am still unable to face, let alone transcribe to the computer. (I am afraid of losing the record of my experiences (fire? theft? self-destruction?) so I am typing up all of my journals and safekeeping the stories of my teens and early twenties - such intense years - in digital form.)

I can't begin to imagine how it must be to relive those moments in video. It's complicated enough via words, in private, safe from third-party interpretation or commentary until the day I choose to share. Video is different, more accessible, more prone to judgment, both by others and by self. Words paint pictures, but images are undeniable, for better or for worse.

More Caterpillar Info

Not content with merely identifying the Automeris illustris, I spent much of the evening researching to find out more about the bright green poisonous caterpillar.

The best article I discovered, by far, was this one. It's in Portuguese, but has some fabulous photos for the non-lusophone speakers out there. If you do understand Portuguese, the article references the shock-like noise we heard when trying to get the caterpillar into a jar.

Nature is truly amazing.

Why You Should Wear Gloves While Gardening

Photo from this site.

Meet the Automeris illustris, the most recent resident discovered in the garden of the Casa Rosa. This impressive caterpillar was hidden in an overgrown vine that Rico and I were trying to remove from the Pitanga tree in the front of the yard. We were up on the first floor veranda, level with the top of the vine-strangled branches, yanking out handfulls of unwanted foliage. Suddenly, Rico pulled back his hand and cursed, thinking a splinter had entered his finger. He inspected his hand, found nothing, and went back for another handful of vine. He buried his hand in the tangle of green leaves, then immediately jumped away, screaming in pain. "That thing stung me," he managed to say.

I looked down and saw the most horrific, shiver-inducing caterpillar I've ever laid eyes on in my life. It was nearly 3 inches long and covered in neon green fern-like spines. "Wash your hand with soap," I shouted to Rico, who was already in the bathroom and still screaming in pain. I ran to the kitchen and tore open a box of milk, then filled a plastic cup for Rico to submerge the affected are in. The milk helped somewhat, but he still had serious nettling in his fingers. We called Rico's uncle, who is a doctor, and he gave us the magic solution: urine. Rico peed on his hand, and the burning finally stopped. His hand was red and a bit swollen, with white spots where the poison had contacted his skin.

To be safe, we decided to put the caterpillar in a jar so that we could take it to the clinic if Rico symptoms worsened. There were several cases of fatal caterpillar stings in Santa Catarina state some time back, and we didn't want to take any chances. Rico broke off a branch to nudge the caterpillar into the jar, and we were equal parts fascinated and creeped out when the beast clung to the branch and started emitting shock-like static noises. We put the caterpillar in the jar, plant material and all, and sat observing it, completely transfixed, for several minutes, trying to ignore our crawling skin.

For good measure, we took photos (prior to putting the thing in the jar).

Nature's way of saying "Don't Touch"

For a bit of perspective, Rico's shoe is a size 40 (Brazil), 8.5 (US).

Of course, I spent 40 minutes trying to identify the caterpillar on the internet. I find it nearly impossible to stop thinking about un-named things I encouter - snakes, trees, rocks, etc. - and was going crazy with no Google access for most of the day (no signal up in Santa on the iPhone). Now we are at my brother-in-law's house, and I've finally satisfied my curiosity, and provided a great show-and-tell for the fam.

Thankfully Rico is okay, and has suddenly become - que surpresa - an avid promoter of gardening gloves, no matter how harmless the situation may seem.

Krugerrific

How is it March already??

Just a few quick thoughts in the midst of a very busy period...

- With my mom gone, and Rico away in Nampula on business, I've been at home alone for the past 3 nights. It's been nice, as I use alone-time to catch up on all my introverted activities that inadvertantly take a back burner when I'm with other people: journaling, jewelry design, phone calls, Etsy updates, organizing my photos, etc. However, while I've enjoyed the time to myself, it's undeniable that I prefer living with Rico, and even miss having long-ish term housemates and family in the house. This is pretty incredible coming from the girl who l-o-v-e-d her life as a loner.

- I miss cooking. We have a cook who comes 3 days a week to make us lunch, which is a total luxury and helps us avoid the trap of restaurant food 24/7, but it also means that we have a lot of leftovers and I almost never *have* to cook. I cooked this weekend for myself, and it was wonderful. Cooking for me is therapy. I love to chop, stir, spice, taste, and contemplate life, all with some good music and a glass of wine.

- I had a pilates class last night that totally kicked my ass. With Rico away, the trainer pushed me to the limit. My legs and arms trembled all night, and I slept like a rock. I am very sore today, but satisfied. I can clearly see that my body is stronger, and I am motivated to continue with pilates as it has also helped my posture immensely, not to mention my abs!

