I laughed tonight during a most mind-boggling conversation with Fernando as we heated up his water for tea. I laughed so that I wouldn't get angry.
Fernando works for us in the evenings as a security guard. As such, he spends the night hours walking around our apartment building, sitting guard at the front gate, and (who are we kidding?) sleeping. But it is comforting to know he is there.
Every month we give him a big bag of sugar and box of tea to help him stay awake during the long nights. And every night we heat up a thermos of water and Stefan chats with him. Tonight we got on the subject of the rats that also roam freely about our yard at night. Fernando noted that our neighborhood has some extremely large rats and that his wife had been asking him for some time now to catch them and bring them home (for food). Stefan asked him why he wasn't killing them and Fernando began to laugh and say that they were too big and too fast for him. So we joked about sending our son Christian down to help him.
And then Fernando said one of those things that people say here that you're not quite sure if you heard right. He said (roughly translated), "Well, they won't let me catch them because they know I'm going to eat them. But if you were to come down, they will let you catch them because they know you're just going to kill them and throw them out." And then he laughed. And we laughed. And then he said it again. And just to be sure he was saying what I thought he was saying, asked, "So, the rats have a preference? They don't mind to be caught to be killed and tossed, but they won't let YOU catch them because they know you will eat them?" He laughed and said "Yes." And he was dead serious. And Fernando knows I don't believe a word he just said, and he laughs and thinks I'm just an ignorant white lady. And I laugh because...
Well, because if I don't, I'll just get angry. Get angry once again at all the lies people believe. Granted, this is a somewhat "silly" or inconsequential lie that obviously doesn't have far-reaching consequences on his life. But it is just a small representation of all the deception that so many people live under here in Mozambique and accross Africa. And how those lies affect every aspect of their lives.
The other day I was working on a meal with Jacinta in our backyard. The kids were playing around us and suddenly she stopped what she was doing. She had been tossing peanuts in the air with a winnow. She waited for a while and then shyly asked if I wouldn't mind moving Wesley, who had walked in front of her and stood their watching. I directed Wesley to the side and then as Jacinta began working again, she explained that one cannot winnow when a young child is in front of the winnow. If she were to continue with the child there, the food that she was preparing would not "satisfy." In fact, the winnow would be cursed in such a way that from then on, all food that was prepared in it would leave a person feeling hungry. It would be necessary to get a traditional healer to "bless" it with traditional medicine before it would once again work properly.
In America we throw around the phrase, "The truth will set you free" as a trite saying. (Maybe because we are blind to our own lies that we cling to so tennaciously?) But really and truly, the lies around us here in Africa are so pervasive. And they are so crippling. And I'm reminded of the hold the Deciever enjoys on the lives of so many people around us through his lies.
"Walk in truth." Up until now I have tended to think of that phrase as a command to follow. An exhortation to live up to. But tonight I feel overwhelmed by the privilege I have of walking in truth. I'm overwhelmed by all the aspects of my life that God's truth has already impacted--by all the ways I'm free. I'm humbled by the responsibility of walking in truth--so that lies around me will be exposed and the people around us will come to know the joy and freedom that comes from knowing Truth.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
jacinta
We have been blessed to finally find a house helper (or "empregada" as they are called here) to work with us! The girl who worked for us previously (Ana) was able to get a good job working on the farm of some friends of ours while we were away in the States. But a few weeks after our return, Ana came to visit us and brought along her younger "sister" to introduce to us. Although Jacinta had never worked for a Western family before, we knew that if Ana was recommending her that it would be a good idea to give it a try. After a week "trial" period, we have been so thankful for not only her help, but the opportunity for this to be a person we get to know and in whose life we can invest!
In a Mozambican household, a typical "empregada's" duties would include everything from handwashing laundry, ironing, washing dishes, making meals, cleaning the house, buffing the floors, buying groceries, to caring for the children. It is not uncommon for them to arrive at their employer's house by 6:30 and leave after dark when the evening dishes are done--six or seven days a week. Technically their duties do not fall under the "labor laws" here in Mozambique and they are often paid far less than the minimum wage.
Anyone of "means" living in Mozambique--and particularly expatriates, would be expected to hire one or several house helpers]--not only for practical purposes and as an indication of status, but also as a way to help out the local economy by providing an income to someone who otherwise would not have a job. The few people who do not hire house helpers tend to be seen as "stingy" and secrative--possibly with something to hide.
