Tractors and Translating and Tanzanite

My life right now! I am working on a custom tanzanite and white gold ring for a client-friend. It is a piece for her daughter, using a stone bought when my client was in Tanzania a decade ago, a gift to commemorate her daughter graduating high school and celebrating a birthday.

It's been a massively challenging piece to make. Lots of very small scale complex curves. It's hard to make thick wire do what you want it to when you are working tiny. You need lots of leverage. Also rectangular stones are by far the hardest to set in my opinion. So much precision. So much laser-focus measuring and cutting. And the soldering setup. OH, the soldering setup is so hard. But it is a wonderful way to continue developing my skills. Nothing like a project that twists your brain and challenges your endurance and ingenuity. It's nearly done. Yay.

When I'm not in the studio, I'm working as an in-person Portuguese interpreter here in the Bay Area. Mostly it's accompanying families on their children's medical appointments (well-child visits, cardiologist, dermatologist, endocrinologist, etc) but this last week I interpreted at a special needs school for 8 different people (school principal, student's father, teachers, county mental health representatives, occupational therapist) as they went over the student's annual progress, academic performance, behavioral issues, and goals for the next year. It was intense and high-level interpreting, as people were presenting formal reports and recommendations. All my experience writing business plans and donor reports was useful, as there is a similar vocabulary to talk about goals, recommendations, and evaluations across sectors.

Also in a throwback to Mozambique, I am doing written translations for an agricultural project in the Northern part of the country. I'm grateful that while translating on-the-ground in Moz, I took the time to put together a vocabulary dictionary with regional specifics and reminders to myself of particularly hard-to-translate expressions. I'm definitely using that to remember the local terms for things like "weeding," "mechanized land preparation," and "demand," all the while learning new things about field preparation and the benefits of using tractors and disking and improved seeds. Very interesting, and thankfully so far the source texts have been very well-written, which makes translating so much smoother!

Ok. Back to work. Time to set the tanzanite.

Spaces

I want my business to flow like I want my life to flow, and for this I need systems. I spend a lot of time analyzing what I do, how I do it, where I do it, when I feel like doing it, and when I avoid it. After nearly two years of observing myself, I can see certain patterns, allowing me to engineer my use of time and space in a way that feels productive, flexible, and full of ease.

My work is split between three spaces, each of which has finally begun to reveal its identity. I've realized what I want to do in each place, what works given the unique layouts and constraints, what definitely doesn't work.

My studio at my mom's house is my alone space. There I can dive deep in my ideas, experiment with materials, get lost in my projects. It's also a space where I measure very, very precisely and hopefully cut only once. It's where I solder and make noise and use power tools. This has been a shared space for the last three years, and in the new year it will be all mine for the first time. I plan to rearrange a little and put in a painting area and an enameling area. I'm excited.

My gallery is where I put on my public face, at least during the hours I've committed to being regularly open. I've recently started spending more time in this space in off-hours, which feels good and allows me to let my hair down and relax into just being present. The gallery has often felt stressful, and over the last two years I've started to understand why that is, and how to overcome it.

I have a carefully controlled presentation to the public, an experience that I want people to have when they come in here. This requires discipline and procedures and lots and lots of tweaking of details. So much goes into creating the space I envision, and I'm constantly rearranging. I've recognized the cycle, at least: I'll put out new work, agonize because it all looks horrible the way it's displayed, feel like I don't have any of the right props or surfaces or labels, then make a brilliant adjustment that brings all the jewelry and paintings and found objects together, then feel super satisfied for about two weeks, then start to think the displays look bad, feel the need to drastically rearrange, then repeat the cycle but with a slightly different mix of pieces.

I often feel dissatisfied with the way my work looks in the gallery, which I know seems bizarre because the space itself is always beautiful. But there's always something that doesn't fit right, or needs to be regrouped, or on a larger background, or explained in a different way. I think a lot about iterations. Dozens of different ways of categorizing, classifying, presenting, and narrating my work. With each iteration I understand more about myself, about what I'm doing.

