'mericuh!

Now having been back at the orphanage for about a month, I have been pretty much silent on how my time went in America. In a word: AWESOME. It two months filled with family, baseball, friends, hikes, baseball, food, movies, baseball, and baseball. Yes, there was lot's of baseball.

The beginning of my time was marked by a week in Los Angeles. The pretext of the trip was celebrating my Grandparent's 50th wedding anniverary. In Nampula, a land where life expectancy does not reach fifty years, the kid's were rather incredulous when I told them about the event. “Really, I think you mean to say they're turning fifty? Oh, they've been married fifty years? To each other? The whole time?”

Only one of us was actually there, but thanks to the extra shirts all four of us get to relive the excitement.

It included a couple days at Disneyland, where I resisted the urge not to eat every turkey leg in sight. Being back in America and then two days later going to Disneyland was not as much culture shock as I expected after being in Nampula for two years. If I ever started feeling out of place I'd just go and do the jungle cruise and feel right at home (seriously).

Lost Kids and A Haircut.

Folks often ask about how kids come to be in our orphanage. This post is not about that. This post is about me getting my hair cut. I know, it sounds like I'm misleading you. Yes, but at the same time I'm not misleading. This post is about getting my hair cut and how kid's don't come to be in our orphanage. See what I did there? This could be a very long post, but I'm thinking this is just going to be not a long post. Again, see it?

The first several times I got a haircut, I went to people I knew that had a barbershop in the bairro and paid a dollar for them to shave my head. This turned out to be more complicated then it sounds. That's also part of the reason I just never got a haircut. But then again, I've been not getting haircuts since about 8^th grade. I'd get a haircut at the start of spring and another at the start of school. And most the time it was just me or one of my brothers with the clippers in the garage making me look like I was auditioning for the marines. It's just easier that way.

Until one day I found somebody in Nampula that could actually cut hair worth a dang. Sure, it would have been easier to maybe go to one of the other missionaries in town that has a wife that knows how to cut hair, but it's not just an adventure that way. The guy I go, we now know each other by name and he's always thrilled to see me and has tons of stories to tell whenever I show up. His barber shop is right next to the hospital and so there's always lots of crazy stories about people getting treated after run-ins with the police or jilted ex-lovers or bandits. Its an entertaining time for sure. He knows I work in the orphanage and is always telling me how cool it is what I'm doing.

The last time I went in there he had whole story lined up to tell. I could tell that this one was much more somber by the tone he took as he started. It was two days before I showed up for a haircut that this all took place. He said that he came home one day to find his wife panicked and stressing out. It turns out that she had set her kid down for a minute to run around the corner and buy cooking oil. When she came back, her kid, age 4, was gone. She had no idea if he had wandered off or got taken or was just hiding. They looked all night and all night and finally wandered into to an orphanage on his side of town where somebody had found him wandering around and took him there not knowing who the kid was or who he belonged to.

He was telling me that even though it wasn't my orphanage and I'm on the other side of town, he's so grateful and appreciative that it existed for him to be able to get his kid back. He even try to give me a free haircut. I refused his gratitude and paid a measly two dollars for the haircut. It was really nice though to find people in Mozambique appreciative of the ministry that the orphanage is.

That might lead you to wonder if we ever wind up with lost and abandoned kids. The answer is no. Kind of anticlimatic, huh. There's actually kind of a system in place for that. Usually the kids just get taken to the courthouse and then info gets sent out to the police and announcements get made on the radio. Ideally, that's what is supposed to happen. However it is such a frequent occurrence that the radio station will obligingly mention it once or twice in passing and you'd be lucky to find a beat policeman that has valuable information if you're looking for your kid.

What is much more common is for people to come to the orphanage looking for a kid that was lost or abandoned. They leave their contact and we call them if a kid ever shows up, which has never happened. I don't know myself what is happening with these situations. Kids as young as three and four go missing, and everyday you hear about a lost child or children but word never makes it out if they get found. There also seems to be way more people showing up looking for a kid then presenting a kid that was found. I just assume that because of these numbers there is just a surplus of kids forever lost. Unfortunately that's the general consensus among folks here.

African Radio

BBC Radio is a world-wide institution. Here in Mozambique, for some amazing reason, we get BBC Africa radio in English and the absolute lowest point on the radio dial. Sometimes I have to hold the knob on the radio down past where it's supposed to go to get it to tune in. I think we get the English version because BBC Africa broadcast only in English and French, and on account of being surrounded on three sides by English speaking countries (and on the fourth side by water, which is Indian) we get lumped in with the English, which is fine by me.

What makes it BBC “Africa” is that for an hour in the morning and afternoon we get African-centric news. Due to political instability, most of the last two years has revolved around the Arab states (lumped in with Africa). Oh, there was also a hostile takeover in Mali and something about Somalia but I, along with most the world, stopped paying attention to them after 1995.

But on the weekends, the often have more opinion laden, opinion pieces from originating from South Africa or Ghana or Kenya, some of the continent's more progressive (read: not so superstitious and witchcrafty) locales. Often, they are about how well Africa is advancing and about the unsavory elements that hold it back. For example, in Ghana when an old lady is accused of witchcraft she is sent to a witch internment camp until it can be determined by the head witchdoctor there is no more witchcraft in her and she poses no threat to society.

There is also an insane level of candidness that would make even a klan member blush at the bluntness and offensiveness of some things people say.The things people say pass for about as un-politically correct as you can get. The kind of things that if you say in America count as hate crimes. Such as seeing people on the sidewalk shout at women driving cars saying, "Get out of the road. Who let you have a drivers license. You're going to kill someone."

