Apparently, white men CAN jump

I’ve had several experiences here with basketball. The first happened to be at the local high school, which has been well documented on this site already. Another one came when some guys were taunting me when I was passing by the court one day. So I decided to destroy them, dunking on them and insulting their momma’s the whole way. I don’t know of that’s what is culturally appropriate here, but it’s what you do back in America. And dunking? you ask. The hoop was about 6 inches shorter than normal, which was just the little bit I needed to send them home crying.

Well, Victor was at a meeting with the Social Welfare big wigs the other day with a few other orphanages. The conversation went like this:

Big Wigs: We want to sponsor your orphanages to enter a youth basketball tournament for kids ages 10-12. It starts in exactly 5 weeks.

Other orphanage directors: But nobody from any of our orphanages has ever played basketball before. How will ever find somebody to teach them in time?

Victor: Hey, we have a white guy from America at our orphanage. I bet he can do it. They play basketball in America.

Other orphanage directors: Are you sure he knows basketball?

Victor: He’s really tall.

Directors: Hallelujah, we’re gonna win it all!

And in case you think I'm taking artistic license with the coversation, that is literally what Victor told me happened almost word for word. Now, their assumption of my knowledge of basketball is about as stereotypical as asking that black guy in the movie “Office Space” about money laundering. But in this case, they got lucky. And I was more than happy to teach the kids basketball. After all, it’s not like after rounding up all the kids we’re gonna get to the court to practice and find a group of kids that have been practicing for over a year all doing conditioning and situps and pushups.

OHMYGODTHERESAGROUPOFKIDSTHATHAVEALLBEENPRACTICING-

FOROVERAYEARALLDOINGCONDITIONINGANDSITUPSANDPUSHUPS!!!!

After we pulled ourselves together emotionally, I got to talk with the coach of these other kids, who’s parents had hired him to coach their kids after they heard about the tournament last year. Well, our kids jumped right in and started right in.

After a long time of just watching dumbfounded.

Coaching kids from three different orphanages is kind of tough. Lucky for me, I had a lot of help from my friend Tomo. He is great at helping the kids and also great at defense. Here he is just before stealing the ball from not one, but TWO kids who have never ever played basketball before in their lives.

It’s going to be a long uphill road, but I do have a few aces up my sleeve, two kids that I like to call Hakeem Olajuwon and Akeem Olajuwon.

That is if if H/Akeem Olajuwon was 12 years old, Mozambican, two of him, and towered over everyone else by a head and a shoulder.

Anyways, after a hot Saturday morning of practice, as we were driving away every kid was asking me if there’s practice before next Saturday, because they really want to do it sooner. And I’ll be sure to keep you guys updated on how progress is (or is not) coming along.

Earthquake '11

Five days ago, in the middle of the night, I was startled awake. Here is the thought process that followed:

What is that noise? A car? And why is my bed shaking? Wait, why IS my bed shaking? Where are my glasses at? I need to get outside ASAP and figure out what the heck is going on. That's serious shaking. Oh my God the substation exploded! Santos [the guard], did the substation explode? What is happening? Okay he doesn't know either. Why couldn't it explode during day when I'm thinking clearly? Let's look over by the... okay. No smoke, no flames, and my porch light is on. Nice one, TJ. It's not the substation.

An earthquake, of course! TJ, you moron! You should know that. You're from Seattle. Oh good, there is Victor. Yes Victor, it was earthqua--. Yes Victor, I'm sure because--. No Victor, not like Japa--. No, I don't think there will be a tsun--. No, it was very small. Santos, I know everything was shaking, that's what an earthquake is. Just calm down.

Wait! If Santos is freaking out, then the kids must be terrified. I'VE GOT TO HELP THEM! Okay, just a few more steps. Here's the dormitory. They've got to be panicked. They've got to be freaking out. They've got to be

Sleeping?

Every.

Single.

One of them?

Nobody even rolled over? How can that be? I'm not dreaming, am I? This isn't gonna be like that dream movie and any moment now Leonardo DiCaprio is going to show up and a train is gonna tear through the yard, is it? No, I don't see Leo. I think it's real. Santos, do you see Leonardo DiCaprio? No? Good. And what time is it? 10:50. Wait, 10:50!?! I've been asleep for all of 10 minutes? Man, if this keeps up it's going to be a looong night...