As an expatriate, and as a Christian, obviously we have some ethical and Biblical issues with hiring, treating, and paying an empregada in what would be the widely-accepted Mozambican culturally appropriate way. However, there are some tricky implications to work through as we try to navigate a compromise between what we would consider "reasonable" as expatriates and what can quickly become an imbalance and problem as we live and work among other Mozambicans. Many expatriates tend to want to significantly overpay their workers, give them very reduced "Western" work hours, and "bless" them according to our Western ideas. Not only can this eventually become a problem between the employer and employee (think: all kinds of co-dependence), but it also has community-wide implications since that worker has to "fit" somewhere in his/her community without upsetting his position in the family or becoming a target for crime.
As we have tried to work through these issues the past four years of living here, we are acutely aware of the importance of finding someone who is not only going to be a help to our family but someone that we can invest in and bless in ways other than simply materialistically.
Every family, I'm sure has something slightly different that they are looking for in a house worker. But generally, there are some basic "qualifications" that can be actually pretty challenging to find.
In the past week, we discovered that Jacinta definitely meets our basic qualifications and in some ways has exceeded our expectations. Only God knows how long she will be a part of our lives and us a part of hers. But we pray that with her help we will be able to "function" and thrive as a household here in Mozambique. And we pray that we will be able to invest in her life and live out God's love to her so that, despite all the inadiquacies I know she will witness in our family, that she will be drawn to the One who brought us here.
In a Mozambican household, a typical "empregada's" duties would include everything from handwashing laundry, ironing, washing dishes, making meals, cleaning the house, buffing the floors, buying groceries, to caring for the children. It is not uncommon for them to arrive at their employer's house by 6:30 and leave after dark when the evening dishes are done--six or seven days a week. Technically their duties do not fall under the "labor laws" here in Mozambique and they are often paid far less than the minimum wage.
Anyone of "means" living in Mozambique--and particularly expatriates, would be expected to hire one or several house helpers]--not only for practical purposes and as an indication of status, but also as a way to help out the local economy by providing an income to someone who otherwise would not have a job. The few people who do not hire house helpers tend to be seen as "stingy" and secrative--possibly with something to hide.
As an expatriate, and as a Christian, obviously we have some ethical and Biblical issues with hiring, treating, and paying an empregada in what would be the widely-accepted Mozambican culturally appropriate way. However, there are some tricky implications to work through as we try to navigate a compromise between what we would consider "reasonable" as expatriates and what can quickly become an imbalance and problem as we live and work among other Mozambicans. Many expatriates tend to want to significantly overpay their workers, give them very reduced "Western" work hours, and "bless" them according to our Western ideas. Not only can this eventually become a problem between the employer and employee (think: all kinds of co-dependence), but it also has community-wide implications since that worker has to "fit" somewhere in his/her community without upsetting his position in the family or becoming a target for crime.
As we have tried to work through these issues the past four years of living here, we are acutely aware of the importance of finding someone who is not only going to be a help to our family but someone that we can invest in and bless in ways other than simply materialistically.
Every family, I'm sure has something slightly different that they are looking for in a house worker. But generally, there are some basic "qualifications" that can be actually pretty challenging to find.1. Honest. It is not that an overwhelming majority of workers are dishonest, per se. It is just that the material wealth of an expatriate compared to the near poverty of most locals is so striking that it can be extremly tempting to steal.
2. Hard worker. We have four children. Self-explanitory.
3. Teachable. Many people look for someone who has had previous experience working in an expatriate home--the material and physical differences can be SO significant between a local Mozambican's life experience and the reality of a Western home (think: standards of cleanliness and hygeine, working with a gas-burning stove vs. cooking over an open fire, and mopping a floor verses sweeping a dirt floor, to name a few) that it can be a long process to work through. However, in the end, we have found through experience that we would much rather work with someone who has a teachable attitude than someone who may even have previous experience.
4. A female. Although it is more common for men to be house workers here in the north of the country, since I am a stay-at-home mother with four vulnerable little children, we have been praying for a female house worker.
5. The "fit" factor. It is a bit hard to describe, but this is a person who will be spending hours in our home with me and with our children every week. This is someone who will be working along side me in the kitchen and who, like me, will probably get kicked by a wayward ball while she is hanging up laundry. We look for someone who loves children and will engage with me throughout the day.
In the past week, we discovered that Jacinta definitely meets our basic qualifications and in some ways has exceeded our expectations. Only God knows how long she will be a part of our lives and us a part of hers. But we pray that with her help we will be able to "function" and thrive as a household here in Mozambique. And we pray that we will be able to invest in her life and live out God's love to her so that, despite all the inadiquacies I know she will witness in our family, that she will be drawn to the One who brought us here.
