Back in Africa!

A hurricane couldn’t stop my return to Mozambique. Neither could accusations of importing tampons and daily contact lenses for sale at customs (Megan Lawless, International Tampon Smuggler would make an awesome business card). But I made it back, and there’s no culture shock like going from complimentary roast beef sandwiches served on an hour-long flight (the Jo’burg – Maputo connection) to being mobbed by chapa drivers, fighting for the attempt to rip off your white ass, in Junta (a giant chapa/bus park). I’ve been back at site for a few weeks now and have readjusted, but it’s amazing how different life is, just a couple plane rides away.

Signs I knew I was back in Mozambique:

• Hearing myself yell “LIE!” in someone’s face (those chapa drivers couldn’t rip me off)
• Having my aforementioned sass result in a marriage proposal
• Bruising on my knees from chapa rides (too tall)
• Being told repeatedly, by every acquaintance in Macia, that I “disappeared and got fat”
• Having to physically carry kids out of my house to get them to leave
• Being regularly mocked for bathing daily (which I see as an accomplishment) only

Ants in My Pants (or Lack Thereof)

One night, half-asleep and desperate, I ran out to my latrine. I had barely sat down however, when I immediately yelped and leaped off the cement seat. Fire ants. Hundreds of them. All over the seat and now all over the places one least wants to be bit. Apparently they had started some sort of invasion during the night, as they were all over the bathroom as well as kitchen. I ripped my pants off and just stood there in shock. Should I try to kill them? Shit in a bucket? Risk falling in by squatting on top of the toilet? Finally, I straddled the damn thing, on my tip-toes (the floor was also covered with them). And for good measure, I even peed. Completely upright. Like a dude, but facing away from toilet as ants nipped at my toes. The silver lining, though, is that when someone has some inane complaint about their life in America, I can respond, “Oh that sucks you were mildly inconvenienced. I was sexually assaulted by fire ants,” and smirk, in true Lawless fashion.

Circle of Life

I had a lot riding on my cat’s pregnancy. I had proclaimed it to all of Macia at week 3, so when Simba continued not to show, at all, for the next month, my credibility was on the line. I regularly say things that people are skeptical of, like “Yes, I eat potatoes without peeling them; they have more nutrients that way,” or “No, a person won’t get sick if they go more than a few days without having sex.” I usually get a discerning look that says all too clearly, “The white girl must be crazy,” but at least it starts a discussion. However, if Simba didn’t have any pão in her oven after all, I would take a serious blow.

Thankfully, when I got back from America, Simba was, as fellow volunteer described, a “watermelon cat.” And a week later, I came dangerously close to having to scrub placenta out of my coworker’s clothes. She wanted to give birth in my counterpart/host dad’s closet, but upon seeing a sac poking out, I grabbed her and sprinted to my house just in time. Thus, on Wednesday, September 7^th, the anniversary of the Lusaka Accords (which granted Mozambique independence from Portugal), 4 precious kittens were born. They all appear to be thriving, though Simba honestly does not look too thrilled with motherhood. When she returned one afternoon to her kittens, all crying and climbing all over her, she shot me a look that clearly said, “Fuck.” I had tried to keep her away from the dude cats (not even joking, I would throw rocks when they were hanging around, not to hit but to scare them), but this pregnancy is just further evidence that abstinence-only education fails.