And that's where my thought trail ends because I collapsed back to sleep after that. In looking online for earthquake info, I saw that it wasn't reported anywhere automatically meaning it was less than a 4.0. Also, for those of you wondering, it did no damage. Except for one abandoned house in our barrio that, if you ask me, was gonna fall over the next time a breeze hit, everything made it through just fine.

The next morning at breakfast I asked the kids if they felt the earthquake the night before. Since none of them did, they assumed I was playing a game on them. It was only after Santos confirmed it that they realized I was telling the truth and that there really was an earthquake. Santos told the story so many times the next day that by the evening when he came to work I heard all about how the trees were swaying back and forth and the wall almost crumbled down and the old broken down bus we have was rattling so loudly it sounded like a lion was inside of it. And there was Santos, telling it all like he's just lucky to be alive.

It also took quite a bit a explaining to tell Santos that the earthquake was not caused by a giant beast that lives inside the earth. You laugh, but when I told him about what most American's think (that the earth is like big shifting puzzle pieces), he thought I was just plain crazy. And I kind of agree with him. I've never really like the theory on teutonic plates or whatever Nazis did to create earthquakes anyways. My theory on what caused the quake is way better.

Yep. Supermoon.

A Thief in the Night?

[Editor’s Apology: Sorry if this turns out spotty on the grammar/spelling. I’ve been reading and writing in Portuguese all day and my mind is kind a blend of language right now. And not a nice blend, like a milkshake. Its more like a spinach and yoghurt smoothie with a good deal of protein powder to keep my glamour muscles looking good. I tried to proofread, but offer no promises.]

A couple weeks back we had a visitor who shall remain nameless. No, it was not Voldemort, but if you look around hard enough (read: not very hard) you can find it out. I’m just dropping the name to save some embarrassment. Anyways, she got here when I was still in South Africa.

Among my responsibilities here in the orphanage is serving the meals, keeping clean-shaven, and showing the visitors around. Well, one afternoon the kids had all been fed and I decided to shoot for two-out-of-three and take the visitor to town to show her around. We hit all the popular spots tourist spots (the grocery store and internet cafe), and even a few that are hard to come by (don’t ask), and hit the bus stop to come home.

A couple days later I got a knock on my door from nearly sobbing visitor who just had an afternoon so bad you it could not have been scripted worse in a movie. Having taught her how to get into town and move around, she took it upon herself to go into the city for the morning. After an encounter with “the kissing man” (yes, its exactly what it sounds like) she decided to cut her losses and head home. After making it to the bus stop, and this is where I’m blurry on the details, she was talking on her iPhone when some guys came up and literally just snatched it from her and started running away. After a couple steps she found herself in a giant puddle and lost her sandals. Somewhere along the way she dropped her back-up cell phone too. And then, rounding the corner chasing the thieves she ran smack into a (slowly) moving car, knocking her to the ground and allowing the perps to get away.

Victor rushed into town right away to talk to any witnesses that were still in the area. Apparently it was hard to determine who was eyewitnesses and who had simply heard the unforgettable story of the white girl who got her iPhone stolen and then got hit by a car. Then, after Victor when to the police precinct and I got the third best text message in the history of text messages:

“I am at the location now with secret police.”

It was to be all for naught, as the undercover brothers turned up nothing. But it gets better. The next day, as Victor was doing errands around town, he had a momentary lapse in judgement and left his blackberry phone sitting on the car seat with the car unlocked. Unlocked cars in Mozambique (read: all of Africa) are high up on the “never ever do this” list right ahead of getting in a car that’s missing the passenger door and right behind kissing a cobra.

Well, it wasn’t two seconds before Victors phone got stolen having been left on the seat in the unlocked car. I’m sure the police just laughed at him when he made the report. Three phones he reported stolen in two days. If this was Nigeria he’d probably be put on a watch list for running some type of scam (sorry Nigeria*).