Monday, February 13, 2012
surrounded by beauty
Africa is beautiful. And it is ugly.
When most people think of Africa, they think of nature and of wild animals. They think of dense jungles and sprawling savanahs. Of glittering dessert sands and exotic beaches. But that is not the Africa that is our lives. We live in a small city overflowing with millions of people without running water and sewage systems. It seemse every bit of usable space is covered in either concrete, mud, or garbage. Alleys and backyarads are overrun with rodents.
In a space that used to be a park accross the street from our apartment, piles of garbage heap up every day. Scavenger birds quarrel endlessly with stray dogs over bits of rotting food. Street children and drifters sort for pieces of usable trash. The stench of feces and urine is often overwhelming because with a lack of public restrooms, the overgrown grass in the "park" has become the place people use to relieve themselves while in town.
(Just the other day, as my children and I playing on the front porch, one of them shouted out, "Look mom all of those children just pulled up their skirts and...." SHEESH! African cultural lesson #1, my children, It is YOUR job not to look; not theirs to protect privacy.)
It is hard to describe, though, long-term what a lack of beauty does to a person. How despairing it can be day after day to only see cement and garbage, man-made buildings and iron bars. How you just long to run your feet accross a green lawn. Or drink in the simple smell of a flower. Or stand so small against a great cliff. I know this because although I'm just at the beginning of my time here again, I remember how this little longing for beauty eventually becomes a desperate need.
And I'm thinking, "How am I going to do this again?"
And my God, who knows my every need, brought my toddling baby to clench at my skirt. I swung her up and watched her giggle delightedly. I did it again. And watched as her belly rolled up and down with laughter. Her little face flushed. Her heart beat. Her eyes sparkled. And my breath caught as realized I was gazing at beauty.
I looked over at my sons battling with Legos on the kitchen table. Bare chested little men with sweaty hair and stern expressions. Perfectly dirty feet. Strong arms. A mischevios grin spread across the face of my four year old and I saw beauty.
I thought of my sweet little girl lying sprawled on her bed for her afternoon nap. The fan blowing her hair softly on her peaceful little face--quiet and still for those few moments of rest--rest from climbing the railing on the porch, from running away screeching with the toy she stole from baby sister, from keeping up with her big boys...rest from challenging everything and all of her little two-year old life each day. Beauty.
I am surrounded by beauty.
When most people think of Africa, they think of nature and of wild animals. They think of dense jungles and sprawling savanahs. Of glittering dessert sands and exotic beaches. But that is not the Africa that is our lives. We live in a small city overflowing with millions of people without running water and sewage systems. It seemse every bit of usable space is covered in either concrete, mud, or garbage. Alleys and backyarads are overrun with rodents.
In a space that used to be a park accross the street from our apartment, piles of garbage heap up every day. Scavenger birds quarrel endlessly with stray dogs over bits of rotting food. Street children and drifters sort for pieces of usable trash. The stench of feces and urine is often overwhelming because with a lack of public restrooms, the overgrown grass in the "park" has become the place people use to relieve themselves while in town.
(Just the other day, as my children and I playing on the front porch, one of them shouted out, "Look mom all of those children just pulled up their skirts and...." SHEESH! African cultural lesson #1, my children, It is YOUR job not to look; not theirs to protect privacy.)
It is hard to describe, though, long-term what a lack of beauty does to a person. How despairing it can be day after day to only see cement and garbage, man-made buildings and iron bars. How you just long to run your feet accross a green lawn. Or drink in the simple smell of a flower. Or stand so small against a great cliff. I know this because although I'm just at the beginning of my time here again, I remember how this little longing for beauty eventually becomes a desperate need.
And I'm thinking, "How am I going to do this again?"
And my God, who knows my every need, brought my toddling baby to clench at my skirt. I swung her up and watched her giggle delightedly. I did it again. And watched as her belly rolled up and down with laughter. Her little face flushed. Her heart beat. Her eyes sparkled. And my breath caught as realized I was gazing at beauty.
I looked over at my sons battling with Legos on the kitchen table. Bare chested little men with sweaty hair and stern expressions. Perfectly dirty feet. Strong arms. A mischevios grin spread across the face of my four year old and I saw beauty.
I thought of my sweet little girl lying sprawled on her bed for her afternoon nap. The fan blowing her hair softly on her peaceful little face--quiet and still for those few moments of rest--rest from climbing the railing on the porch, from running away screeching with the toy she stole from baby sister, from keeping up with her big boys...rest from challenging everything and all of her little two-year old life each day. Beauty.