The logistical side of this constant re-visioning and re-arranging is a nightmare. Holes drilled, walls patched, paint touched up, lights adjusted, displays built, props corralled in bins, mannequins and busts acquired, aluminum maps stacked, supplies sorted, labels printed, stuff hauled back and forth and back and forth. Thus I am obsessed with how to make it flow easy, this eternal doing and undoing of my space.

Furthermore, I have the opportunity to work with two young women artists as assistant/interns, which means I need to have good storage systems and policies and procedures in place, because if it's hard with one person it quickly turns to chaos when there are more hands and heads involved. Not just the logistical stuff, but thinking about the experience and the identity of my space: how to greet people when they walk in, what kind of values I want to transmit, how to operate in my absence. It's a lot. Training people is hard, because to do it right you have to know what YOU want, which in my case has not only taken a while but is ever-changing. Being able to be flexible and dynamic is a must.

When I first opened the gallery, I thought I'd do a certain kind of work at my front desk and jeweler's bench. I've finally learned what it is I actually want to do here, and what doesn't work at all. I need to do tasks that are conducive to interruption and pauses. Sketching works well, as does administrative stuff.

Other things seemed better in theory than in reality. For example, I started with a huge monitor in the gallery to be able to do photo editing and website updates in here. What I didn't anticipate was the size of the screen, coupled with the glare from the sun hitting the cars parked across the street, giving me migraines. Also the screen blocked my view of the front door. And I realized that when I work on my website, I'm deep in thought trying to build my site in a way that makes sense and write succinct copy. Any interruption totally takes me out of the zone, and I forget what exactly I was doing and what page needed updating. So that was out. I took my monitor home, and now do photo editing and website updates from there.

Which brings me to my final workspace, in our house, in a shared office with Ricardo. That's where I do my accounting, and my emails, and anything that benefits from a huge computer screen. It's a pain to have my functions/papers/things split among three spaces, but the reality is that I often feel like staying home but also need to work a bit. So if I can work a little from home as well as my studio and my gallery, I'm able to stay on top of things better. And there's nothing quite as nice as rolling out of bed, getting some coffee, and knocking out five things on the computer while still wearing pajamas.

The habits from my days as a freelance consultant die hard, I guess.

Fabrication

Here's a little behind-the-scenes insight for you all, thoughts about my jewelry and art and business, two years out of school and a year-and-a-half into the gallery:

- I still buy double the materials I need for most custom jewelry projects. I am a firm believer that Murphy is always riding shotgun, and things will go wrong at the most inopportune times. No matter how careful I am with planning and measuring, mistakes happen. Things melt or are cut wrong. Also, the black hole that lurks in all jeweler's studios will swallow up pieces of metal or tiny gemstones that manage to escape our death grip or drop through our inner thighs a nanosecond after we slam them together because something has fallen off the bench. Between the possibility of ruining or losing a critical component, I have to have double materials on hand. Expensive, but I have no regrets.

- For tricky client projects, I make prototypes. Often at my own expense in terms of hours and materials, but I still see myself as such a learner that it makes sense this way, for now. I want to make sure that things will work, materials will behave, that I'm not promising something I can't deliver. I understand the piece so much more after making a prototype. At a certain point, I imagine being comfortable and experienced enough that I don't have to buy double materials and don't have to spend quite so much time in the prototype phase. I think of it as building a knowledge library that I can access in the future. I take really good notes on what I am doing, and what specifically I am learning from not just the prototypes, but all the work I make.

- I make most of my jewelry by fabricating. This means I start "from scratch" using different dimensions of wire and sheet as the building blocks for a finished piece. Occasionally I will make pieces using lost wax casting, where you start with a wax model, make a mold, and then cast in metal. Casting and fabricating have significantly different design and production challenges. Fabricating to me is like miniature engineering. You have to be exceptionally precise and consider the order in which you do things. Casting is more like sculpting a beautiful wax and then following instructions, like baking a cake. To get more pieces, you just "bake" another round. Casting is way more efficient, time and cost wise...but it's the mental and structural challenge of fabricating that really gets me. So a big challenge for my business is that I prefer the slow and expensive but technically brilliant way of working.

