Living in Mozambique invokes strong reactions. These circumstances often stem from circumstances as innumerable---the education system, illegal immigration, food prices, government social programs, tribal culture, church traditions, refugees, economic progress, mechanical difficulties, flood, drought, sport, disease, crime, water, travel, access of information, to mention a few---as they are varied.
While many things in my life here evoke strong emotional responses, none are stronger than those that stem from working with the kids---my Mozambican family. They can often swing in a matter of minutes. I have seen my emotions go from the most joyous of pride to the deepest sorrow and frustration all in a matter of minutes. Daily, in fact, it seems.
A week ago I went to school to meet with the kids' teachers to get their grades from the second trimester. For the most part, the grades were good and, more importantly, had improved. I was happy for this because I've been investing the majority of my time in supplementing their lessons and tutoring and running study hour here at the orphanage. The emotions ranged from relief to joy to pride as I got to share the good news with the kids when I got back with their report cards.
Within minutes, that overwhelming pride came falling down as I had to break up two kids fighting with each other. Those feelings quickly turned to anger, frustration, and ultimately sadness. Why on earth would these kids want to be treating each other this way? Surely my parents never had to put up with seeing their children go from being exemplary to acting dysfunctional in the span of 5 minutes (I can hear them laughing right now),
One example I like to use is whenever we go another function where there are other kids present (and more importantly, food) I always remind them of two simple rules: be polite, and don't complain. This is so true when there is food because any other kid in this country is going to fight tooth and nail to get his [plate of food, handful of cookies, pop bottle] because there is never enough food to go around for everybody. Our kids know that if we're at a function/party/event and there is food, if they don't receive anything they'll be fed as soon as we get back home. They also know that if we're somewhere and they give out pops or candy bars and they don't get any I'll make a stop on the way home and buy pops and candy for all our kids.
A story I like to about how easily our kids are blown by the wind is a Christmas party we went to with several other orphanages. It was hosted by another orphanage and when we saw dozens of kids pouring in from the street hoping to receive handout we knew the food might not make it to us. As it turns out, the food made it around to everybody, but the pops and cookies ran out. As this became apparent, our kids (who had already received their pops) took it upon themselves to offer their pops to some kids that had come from a Catholic mission that takes care of disable kids who weren't able to run up and receive pops. Our kids did this all unprompted. They just offered. Why? Because we teach them to live as Jesus lived, and those are the people Jesus helped, too.
But what was a moment of real happiness and joy for me to see our kids do this quickly turned into shame and disbelief when, as soon as we were in the truck and driving home, they all started yelling and complaining about how awful the party was and doing their best woe-is-me and how ungrateful the other kids were and how righteous they were.
As we passed by the pop-stand on the way home, the complaining got even louder as I reminded them that “Blessed are you who offer your pop and then complain about it for 20 minutes in the car ride home, for you shall inherit another pop later on” is nowhere to be found in the Bible and, thanks to all their belly-aching, they would not get a pop from me.
Why do I share this with you now? Primarily because I would like to say why I don't share anecdotes this this all that often. I don't want you to think that nothing personal never happens here, or that TJ is merely a casual observer relating detached, albeit humorous, reports of culture like a travelogue of sorts. Yes, I like telling about the stuff that goes on here. Stories about giant animals causing earthquakes, the moon fighting the sun during an eclipse, the boys playing soccer, and profiles of our staff members by describing them using only lyrics from hair metal songs (that got left on the cutting room floor) while amusing and informative are not about what really goes on here.
What goes on here is people. And while many, many, many things can't be described or understood without understanding the proper cultural or social context, many things just can't be described. That's not because my life is filled with so many see-it-to-believe-it moments. The reason many stories can't be told is because they can't be told.
Part of the problem in writing about what goes on here is that stories almost invariably involve other people. And some of those people are people that read this website. I've mentioned before that if you forget the site, you can just search any combination of “TJ” or “Africa” or “Mozambique” or “Michael Jackson” and this will come up as the top result. Word travels lightning fast here, so I can't tell a story about how the pastor did [this thing that caused an incredibly emotional reaction] at church last weekend because word will undoubtedly make it back to that person.
I would also love to just give more commentary on just how things are here in Mozambique. I think a big key to understanding the challenges and difficulties of life here are understanding how Mozambique is. Unfortunately for you, this is a little difficult. I can't always talk freely about how health care or education or road building or utilities or jobs creation or law enforcement are here because, essentially, they suck. And because all those things are run by the government, and because that same government told me earlier this year to stop writing bad stuff about them, I can't. Remember all those Mozambique 101 posts at the end of last year? Remember how at no point did I ever use use the words “Mozambique” and “on the right track” in the same sentence? Remember how those post just mysteriously stopped for no reason?
I'm sure that someday I'll be able to tell exactly everything that goes on here. Not that there are any skeletons in the closet, but its really for the sake of relationships and privacy of people here, not people there. I'm sure someday I'll be able to tell about ALL the things that really produce an emotional response, the things that matter most here. I'm sure someday I'll be able tell about the hurtful things the pastor said about the orphanage during church, working with refugees out at the camp, or about how that day at the Christmas party the reason the kids didn't get fed is because the workers at the other orphanage were stealing cases of cookies and pops and putting them in their cars to take home for themselves.
So I hope you understand. My life is fairly open, but for the sake of everybody here, its not an open book. I haven't written the book yet. This is what it is. As for the good stories that don't run the risk of offending anyone (or getting me in trouble) we'll try to keep those coming.
And for a story that hasn't been written yet, tune in next time to hear about my neighbor's big new speakers and subsequent 50+ hour ongoing, noise-fueled sleep deprivation study. This story and the non-stop party next door has two possible endings. 1) The neighbors get taken to jail for repeated noise violations or 2) TJ gets taken to jail for repeated manslaughter.
It's like one of those “choose your own adventure” stories.
