Though I've always thought that the best place to start a story is the beginning, this one time I'm gonna start in the middle. This past Tuesday, 4 volunteers from Moz 17 and 1 from Moz 15 were injured during a car accident in Gaza province. Though the details of the event are still unclear, the initial results are not: 2 of our own died of their injuries and 3 had to leave the country, perhaps for good, for medical treatment. As you can imagine, this was a devastating loss that set the tone for the next few weeks. But before this tragic news, things at site were going swimmingly.
I arrived to Alto Molokwe on December 12th, and after unloading my stuff from the car, promptly got to making the house my own. Step 1: get rid of all the useless stuff. 'Helping' me in this endeavor was the empregado (buttler) of my director, Masangu. Though it was nice to have the help, nothing is more stressful than having to manage someone who is helping you clean. Luckily, it was at this moment that my site mate Dylan Yoselick, a health volunteer from Moz 16 (pictured left) showed up and told him that we didn't need his help any more. Being that was in my new hometown, it was high time I learned about my site, and so we took a tour of the town. Immediately upon exiting the house we stumbled upon a chameleon walking across the path and saw him change colors as he moved from the dirt into the grass. We then visited the 2 banks in town, the house of the mayor, the ministry of education, the dowtown, the central market, and his favorite resuraunt "O Ceu Azul" (blue sky) for a grilled chicken. Afterwards, we went back to his house where we hung out the rest of the night.
The next week and a half went equally easy. My director took my on a tour-of-important-people where I met the commander of the police, director of education, and the administrative for the town. I spent the rest of the week cleaning, buying, fixing, sorting, organizing, and just all around nesting to make my 2 bedroom with kitchen and indoor bathroom house feel like home. About midway through the week, a dog with a pink collar showed up at my house, walked right in paying no attention to my attepmts to shoo her away, and took a very comfortable spot on the spare bed. After asking around, I found out that her name is coco (pictured below hiding under my bed during a thunderstorm) and she was the dog of the previous volunteer. Even when Dylan left site for a whole week straight, everything went well. I made friends with a Mozambiquean family that has been friends with each volunteer to pass through Alto, pumped my own water though I was being heckled by the women at the pump for my abysmal technique, and cooked most of my own meals. Things were going well.
That was until I got a text message from another volunteer asking if I had heard anything about a car crash involving some Moz 17ers in Gaza province. I hadn't, but immediately started thinking about who was in Gaza and how this was probably all a big misunderstanding. Then the text came. In very presise and curt language, PC Moz confired my fears: 2 dead, 3 injured. At the time, I was walking to the market with a newfound Mozambiquean friend and had to summon all my strength to keep the conversation going. Finally I made it back home and was able to call my good friends to find out what had happened and how people were being affected by it. Though I hadn't known the two passed volunteers very well, they were friends and the severing of the strong bond formed by being part of the same trainning class was a shock. After a few minutes of panic, sadness, denial, and pensive thought, I had calmmed down and pushed the issues to the back of my mind in order to get ready for visitors. The nearest Moz17er to me, Stephanie Newton, came to Alto for the holidays as we had been planning, along with my site mate and 2 other health volunteers, and I looked forward to a relaxing few days to process what had happened. But no sooner had she arrived till plans changed again: all the northern Moz17ers needed to get to the beautiful Ilha de Mozambique for a memorial service in 3 days.
So the next day we woke up at 2:30a to ensure we got an good seat on the first chapa out of Alto. Of course, it didn't leave till 5a, but at least we weren't standing. After 4 hours of driving through the beautiful rolling hills and rock outcroppings of eastern Nampula province, we arrived at Nampula city. We promptly got into a local chapa which would take us to the chapa terminal where we could find transport to Ilha. While standing up in the chapa, I felt a hand fishing around my pockets, so I quickly grabbed it and yelled at it's owner "deixa meu bolso sem suas maos" or "leave your hand out of my pocket." I then proceeded to call him a "nindja" which is a slang word for theif, and refused to stand next to him. Needles to say, I felt pretty proud of myself. Eventually arriving in Ilha by crossing the very long one way bridge onto the island, was a welcome respite from the crowded and hot chapa.
