Diapers

In preparation for the impending birth of our baby, I have been sewing our cloth diapers. After consulting with several friends in the States about their preferences for diapers, I did my own research online about the various types of cloth diapers they told me about. There are all sorts of websites that both explain the differences between (Chinese) prefolds, pocket diapers and all in ones. They also proclaim the virtues of cloth diapers over disposables; but in Mozambique, the reality is if I want to cover my baby's bum, I have to use cloth diapers. Disposables are not always realiably in stock in the size one needs at the moment. Additionally, as another couple who have a baby pointed out in defense of using cloth diapers, they did not want to see their baby's soiled diapers on the trash heap outside their house. As I wrote in a previous post, I have not been able to find many cloth diapers here in Johannesburg. So in the absence of finding them, I decided to sew them.


I found a website that gave directions for how to sew one's own cloth diapers. By the end of my sewing project we will be the proud possessors of 22 prefold, 100% cotton, flannel diapers for an infant 0-6 months and 2 prefolds of the same material for babies 6-24 months. The type of prefold diapers that I am making consiste of 6 layers of flannel in the center third of the diaper, encased by two layers of flannel to complete the remainder of the diaper. I concentrated on the smaller size because they are the most urgent. Joel also bought some larger cloth diapers in Moz. The fun part of sewing our own diapers is that I could chose fun designs. So we have some that are green with various colored polka dots, some that are light blue with bears and others that are light blue with little dogs playing in the snow.

The next trick will be learning how to change the baby! And for the remainder of our time with MCC in Mozambique, we will be becoming adept at handwashing all these diapers! :)

Bananas
I am forever ruined when it comes to bananas. Until 2 and half years ago, when we arrived in Mozambique I had never really tasted a banana. The bananas I had were always picked green and then shipped from Central or South America to North America. But when I arrived in Moz, I tasted bananas that had been ripened on the tree. Nothing compares to that taste. Now, being in Johannesburg, I am again eating bananas that are picked far before they are ripe and they, after knowning the real flavor, have little taste. I doubt when our term in Mozambique is over, that I will be able to buy bananas again in the States! That's a whole reason in itself for our extending our term until 2010!

Do I Look Like I Would Like to Speak

I would like to be completely positive about my experience here in Mozambique because I truly believe at looking at the positives in life and hoping for the best in everything. But I have to admit there are moments when the lesser appreciated things in life show their ugly heads and we must recognize them for what they are, humiliating. I believe that a sense of humor goes a long way in appreciating life’s little embarrassments and I have to remember such occasions as such and remember to laugh and think I was privileged to be in such a humiliating position.

I was reminded today of how often I have been in situations of extreme embarrassment, humiliation or just a rock and a hard place with nowhere to hide. Sometimes I think I have a sign on my shirt that says I want to speak. The second week I arrived in Gondola I attended the funeral of the daughter of a dear friend. Her husband was of another church and it was this church and its Pastors responsibility to do the funeral. In Mozambique there seems to be some unspoken rule that when the “missionary” is there it is of utmost importance to let him say something. I was not even a real missionary, but clearly everyone thought I was. In this case, the Pastor of this church asked our Pastor if I could bring the “word of God” (Because surely I was dying to speak, it said so on my shirt. More than likely it is because hundreds of years of fire and brimstone missionaries have left an impression on these people that we love to ‘preach it’). Since I was only starting to stumble through Portuguese and not being able to speak in dialect, I said I cannot, I do not speak. They looked at me as if I was ridiculous and I believe they may have been a little offended. What could I do? It was a funeral.

This has happened numerous times and I have learned to be prepared to say anything, even something ridiculous, as long as I say something.

Today was another such example. Every year in Chimoio the different church denominations have a choir festival where various choir groups sing in a competition over several weeks until a winner is chosen. It is a wonderful event, with acapella singing in beautiful Southern African fashion. There is quite a wealth of music and talent in these churches. I was really excited to go and it was worth it. I finally found the place (it had changed location) though I arrived late. This is not a problem here and found that I was actually a little early even. I went in to take my seat in the back. I chose this seat specifically because I was the only foreigner (light skinned) person in the entire room of maybe around 1000 people. I felt all eyes on me and wanted to just hide and listen. Of course the usher soon found me and promptly escorted the “missionary” (which I said I wasn’t really a real missionary, though he did not understand this) to the front to sit by myself with 2000 eyes on my back. He promised me that others would come. They did, though they were all pastors, government officials (mayor, president of religious affairs and various other high level provincial officials) and other important people.

“Good grief, I just wanted to hear some music. I am going to have to say something before the end of this thing,” I thought. (Though I did not really believe this.)

The concert was wonderful as expected. We came to the end and the Mayor and one other important person was asked to give some closing words.

After they were done the master of ceremonies said,
“Let’s have one more person give some closing words. Someone who comes from America.”
He was looking in my direction.

“You’re kidding me, right,” I thought, “You have never seen me before in your life, why would you ask me.”

I kept looking around to see if anyone else is around. Why me, why am I of any importance. Do I look like I want to speak, is it cause I am handsome and look like a motivational speaker(clearly not true), do I look important, does my face say, “Pick me, pick me!”. You would not embarrass the only foreigner in the room by asking him to talk (I guess this did not cross his mind). I surely feel welcome (not). Imagine if you went to the Oscars and they invited you up to say thank you for an award for a movie you had never been in, let alone had even seen. This is how I felt.

I looked around trying to hide but as a white person in Africa it is pretty hard to hide. There is no way out. I could bolt for the door but that would be even more embarrassing. I asked my friend beside me, “What does he want me to say?”

“Just say something nice about the program,” he replied.

So I made my way up to the very high stage, with 2000 Mozambican eyes looking at this foreigner as I explained how I was from America and when I was in the university I was in the choir and enjoyed it. I said it was great to see this kind of event happening here in Mozambique and it is a pleasure to be here to hear it. (Though not here on stage, mind you.)

When I sat down, I asked my friend if I did OK. You did great (what was he supposed to say)!

“You are really speaking Portuguese well,” he added.

I will take that as a compliment.