- Custom work is what keeps coming to me, which is exciting. I have made some really incredible pieces for people this year. I can't share all of them yet, which is the burden of the jeweler who must keep secrets, but I am very excited and will be able to post photos in the coming weeks.

Creative Business: What Makes Me (Un)Happy

Lately I've been feeling very unhappy about being a jeweler and having the gallery. These growing pains are part of the ride, but it's time for a major adjustment when the thing I love becomes the thing I most want to avoid. Because, you know, I already burned out on one career (see: the archives of this blog between 2006 and 2009) and I'd prefer that not happen again.

The things that make me unhappy are pretty easy to identify:

- Allowing my business side to take over at the expense of my artist side. Focusing too much on numbers and sales and foot traffic, and very especially measuring my success by those metrics.

- Acting like a retail jewelry store. This is not what I want to do, but it is the easiest model to follow and the one that people most readily understand. And the desire to have a flourishing business where others understand what I'm doing, support it, approve of it...I won't lie. It's there.

- Making jewelry that I think will sell, not the pieces my gut/soul/whatever leads me to create. Production work is a tempting mistress. Again, it's what others most easily "get". It's safe and expected/accepted. It's the most lucrative strategy, at least in the short term. But it is the wrong path for me, and that I do know in my gut. Focusing on production work (think wearable, fashionable jewelry collections that are made in multiples) is the fast track to my business mind taking over.

- Living too much in the future. Planning excessively. Scheduling every free moment. Maxing out my productivity.

- Creating a public persona where I don't allow myself to be real, vulnerable, messy, or uncertain. Feeling like I always have to front positivity and be "on" in order to be successful. Here I feel free to tell it like it is. On my www.aliamaro.com blog and newsletter and in the gallery, I don't. There is a major filter in place. I recognize the importance of privacy, of keeping some semblance of separation between business and personal life...but it bothers me that I don't feel okay sharing my authentic self in the spaces where I share my work.

- Feeling overly obligated to others. Man this is a big one. I want to share my opportunities with my fellow artists, and I want to contribute to my community...but there needs to be balance so I'm not consumed up in the process.

So there's the unhappy list, in a nutshell. Now for what makes me happy (it's a much less philosophical list):

- Doing the painting exercise I invented where I color mix for 5 minutes, then apply paint to the canvas for 5 minutes, let dry, and repeat. These loose, colorful, free paintings are my favorite thing right now in terms of studio work.

- Taking photos of textures, patterns, and architecture. Taking portraits.

- Creating compositions with objects. Finding edges that match and angles that meet. Finding balance within asymmetry.

- Playing with color. Putting together unexpected palettes. Organize things according to gradients.

- Doing processes that involve the unknown. Like enameling, where you have no idea what the colors will look like before you apply heat. Or using my jeweler's saw to slice into those dried acrylic paint balls I like so much, revealing a hidden interior.

- Rendering (drawing) jewelry. I think I like it because it's so damn hard and the results are so gratifying. Nothing like a challenge.

- Being a stylist: putting together a great outfit, nailing proportion, mixing patterns, accessorizing.

- Creating something for another person that is incredibly meaningful to them.

- Doing nothing. Hanging out with cats. Being in the sun. Dancing.

- Getting away. Traveling. Exploring. Wandering.

I am going to pin this to my studio wall and make it a priority to look at it, reflect on it, allow myself to say YES to things on the happy list and STOP doing the things on the unhappy list without guilt or anxiety or insecurity. I'm not sure what the result will look like, in terms of what I'll create or where it will lead. And that's part of the exercise.  

La Vida Expatica #7: Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like

I imagine some of you may have already come across this snarky gem of a site. The postings are hilarious and so dead-on, definitely worth checking out if you are working or have worked in international development.

Holidays

I am so grateful to be on winter break, although it hasn't really hit me yet that school is over and I can kick back and relax. Rico and I took one what we swear will be our last agricultural development consulting assignment, so the day after school was finished I had to get on the computer and write about program objectives and how to measure the impact of of our client's project in Mozambique. I've also been busy with holiday jewelry orders, which makes me very happy.