If my mom is reading this (you know she is) I want to say two things. First, that I’m destroying your NCAA bracket, and second, that there’s a very small chance of some encounter like this happening to me. The reason is because I’m bigger than everybody else in this country by a lot. And size is the first thing people consider. The other thing to consider is that I have a good reputation in our neighborhood. A reputation that says I work at the orphanage and am I nice person helping your community. My reputation also says don’t mess with me cause I will destroy you. Earning this reputation involves serving meals to 50 great kids three times a day and walking around the neighborhood with an ax in hand. It a while, but eventually the message stuck.

*No I’m not.

It was a slow week (online)

Howdy. Now that I have your attention, I want to apologize for every time you refreshed in the last week and found no new content, no stories about sword swallowers, or fights with street gangs, or updates about the kids, or nothing quasi-introspective about life here, or how God is doing crazy things at the orfonato. It was a slow week of online postings.

But, as is usually the case, that's because its a busy week offline (which is 95.8% of the time here). It was full of not one, or two, but three phones being robbed, and an earthquake (everything is fine), and dinner with all our construction workers, and a night of driving around with all our construction workers, and running basketball practice with my friend Tomo, AND personally washing all the kids' clothes with my friend Muhtilima.

It was a busy week, I can assure you. So coming Monday, we're gonna kick it off with tons of new content, including great stories like:

• A thief in the night?
• Earthquake '11
• Putting on the Ritz
• Pistol Pedro: The Pedro Maravich story
• Personally Washing All the Kids' Clothes With My Friend Muhtilima

The subject of at least one of those stories should be painfully obvious. And the mood of the stories will be dictated by whether or not my UW Huskies win Sunday's NCAA tournament game. So if you want a happy ending where nobody gets hurt, root for the Dawgs.

God made me for Mozambique

There are several reasons why I enjoy myself here in Mozambique. Its one of those things where many people look and say, “Inconsistent electricity and running water? Scorching heat? Lack of food or resources? Constant poverty and sickness? No thanks, I’ll pass.” I don’t say those things.

But that’s the reason you’re there and I’m here.

A large part of the reason I’ve come back and stayed is because I truly deep-down feel that God wants me to do this and in turn He has given me an incredible amount of joy being here. Not necessarily making things enjoyable—life is still hard—but giving me real joy. Abundant joy. That is why I know that Jesus wants me here, now. There are certainly times when it is hard and more times will come when I don’t want to here, but I’m praying that Jesus will continue to give me joy when that time comes.

The other, more lighthearted reasons I know that Jesus created me with Mozambique in mind in things like this don’t really bug me.

We killed this beauty about two weeks back. It was about 5 feet long (1.5 meters) and crushed it with a rock. Or rather, we shifted a rock pile and then found it had been crushed without us knowing it was there. We’re lucky the rock smashed the head because it was still wiggling when we killed it for good. But its things like this that don’t really bother me, whereas they absolutely freak some people out over here. Sorry, you live in a country with over 40 species of snakes. Get used to it.

Also, while I haven’t been able to identify the species (people here just know cobras and mambas, which don’t sound to friendly) I have found via several snake identification guides that if the snake is brown or black, you’re screwed.

Another way I know that God wants me in Mozambique is I have hairy forearms. Stick with me for a minute, I’m going somewhere.

There is a poisonous millipede here that tends to fall out of trees. I don’t think it’s trying to, it just does. For identification purposes it is black, about an inch or so long, and has a thousand legs (give or take about 4). If your skin comes in contact with it within about an hour it will effect only the area of contact and leave a blister that looks like the result of a second degree burn. It’s not pretty, and is painful, and heals after about a week with no long term damage (I don’t know that for sure, I’m just kind of guessing at this point).

About a week ago I was resting under a tree. Foolish me for seeking out the shade. I felt something hit my arm and watched as the aforementioned millipede crawled from my just below my elbow down to my wrist and then jumped off. I thought, “Yep, I’m screwed.” I waited over the next hour for something to happen. After one hour turned to two turned to four I gave up and went to bed.