I am surrounded by beauty.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
finding home again
We've been in Mozambique just over two weeks now and although I've had a thousand subjects to write on, I kept on waiting until I thought I could put together a coherant thought. Have decided against waiting until I'm sure my thoughts are "put together." Might end up being a while.
We have been falling into bed, exhausted, just about every night by 8:30. And getting up between 4:30 and 5:30 every morning. Unfortunately we can no longer blame that on jetlag. It is just the new reality. The sun comes up here at 4:30. Houses are built on top of eachother and since all our neighbors (including wailing babies, chickens, and the drifters that sleep in "parque" accross the street) are up with the sun...so are OUR little ones...and hence, so are we.
We had a very smooth trip and spent the first two nights in Mozambique at a guest house where our children had the run of a large property where they climbed trees, ate mangoes and explored new wildlife to their hearts content. Meanwhile we gathered our household items from storage and moved the furniture into the apartment that we had set up to live in.
And then we moved. And it felt like we were plunged into the deep end of the pool. We were without running water for some time due to electrical issues. We discovered that the apartment had some significant plumbing, electrical, and carpentry problems. As we began to unpack boxes, we discovered that some had been broken and all of the contents had been covered in mold. Several of us got sick for a few days. And we were having a terrible time figuring out where to buy even basic food staples since there had been some big changes in markets and stores while we were gone. We found rats nests in the house. (rats, not mice). Although I hesitate to mention that as one of the challenges we faced when we first came because the boys thought it was great fun chasing them down the driveway.
Laundry piled up. Dead cockaroaches piled up. Banana peels piled up. (I truly thank God for banans. They are the one food that our kids can eat happily as they adjust to new flavors and foods of whatever country they are in.)
And then one day...it just felt like home again. It's not that all that much has changed. (Although we do thankfully have running water again!) There are still unpacked boxes around. The sink still drips. The security guard next door still blares his radio at 2:00 in the morning. The kids still wake up sweaty. And I still crave a huge bowl of lettuce and a nice thick slice of cheese.
But this is home for now. It is home because it is where my baby and toddler and two boys and husband and me all sit down and eat these new foods together at the dinner table. It is home because it is where we curl up on the couch in the midst of messes to read Little House in the Big Woods together. And on the days I long for home to be somewhere else... somewhere more comfortable...somewhere more lovely...somewhere more ideal...I remember that mostly it is home because it is where God has placed me.
We have been falling into bed, exhausted, just about every night by 8:30. And getting up between 4:30 and 5:30 every morning. Unfortunately we can no longer blame that on jetlag. It is just the new reality. The sun comes up here at 4:30. Houses are built on top of eachother and since all our neighbors (including wailing babies, chickens, and the drifters that sleep in "parque" accross the street) are up with the sun...so are OUR little ones...and hence, so are we.
We had a very smooth trip and spent the first two nights in Mozambique at a guest house where our children had the run of a large property where they climbed trees, ate mangoes and explored new wildlife to their hearts content. Meanwhile we gathered our household items from storage and moved the furniture into the apartment that we had set up to live in.
And then we moved. And it felt like we were plunged into the deep end of the pool. We were without running water for some time due to electrical issues. We discovered that the apartment had some significant plumbing, electrical, and carpentry problems. As we began to unpack boxes, we discovered that some had been broken and all of the contents had been covered in mold. Several of us got sick for a few days. And we were having a terrible time figuring out where to buy even basic food staples since there had been some big changes in markets and stores while we were gone. We found rats nests in the house. (rats, not mice). Although I hesitate to mention that as one of the challenges we faced when we first came because the boys thought it was great fun chasing them down the driveway.
Laundry piled up. Dead cockaroaches piled up. Banana peels piled up. (I truly thank God for banans. They are the one food that our kids can eat happily as they adjust to new flavors and foods of whatever country they are in.)
And then one day...it just felt like home again. It's not that all that much has changed. (Although we do thankfully have running water again!) There are still unpacked boxes around. The sink still drips. The security guard next door still blares his radio at 2:00 in the morning. The kids still wake up sweaty. And I still crave a huge bowl of lettuce and a nice thick slice of cheese.
But this is home for now. It is home because it is where my baby and toddler and two boys and husband and me all sit down and eat these new foods together at the dinner table. It is home because it is where we curl up on the couch in the midst of messes to read Little House in the Big Woods together. And on the days I long for home to be somewhere else... somewhere more comfortable...somewhere more lovely...somewhere more ideal...I remember that mostly it is home because it is where God has placed me.
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