My plan for the next few days is to make some jewelry for myself, clean and organize my studio/office, read a book, do some gardening and in general just try to de-stress. The last two weeks of school really did a number on me, and I'm aware that I need to pamper myself a bit in order to be ready for the next semester.

On Becoming Dependent

I start school in less than a week and have been valiantly trying to make these last few days really feel like vacation. In part, I've succeeded. I've slept in, gone running along the water's edge, had bbq's in the backyard with Rico, suntanned, drank beer, read the entire September edition of Vogue, and watched plenty of trash on tv.

However, in between the sun and exercise and celebrity gossip, I've also been working exceptionally hard. I've been preparing tons of new jewelry for a trunk show at a local boutique, and am trying to get my online inventory up in preparation for the holidays. I also did a record number of translations in August and, despite having sworn to myself that I'd take a vacation, just accepted two new assignments yesterday.

Even though Rico has a stable income these days, it's really hard for me to snap out of "freelancer mode". When you are a self-employed consultant, you never know when your next job will appear, or when your clients will get around to paying you for assignments you've already completed. It's a cash flow nightmare, and Rico and I became very good at dealing with the unpredictability. The key? Accept (nearly) every job that comes your way, even if it means you are triple-booked and working 90 hours a week. You never know, you may have to rely on that income for the next four months.

And thus, even though my husband now gets a regular paycheck that covers our living expenses, I still feel compelled to take on work even though I'm supposed to be on vacation or am super busy with school. Part of it is residual consultant mindset, but part is also a matter of pride. For the first time in my life (well, for the first time since I started college and was weaned off the parental financial teat) I am dependent on another person to pay my bills, put me through school, buy my clothes, cover the mortgage, pay for trips and entertainment, etc.

When Rico and I were in the throes of financial uncertainty back in Mozambique - in the good old days when we were just starting to work as consultants, trying to establish a reputation for ourselves, living off $800 a month - I always thought that having someone else take care of your cash flow worries must be the best thing in the world. Certainly, I am blessed that Rico has a great job, and that our situation allows me the luxury of going to art school and following my dream of being a full-time jewelry artist. However, it's been surprisingly difficult for me to accept that I am now financially dependent on Rico and - to make matters worse - not only am I not bringing in a big income, I'm also running up expenses right and left thanks to the astronomical tuition at CCA.

I don't think I ever realized how much of my identity was caught up in being a breadwinner, being financially INdependent, earning a salary that somehow validated my worth as a professional and as a person. It's been hard to admit, and even harder to let go. Even though I'm happier than I've ever been, and wouldn't want to go back to consulting unless truly necessary, part of me still feels like a "failure" because I'm not bringing in an income.

It's a very strange feeling because intellectually, I know this is ridiculous. That my happiness and well-being are worth much more than any silly salary I walked away from. I feel that $100 earned creating and selling a piece of jewelry is much, much sweeter than $10,000 earned doing some bullshit consulting assignment. However, there is part of me - a stubborn, superficial, distorted-feminist part - that feels ashamed to be dependent on someone else.

Rico has been super understanding of my internal struggle, and keeps trying to get the message through my thick head that his salary is OUR money. He reminds me of the times in our past - when he was studying, or sorting out the logistics of our wedding, or taking care of the bureaucracy of buying our house - when his income was zilch and I was bringing in the big bucks. He asks whether I thought about the money I earned during those periods as our money. Of course it was OUR money. "But that was different," I protest. Rico will then look at me with a raised eyebrow and as me how, exactly, it was different. Of course I have no good answer, and we laugh together at my stubbornness.

With each day that passes, it becomes a little easier to accept that I am lucky enough to be in this situation, that I am deserving of the support of my family and that there is no shame in giving up my income in order to pursue my dream. Now if I could only have the gumption to turn away the next translating assignment...

Snakes in the Road

Looking back on our experiences in Mozambique, there was so much I wanted to capture in writing but didn't - either because the topic was too sensitive and required the invaluable perspective of time, or because life got in the way and I spent my writing energy on things like business plans and grant proposals for clients. Bit by bit I hope to put these myriad recollections and opinions on paper, so to speak, so that they don't fall victim to the funny tricks memory inevitably plays on us.

