Noise

Mozambique is the loudest place I have ever lived. I’ve lived quite a few places in the States and three countries overseas—Russia, Mozambique and South Africa; Moz is the loudest. I find it ironic that in the description of Mozambique on job descriptions for MCC, someone described Mozambicans as talking softly. Perhaps in front of authority figures, but in normal life, it's not unusual for conversations to happen across distances with shouting.

It’s not unusual to hear music from our neighbors. We’ve grown accustomed to people’s ways of sharing their music since our days in Gondola. There are times I have prayed in the heat of the summer with the fan blowing on us for the electricity to go out just so we could have quiet to sleep. There are only so many doors and windows we can shut so that the music is shut out, but it’s still there, often feeling the beat through the floor as late as 4 AM.

Sometimes I stop and count how many noises I hear. Friday was a particularly loud day. We live on the fourth floor by American counting, third by the rest of the world. When I counted, this is what I heard: Nadia talking to herself in her crib before falling asleep for her nap, the radio playing some sort of Mozambican hip-hop (our maid’s choice of music), neighbors playing their music, people talking on the street below us, workers renovating the stores in our building on street level with power tools, and traffic. I long for quiet.