I awoke the next morning and had forgotten all about it until I took a shower. Then I noticed the damage. I feel bad even calling it damage. It looked as if I had gotten a sunburn strip down my arm where the millipede ran off. The only thing I can think of is that the little bugger ran across the hair on my arm and never really made contact with my skin. Just one of the many ways Jesus spared me last week from something that could’ve been far worse.

Recap: God makes me happy, snakes are no big deal, and millipedes can't touch this.

Well, this is kinda awkward...

Not to be too forward, but I've got a request for you. Not all of you. Just one of you, actually. I was doing a little digging around and found that I've got somebody reading this blog from Maputo. Since i don't think I know anybody in Maputo (yet) I was wondering who is out there in cyberspace. Living here is all about networking and connections and avoiding poisonous animals and getting caught in the middle of riots. So lets try to make 3 of those 4 things happen right now.

If you wouldn't mind, just send me an email. The address is in the margin at the right. Or if you prefer to stay anonymous that's cool too.

Coming up on the next post: I ask for everybody to leave a comment and then I randomly set people up on blind dates with the other commenters.

South Africa Trip part 2

[Note: Some of the pictures may be of horrible quality. I apoligize for that. It wasn't until about halfway through my two weeks away from Nampula that I discovered my cell phone camera was set on low quality. It took me another three hours once I got home to figure out how to put those pictures on my computer for all of you to see.]

Once getting into South Africa it feels like entering a foreign country. I know that statement should be obvious, but after living in Mozambique for 6th months the contrast is all the greater. I enjoyed every minute of being able to eat McDonalds, enjoy low-priced dairy, speak English with everyone I met, and renting videos that don't have Chinese subtitles and that have been in theaters sometime in the last 5 years.

The biggest contrast that I felt was the sheer amount of wealth compared to Mozambique. In Nelspruit, the town we stayed in, there seemed to be an even exaggerated level of wealth compared to the rest of SA we visited. It also had a higher number of white people than the other places we visited (South Africa is still a very divided place). Still, rightly or wrongly, its kind of like the Aspen of South Africa.

For instance, on the highway into town there's a rest stop. This rest stop has its own private game park!

The animals were carefully hidden from us non-paying passers by.

And something I found really weird is that the rest stop had all these metal painted antelopes in front of it, and they were all painted like flags. I found the only non-African flag and blew it up here.

Go figure. And go Canucks.

Passing into town, after the McDonalds, there were far more blantant signs of economic prosperity. Quaint little shops with names like...

...BMW...

...Fiat...

...and I wasn't fast enough to snag pictures of the Land Rover, Range Rover, Peugeot, and Ferrari dealerships. And they were all in a row right next to each other.

Even their smoke shops sound expensive and elitist.

South Africa trip recap part 1

Going down to South Africa from Nampula is something of a trek. Three days of straight driving just to get to the border. It’s a little bit of an understatement to say that Nampula is a little remote and Africa is kind of big. Who would be foolish enough to try something like that?

Somebody with a car like this.

That beast of a Land Rover belongs to my friend Jon, who invited me down on his trip to South Africa. He claims it was to get some company and show me a bit of Africa. I can’t imagine why he’d need company. The drive itself wasn't exactly boring.

Uhh, it wasn't exactly interesting either…

The first time it got interesting is when we got about half a day away and crossed a bridge on a bridge. A temporary bridge had been placed on the real bridge because one of the supports in the middle gave away, so this distributes the weight to the other pillars. But its only a temporary bridge. A temporary bridge that’s been here as long as Jon has lived in Mozambique.

That’s 8 years and counting!

The One where TJ gets back from South Africa

Thanks for everyone who had been praying for rest and a safe journey. I can officially say that I'm back in the good old R of M (Republic of Mozambique). I made it home this morning and walked through the gate to be greeted by a mob of happy and excited... construction workers? That's right, construction workers. Its Saturday right now and all the kids were off at church for a program except 2 of them. As for the construction workers, they're all our guys and I know most of them because they're always doing something for us.

And yes, I can happily report that we've broken ground on the girls dormitory. Pictures of that and pictures of my trip forthcoming. For now, I'm going to go rest after 3 days on the road.

Isn't it strange that people need to rest after being on vacation, where they were presumably resting to begin with?