- There is a new volunteer consultant at work who looks just like John Cusack from the "Say Anything" period. I keep fighting back the urge to tell him about my realization. I'm sure he hears it all the time, though maybe not, as he is about 8 years younger than I am and maybe didn't see the classic 80's films? Who knows.

- I am swamped and overwhelmed with work at the moment. I'm in charge of writing a proposal for a multinational agribusiness company's CSR program in Northern Mozambique. It's a mammoth task, and I am on a tight deadline.

- Rico and I are going to Brasil tomorrow for a short vacation. As often happens with holidays planned ahead of time, the timing couldn't be worse. But, I know I'll manage to juggle everything, and I am really looking forward to seeing family. I'm also excited about eating the top tier of our wedding cake that has been sitting in my mother-in-law's freezer for the past 8 months. It's a bit early to eat the cake, but I'm not sure when we'll be in Rio next, so we're going to take advantage while we can (and before the cake goes off).

- I missed a big girl's weekend in Macaneta for a friend's hen party. The photos look divine, but I'm glad I decided to stay in Maputo with my mom.

Okay, back to work. Time for a presentation on proposal writing. And the whirlwind schedule continues...

Ausência

My mom left Maputo this morning and as usual, we lamented the fact that we couldn't have more time together. Ten days was painfully short, though definitely a step up from last year's whirlwind of a visit, and without a doubt better than no visit at all.

We will see each other again in September, when Rico and I make the trek to the Bay Area and New Mexico. It amazes me how, on the heels of 10 days passing in the blink of an eye, it seems like the 7 months from now until our next reunion will take an eternity.

Sometimes I wonder what on earth I am doing living so far away from my family. Life is short, and the opportunities to get together regrettably infrequent and fleeting. I enjoy the expatriate path I've taken thus far, but I can't help but fear that one day I will deeply regret not having made proximity to my loved ones more of a priority.

Again, I return to the wish to clone myself into 5 or 6 different Ali's so that I might be together with all of the people I hold nearest to my heart, in all of my multiple homes.

Intermezzo

With my mom here in Maputo, I've been taking a bit of a blog holiday. I am still working during her visit, which means most of my day is spent in front of the computer, although I've managed to arrange for a half-day worked from the office, and a half-day worked from home so we can hang out a bit more.

I will be back with more frequent blogging shortly. In the meantime, know that all is well here in the land of the hot and humid, and I am greatly enjoying time with family.

Nairobi and Obama with a Big Delay

It's been nearly a month since I attended the boring and quite poorly-delivered financial system training in Nairobi. Although the course was tough to sit through (the new system they were training us on was still full of bugs), it was nice to meet colleagues from the other country offices in Africa. There were people in attendance from Kenya, Mozambique, Ghana, Ethiopia, Tanzania, Rwanda, Uganda, Swaziland and South Africa - a very international crowd.

The highlight of the week was definitely Obama's inauguration. I was excited to be in Nairobi for that historical moment, and spent the evening watching CNN from the hotel bar with a group of colleagues, eating Indian food and absolutely crying my eyes out. Never has a moment made me feel so homesick! It was really incredible to be watching Obama's speech in the midst of a group of people I'd just met, and having one of the most emotional bursts of recent memory.

After watching the speech at the hotel, a group of us headed out to the streets to get a feel for how Kenyans were commemorating the event. We were lucky to be staying within walking distance of the University of Nairobi, site of the biggest public viewing of the inauguration in the city. The students turned out in hordes, and had set up several projectors and big screens showing CNN. There were Obama imitators and mock debates going on, as well as partying all around.

When my colleagues and I walked into the main campus courtyard and started taking photos, the students went wild. I was literally bombarded with people waving American flags, chanting "Yes we can!", all vying for me to take a picture. Had it been under any other circumstances, I'd have feared for my purse and my decency. Getting surrounded by a group of young, inebriated men generally doesn't fare well for a female, foreign tourist at night. However, this was no ordinary night. The vibe was very positive, inspiring and exciting. After a round of pictures, my colleagues managed to drag me out of the middle of the crowd and we walked through the campus watching all the crazy antics going on around us - people sitting down in the middle of busy highways and successfully stopping traffic while waving an American flag, cheers and chanting, handstands and other acrobatics, screaming, etc.

It was definitely a memorable night, not just for the partying, but for the conversations I had with my diverse group of colleagues, discussing how they saw the election, what Obama meant to them - if anything - and what they expected going forward. The main sentiment, heard from the mouths of Kenyans to South Africans to Mozambicans, was that they hoped Obama would serve as a model and inspiration for their African leaders...but that sentiment was many times tempered by cynicism and the belief that "unfortunately things are different here."

Time will tell, né?