Formely the seat of the Portugese's northern colonial administration, Ilha de Mozambqiue is covered in surprisingly well preserved colonial era buildings and features crystal clear water in 360 degrees, an old fort used to protect the island against pirates, sevreal mosques serving the predominately Mulsim population, and the most important ingredient of any tourist town: cheese! As the other volunteers arrived, we greeted each other with warm embraces and heartfelt "how are you doing"s. Though we had only seen eachother a few weeks ago, our world had been turned upside down and everyone was just happy to be together. A few days latter, we all gathered together on a secluded beach for a lovely memorial service to our two dear friends Elizabeth Alden Landis and Lena Anne Jenison. They will be sorely missed.
For me, it wasn't until after the memorial service that I actually began to grapple with the reality that these town beautiful, intelligent, vibrant women would never be joining us again. This caused the wave of emotions which I had been holding back for several days to come crashing down right as my delicious lobster gnocchi arrived at the table. Luckily my friends and I were all in the same place, and after dinner I walked and talked with one for a while, which calmed me down.
Though we have left the Ilha, the time of remembrance isn't over. Today we found out that all of the Moz17ers (45 at this point) are being brought together in Maputo early in the new year for a joint memorial service. Till then, we will continue or preparation work at site and our own personal healing work.
That was until I got a text message from another volunteer asking if I had heard anything about a car crash involving some Moz 17ers in Gaza province. I hadn't, but immediately started thinking about who was in Gaza and how this was probably all a big misunderstanding. Then the text came. In very presise and curt language, PC Moz confired my fears: 2 dead, 3 injured. At the time, I was walking to the market with a newfound Mozambiquean friend and had to summon all my strength to keep the conversation going. Finally I made it back home and was able to call my good friends to find out what had happened and how people were being affected by it. Though I hadn't known the two passed volunteers very well, they were friends and the severing of the strong bond formed by being part of the same trainning class was a shock. After a few minutes of panic, sadness, denial, and pensive thought, I had calmmed down and pushed the issues to the back of my mind in order to get ready for visitors. The nearest Moz17er to me, Stephanie Newton, came to Alto for the holidays as we had been planning, along with my site mate and 2 other health volunteers, and I looked forward to a relaxing few days to process what had happened. But no sooner had she arrived till plans changed again: all the northern Moz17ers needed to get to the beautiful Ilha de Mozambique for a memorial service in 3 days.
So the next day we woke up at 2:30a to ensure we got an good seat on the first chapa out of Alto. Of course, it didn't leave till 5a, but at least we weren't standing. After 4 hours of driving through the beautiful rolling hills and rock outcroppings of eastern Nampula province, we arrived at Nampula city. We promptly got into a local chapa which would take us to the chapa terminal where we could find transport to Ilha. While standing up in the chapa, I felt a hand fishing around my pockets, so I quickly grabbed it and yelled at it's owner "deixa meu bolso sem suas maos" or "leave your hand out of my pocket." I then proceeded to call him a "nindja" which is a slang word for theif, and refused to stand next to him. Needles to say, I felt pretty proud of myself. Eventually arriving in Ilha by crossing the very long one way bridge onto the island, was a welcome respite from the crowded and hot chapa.
Formely the seat of the Portugese's northern colonial administration, Ilha de Mozambqiue is covered in surprisingly well preserved colonial era buildings and features crystal clear water in 360 degrees, an old fort used to protect the island against pirates, sevreal mosques serving the predominately Mulsim population, and the most important ingredient of any tourist town: cheese! As the other volunteers arrived, we greeted each other with warm embraces and heartfelt "how are you doing"s. Though we had only seen eachother a few weeks ago, our world had been turned upside down and everyone was just happy to be together. A few days latter, we all gathered together on a secluded beach for a lovely memorial service to our two dear friends Elizabeth Alden Landis and Lena Anne Jenison. They will be sorely missed.
For me, it wasn't until after the memorial service that I actually began to grapple with the reality that these town beautiful, intelligent, vibrant women would never be joining us again. This caused the wave of emotions which I had been holding back for several days to come crashing down right as my delicious lobster gnocchi arrived at the table. Luckily my friends and I were all in the same place, and after dinner I walked and talked with one for a while, which calmed me down.
Though we have left the Ilha, the time of remembrance isn't over. Today we found out that all of the Moz17ers (45 at this point) are being brought together in Maputo early in the new year for a joint memorial service. Till then, we will continue or preparation work at site and our own personal healing work.
EAL & LAJ
Wish you were here
That's awful. Sorry to hear that.
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