Below are a few memories from a trip to Nampula and Zambézia Provinces I took with my colleague A. back in May 2009. We were there to interview community-level maize millers in order to better understand their businesses and, eventually, develop a program proposal through which the organization we were consulting for could do an "intervention" to raise the millers' incomes and link them to the larger meal-processing industry in Mozambique. A classic example of a concept and proposal that seem stellar in theory and on paper, but that made my stomach sink with cynicism and my head hurt from all the BS and international development buzzwords.

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"If we're lucky and the road is good, we can make it to Guruè in time for you to interview some millers," says Sulemane, our driver. We bump along a road whose asphalt is pocked with craters, signs every dozen kilometers or so announcing which donor is next in the endless cycle of support to highway repairs.

All I can think is that I hope the road gets worse, that we arrive in Guruè far too late to feasibly do anything other than find the Catholic mission where we are to stay the night, eat a quick meal and go to bed. I don't want to interview any millers - not now, not tomorrow, not ever. And yet it is my job to interview millers - at least for this particular assignment - so I give myself a silent pep talk and try to put on an enthusiastic front for the benefit of my colleague A., who is new to the development world and seems eager to carry out our field work.

We bump along past clusters of mud-and-straw huts, past women carting water in giant yellow containers, past the occasional abandoned colonial structure. The land is visibly fertile, full of lush trees and countless small-scale agricultural plots, a significant contrast to the grays and browns that dominate the countryside around Maputo.

After a few hours we stop for a rest in Alto Molócuè, a small town that has the reputation for being a promising player in grains and soya production in Mozambique. My colleagues talk about Alto Molócuè as if it were Eden waiting to be discovered as far as agriculture is concerned; I find it immediately depressing.

The central part of town seems like one big truck stop, full of seedy-looking men, begging children, and girls who are clearly out to make a buck. Alto Molócue is located at the intersection of two main highways and is also the only place with minimal infrastructure for miles around, making it a logical location for travelers to overnight, stock up on supplies or seek out some "entertainment". I try to convince myself that things get better a couple streets over, on the other side of the bridge, away from the influx of trucks and men and money.

We order three roast chickens with xima at the only place in town our driver says is decent. I pay for the meal and invite Sulemane to sit with me and A. He refuses, which I find odd given that we've been having such nice conversations in the truck. As we pick at the chicken with our hands, a crippled man stares at me from outside the window, rubbing his belly and pleading with me to give him the leftovers from my meal. "Estou a pedir-e, amiga." I selfishly wish he would go away.

I seem to flip-flop from day to day on how I feel about begging. If I give food, am I perpetuating a problem and encouraging dependency? On the other hand, how can one possibly eat in front of a starving man and not feel compelled to share? I feel conspicuously overfed and white and rich and foreign.

I eat half the chicken, then ask the shopkeeper if it's okay to give the leftovers to the man outside - not because I particularly want his opinion, rather to ensure the beggar won't be yelled at (or worse) for disturbing the paying customers who want to eat in peace. The man devours the rest of my meal, hotly refusing to share with the dozen or so kids who have come out of the woodwork to beg for their own mouthful.

A small, hand-written sign next to the door catches my eye. In scrawled script it says "Duá para a barraca" followed by what I imagine to be the same message in Arabic. A prayer to bless the small shop. Amen, I think. Amen.

We return to the truck and A. and I discuss our field work strategy. We will be interviewing as many maize millers as possible over the next five days. We plan to start in the mountains near the border with Malawi, then make our way back towards Nampula. We go over our interview guide, and think of how to introduce ourselves and the work we are doing. I make A. promise not to use the word "programa", for fear of implying some sort of support or inadvertently raising the hopes of these millers that an NGO will be coming in to save the day. Rather we decide to say we are doing an "estudo", that we are simply gathering data to better understand the milling business in the region.