Newly Un-Wise

Last week, Rico and I drove through to Nelspruit to get his wisdom teeth removed. All four of them. I was much more nervous than Rico was, and really struggled to keep it together as his caretaker. I wish I were less queasy.

The oral surgeon was very professional, and they were able to accomodate us with a first-time consult and then the procedure all in the same morning. Nelspruit really caters to people coming in from Mozambique and Swaziland for medical procedures, adn they are quite practical about new patients who only have one or maybe two days to get everything taken care of. It is incredibly convenient, definitely worth the trip.

Rico only had local anesthetic during the procedure, and was incredibly calm about the prospect of being aware of his impacted teeth being removed from the bone. I, on the other hand, was not. I had to drink juice in the waiting room to ward away the feeling that I was about to pass out (queasy feeling not helped at all by the woman who had the appointment before Rico's and groggily came into the waiting room rattling her 4 wisdom teeth in a plastic cup for all to see).

Thankfully everything went according to plan, and Rico is recovering well. We spent 2 days at a guesthouse in Nelpsruit resting before driving back to Maputo, and I think that was essential. We always stay at Chez Vincent, and it was wonderful to have the owners going out of their way to get us a spare ice pack, make soup and mashed potatoes for Rico's dinner...while in the meantime ensure that I had a nice glass of red wine to relax, and some of the best French food I've had in ages.

Rico is now brancing out from a liquid-only diet to soft things like rice and oatmeal. By next week, he should be off the painkillers and nearly back to normal. I think we're both grateful that you only have to remove wisdom teeth once in a lifetime. :)

Cooked in Mozambique

Rico and I were watching tv this evening and caught a very cool cooking show on BBC Lifestyle. In the opening credits, I recognized Praia de Tofo, one of Mozambique's most famous beaches. The show is called "Cooked" and, from what we could tell from the two episodes we saw, is about a group of South African gourmet chefs that take a road trip through Southern Africa, seeing the sights and stopping along the way to create dishes using local ingredients.

The episodes we saw were based in Tofo and Vilankulos/Bazaruto. I loved the fact that "Cooked" highlighted the delicious food of Mozambique, as well as the more well-known beaches and sea sports. The guys bought squid (lulas) in the market and made several different dishes - baked squid tentacles in a tomato reduction sauce, fresh squid salad, squid risotto with ink, and gave a great tip about blanching the lulas for 20 prior to cooking to ensure tenderness. They took a dhow trip to Bazaruto and cooked fish in a sand pit inside a fishing dhow, which was a very practical solution to eating fish while on the open sea I'd never seen before. In all, a great program with nice, simple recipes and an introduction to some of Mozambique's beautiful scenery.

However, I have to say the production was a bit lazy. Not only were most of the place names wrong (Margarita Island, Águia Negra hotel both misspelled) - and a lot of the Portuguese translations mangled (understandable) - there were mistakes in the English text (when giving status updates, I caught "Tempereture: Perfect" throughout the Tofo episode). These little things irritate me to no end. You'd think the guys would go through the trouble to run a spell check and verify the names of the places they visited. Still, I applaud the effort to show a different side of Africa - its flavors.

Novidades

I've been struggling to keep up with the blog this week (obviously). A big part of the problem is my tendonitis - caused in large part by using the computer. I've been having serious pain in my forearms, and have been trying to avoid the old laptop in my leisure time as much as possible, as hard as that is for me given how dependent I am on email and the blog to keep in touch with family and friends. Despite the itch to be online, it's been good to have a rest. I think I need to make it a weekend policy to only get on the computer once a day!

So...I am still behind on blogging about my Kenya trip, but unfortunately that's not on my list of things I can get to today. Instead, we went to the pool at the hotel across the street (much-needed relaxation), cooked, bought a treadmill (no more Physical, the only public gym in Maputo, of which I'm not a fan), installed said treadmill on the veranda, did some spring cleaning, played with the kittens, watched tv, and suffered through an allergy attack (still in progress. ugh.).

Things have been good lately. Not much news to report, just work as usual (though some drama, but I guess that's to be expected with the particular function I have - nobody likes the person who enforces donor report deadlines and quality). I am looking forward to slightly cooler days, as the heat as of late has been brutal! I am also looking forward to a holiday on Tuesday. We are going to have the guest room and the hallway painted, adding to our house renovation kick.

Rico is getting his wisdom teeth pulled on Thursday. We are driving to Nelspruit in South Africa to have it done. I feel very sorry for him. I think, however, that I am more nervous than he is. Just thinking about his procedure and recovery makes me queasy! Good thing we have a long weekend planned for his recovery. I've already alerted the kitchen manager of the B&B where we will stay that we'll need soup, smoothies and ice cream.

I suppose I should find a few good books to read, as it will be a slow few days for me as Rico recovers from the operation...