Now that the olympics are over, the BBC is heavily promoting the para-olympics (because they're contractually obligated, I'm guessing). Despite the fact that there is an enormous disparity between first and thirld world athletes in terms of funding and training, BBC Africa seems determined to marshal as much support as they can for the games.

One such interviewer was in Kenya, doing a man-on-the-street type interview just getting whatever info he could about the public perceptions and excitement for the para-olympics. He usually started by asking if the interviewee was excited about the upcoming para-olympics. The typical responses were, “Am I excited for the what? What is the para-olympics? So it is like the olympics but for people with disabilities, or amputees? That's preposterous. I've never heard of that before? And they take it seriously? Why, that's an affront to the real olympics. It's an insult. How degrading that these people should be doing that? It is an insult to all the real athletes that train their entire lives for a sport and now they'll just let anybody do it. I'm offended by the very thought of that? Who would watch a bunch of people hobble around in front of everybody.”

Full disclosure, this is one of these issues where most people reading this are going to be saddened and offended by it, but I on the other find their views hilarious just for the sheer absurdity. I even asked the kids here what they thought about it. They, like the people on the radio, had never heard of the para-olympics and didn't take me seriously. Then they wondered why even bother.

Most of the reluctance to accept an idea such as the para-olympics comes from the stigma of what is means to be disabled. And I'm not talking about the whole “it's an ability and not a disability” cup half-full/half-empty debate. I'm saying that when you say disability most will imagine a person who has lost a leg to a landmine, a polio victim, or a lame person, many of whom either stay in their home or can be seen begging in the city's streets. So they imagine a bunch of invalids running the 100m dash and just shake their head.

What they don't know about is the sheer coolness of spinal cord injury victims playing the sport of murderball (which unfortunately now referred to as indoor rugby—a name that is simultaneously not as cool nor as accurate a description as the old one).

In which TJ gets to play dentist

Well, after having made it back safely, I can say that I'm super happy I've found nothing burned down. But as I've found out, they usually wait for me to be alone till things burn down (true story). Needless to say, I'm overjoyed to be back with my kids. Any body that bumped in to me the last couple weeks of my time in the states knew I was having a thrill but was getting pretty anxious to get back. I found them in good health, but on short supply of soccer balls. That got fixed right away (thanks to you, donors).

But seriously, as much I expected them to be asking all about how I was and how my family was, all they had to say was that I missed maybe the most exciting two months in the history of everything, ever. There was the visit of a businessman who has dealing in Nampula and who prominently supports the orphanage, accompanied by a giant feast in his honor (which I new about and just feigned my shock and disappointment hearing I missed out).

There was also a visit by the Peace Corps as “half of America came and visit us and played games and brought snacks and treats (which I also new about and just feigned my shock and disappointment hearing I missed out).

There was also a big party and feast for Mozambican independence day (which I also also new about and just feigned my shock and disappointment hearing I missed out).

There was a visit from Regina during the school break. She is one of the girls from here and was on break during her first year of teaching out near the coast. She came back for the first time to see everybody and to throw a giant feast for the kids, replete with giant chickens, french fries, pop, salad, and cake for desert (which I also also also new about and just feigned my shock and disappointment hearing I missed out).

There was also a week-long, National culture and music festival at the soccer field half a click from the orphanage that resulting in school being shut down for a week and the bairro teeming with people and noise and distractions till all hours of the night (which I new about and was actually thrilled that I was not here for any of the madness).

They were assuming I'd be jealous about hearing about all the awesomeness, and I kinda was. Especially because I had talked to the Peace Corps people so many times about coming out to see the orphanage, and because I missed Regina coming back.

And I knew telling them about all the times I ate at Red Robin just wouldn't translate, and if I told them about my trip to Disneyland they just wouldn't understand. Nor to they comprehend us celebreating my grandparent's fiftieth anniversary. “You mean they're both turning fifty at the same time? Oh, you say they've been married fifty years? The whole time? To each other? I don't believe you.”

There is much more to tell, but in the meantime, here's some of those lovely faces I was so anxious to see.

Dorca finally found a productive way to help me with my laundry. Recall that previously, she would take all my freshly washed clothes and then dump them in the dirty water and pretend to wash them for me. Now, when I bring my clothes in off the line I found a way for her to carry the pins.

Ofeita found a way to help also. I just slipped about seven t-shirts over her head to carry them back to my house. Afterwards she asked if she could keep one of them to use a dress, it almost made it down to her toes.

Some people fashion me as the dad that plays cruel tricks on his kids. I like to think of myself as that crazy uncle that keep kids on their toes. Mena, 8, came home from school yesterday walking gingerly and refusing to talk to anyone. The others said she had a loose tooth ready to come out. I, like any generous person, offered to buy here sugar cane (which would have about the same effect as taffy, ripping that tooth right out of there). After refusing me offer, I made another. I told here if she left me see her tooth, I could tell her exactly how long until it would come out.

After about five minutes of getting her to go along with it, she finally relented. I took a look and she was a little apprehensive when I stuck my hand near her mouth. She asked how long it would be. I replied, "Right... about... now." And held her tooth in my hand.

The shocked look on her face was a mix between, "Oh no you didn't?!" and "I can't believe it was that easy."

That was the easy part. Getting the money from the tooth fairy under he pillow  was the hard part...