Although we are, in reality, preparing a program proposal with the end goal of supporting the millers - at least with technical assistance if not with actual funds - I am incredibly reluctant to say anything. Why? Because I believe, from the bottom of my heart, that nothing will ever be done. Nothing will change. Even if the organization where A. and I are consultants manages to get the program funded, I doubt it will be properly implemented. Perhaps there will be one or two "star" millers involved in the program (convenient characters for the donor reports), and some nice statistics to go along with them - but I can't fathom there being sustainable, widespread change for the millers we will interview, despite the fact that's exactly what is being argued in the grant proposal.

It's not that the organization where we work is corrupt, or ill-intentioned, or staffed with incapable fools. On the contrary - the majority of the people employed at the NGO are quite skilled and truly want to make a difference in the lives of the rural poor. Somehow, however, between the good intentions and the actual results, something breaks down. People get burned out, there is disconnect between the donors and the reality on the ground, there is a lack of training and proper program management (despite endless attempts to address these issues), programs continue to be top-down in their conception and implementation (again, despite purported focus on community-driven or demand-driven interventions), etc. These are not problems specific to any one organization - they are widespread throughout the development industry...and they are completely clouding my vision.

I try to convince myself that doing the best job I can, even within a flawed system, is the right thing to do and really my only option. I must put on a smile, find the silver lining in the work and try to believe something good will come out of it for the millers, their families, their communities.

A bright green snake slithers across the road in front of our vehicle. While Sulemane could have easily swerved to the right and avoided it, he aims for the middle of its body and guns the accelerator. I feel a slight bump, but nobody looks back.

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Edited to add: I am always a bit reluctant to write posts like these because I hate the idea that I might propagate, in any way, the idea that Africa is one giant place full of poor people who live in a rural context and somehow or other need to be "saved". Those of you who know me and have taken the time to read my past entries know my view is vastly different. This post is much more about my mindset and experiences as a private-sector development consultant on a particular assignment, and the rural poverty and the people we encountered while doing field work are unavoidably a part of the story.

For a post that hits the nail on the head 110% when it comes to the diversity and "un-classifiable-ness" of what it means to be African (or Angolan, or Mozambican, or Zambian), please read this excellent text entitled "Sou Africana e não como mandioca" by my friend Jessica.

Northern Bound

I'm heading up to Ilha de Moçambique today for a mini-vacation with Ricardo. He's been working based in Nampula these days, and it will be nice for us to take some time off together in that region. I wish we could do 2 weeks of holiday, but a weekend will have to suffice as we both have work obligations that make it impossible to fall off the radar for an extended period at this point.

I'm looking forward to this trip more than I can express. I hope to come back to Maputo not only relaxed and rejuvenated, but with a suitcase full of beads and pottery shards.

Enjoy your weekend, wherever you may be.

Africa Agri-Culture: Non-Homogenized

I always come across the most interesting articles and blogs related to agriculture in Africa, but seldom get around to posting them here. I'm going to try and change this trend for the last few months we are here in Moz.

Speaking of Mozambique, here is an (optimistic) article on what could happen with agriculture in this country, assuming the critical constraints to development are addressed. Click through to the full article, "Mozambique Could Become a Field of Dreams".

I recently discovered a blog simply called African Agriculture, which seems to provide good news updates and opinion pieces. Click here to visit.

Finally, here is a link to a publication called "The Conversation Behind Closed Doors" that was prepared by senior associates of Baird's CMC. Apparently the report reveals the attitudes toward corporate investment in Africa among leading U.S. corporations -- according to senior officers of 30 American Fortune 100 corporations we interviewed. The fundamental question is: Why has Africa not attracted more interest from the U.S. business community?

I had a look at the executive summary of "The Conversation Behind Closed Doors" and it was intriguing. However, most of the points highlighted in the summary are the same ones on the Laundry List of Conditions for Development and Investment Promotion that any of us who have worked in private sector development for a reasonable length of time could cough up on command. I suppose these issues may be relevant for the CEO of a company not familiar with investing and operating a business in Mozambique or Nigeria or the Sudan, however these are most certainly issues that the governments of these countries, in addition to the people working on the ground to promote a many of the changes called for, are almost numbingly familiar with.

I asked the study authors to clarify who the intended audience is for this report. Is it the US companies who might potentially expand operations into Africa? Or is it the potential recipient countries of said US investment? I'd be curious to know, and see how that might change my evaluation of the report contents.

One final note on "The Conversation Behind Closed Doors", but this is just me being picky: along with all of the other choir-singers, I am tired of hearing Africa referred to as if it were one sad lump of a country, or one fabulous unified destination for investments.** The tagline for this study is "Inside the Boardroom: How Corporate America Really Views Africa." Isn't that just a bit pretentious? Assuming that the suited and tied occupants of the US Fortune 100 boardrooms could possibly have a view, much less a *real* one, on all of AFRICA?

Perhaps this seems petty, but it drives me nuts. Maybe it's just a bad day. Do any of you find this tagline bothersome?

Regardless, I'd like to read the full report so that I might make more meaningful commentary.

**Yes, I realize I'm fully in hypocrite territory because of my blog title. Africa's right at home on a list of two cities and a country! Despite my best efforts, it seems I was also guilty of referring to "Africa as a unit" prior to moving to Mozambique.

Forward Motion

Uff, my workload these days has been unforgiving! It's not totally overwhelming yet, but definitely close to the threshold of what I enjoy taking on.

Blogging keeps getting bumped to the back burner (aka "I'll do it on the weekend") along with the treadmill, proper grocery shopping, and coffee/drinks with several new acquaintances.

I'm not complaining, though. I'm grateful for the work in all its versions - jewelry fairs, jewelry classes, maize mills project, proposal writing, translating - because each hour worked is a step closer to what feels right. Moving forward, making and saving money, enjoying the space in which you're not quite sure what comes next.

I've also had time for small leisure moments, despite the busy schedule. I've cooked quite a bit (stewed chicken in homemade tomato veg sauce, apple crumble), hung out with friends and had indian takeaway and wine, hung out with super girlfriends and sketched in preparation for my application to art school (I've been super keen on finding sketching partners these days, as I want to learn as much as possible on how people draw), watched some trash on TV and even done a Pilates class.

It's nice that Rico is in the same rhythm at the moment work-wise. We often sit across from each other at the living room table with a glass of wine so that, even though we are both working on a deadline, we can enjoy the other person's company. It's sweet, and brings back the good old Chimoio days when we'd sit in plastic lawn chairs in an under-furnished room and knock out fundraising proposals.

I'm looking forward to the weekend. Hopefully it will be restful, but even if its not, at least it will be fun. That is one element certainly not lacking in my life these days.

Back to Life, Back to Reality

Mine, that is...

After a week of field work in northern Zambézia and southern Nampula, I have returned to Maputo. It was an intense, crazy week - much more so than I could have ever expected. I randomly met up with someone I'd not seen in 12 years, ran across a potential money laundering-type situation in the middle of rural Mozambique, had a good look into the lives of Catholic priests, ate a lot of chicken and xima, was surrounded by curious children and adults in remote communities, and honed my interview skills alongside my colleague A.

All this in the course of learning about the milling business. It was quite the trip.

More stories to come once I have decompressed a bit.

Cramming Time

I've been quite overwhelmed this past week, although I suppose I can't really complain because the resulting stress is of my own doing.

Rico and I clearly want to use our remaining time in Moz to make as much money as possible, so we've both taken on double jobs in the short-term. It's definitely a feasible load, but we are busy, and evenings and weekends are filled up now by work instead of 100% play.

I keep reminding myself that, in my case, this rhythm will subside on the 22nd when I turn in the massive translating job that has been the source of my overwhelmed state as of late. I also keep thinking about the dollar figure, which helps me become more motivated to do just one last page of translating before bed.

It's a strangely satisfying rhythm, being super busy for short spells. It reminds me of being in school and having to survive midterms and final exams. Except now, instead of eating dry sugar cereal out of the box and hanging out with roommates while studying, I sit at my computer with a glass of wine and a cat in my lap, with Rico keeping me company while trading stocks online. Same underlying feeling of a bit too much to do in too little time, but with a much more sophisticated exterior...

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.

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!

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

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...

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.