Swatting flies and telling lies

Written on January 25, 2011:

Hey everyone,

Well I’m still here! By the time you’re reading this, it’s been almost six weeks since I was last online, and I can tell because my running list of “things to google when online next” has spilled onto two pages. I never realized how accustomed I’d become to having the answers to my every last ponderance right at my fingertips… I am just dying to know how far short waves go (cause where is the French radio coming from?) and whether the fruit of the cashew is considered poisonous in other parts of the world (seeing as how most of the Americans here seem to be allergic).

Anyway. I wrote another blog entry earlier this month which I’ll post at the same time (below this one) but today is January 25 so it’ll still be a little while before I’m in Vilankulos again.

So I guess it’s pretty much the dead of winter up there in the northern hemisphere. Hard to imagine as I sit here sweating, and tanner than I’ve ever been in my life (which isn’t saying much)… though the modest dress code here is giving me ridiculous tan lines that will probably take years to get rid of. I hope you’re all making it through the winter, cozy by a fire somewhere in thick socks. I’m also curious to hear whether the state of Alabama produced the football national champions two years in a row (War Tide?).

I was just re-reading what I wrote at Christmas and appreciating how different Mabote feels to me now that I’ve settled in a little more. For one thing, I’ve had the chance to visit some of the more rural locales outside town, and Mabote “sede” (the town itself, as opposed to the whole district of Mabote) practically seems like a metropolis in comparison… even if it is “out there” by paved road standards.

We had a big day last Monday: following several days of pruning and preparation, the governor of the province of Inhambane arrived in Mabote. He and other government officials made lively speeches outlining how we will soon be a bastion of development and technology, drinking cold beer and eating ice cream in our air conditioned houses. (I can’t wait!)

It was fun to see the local dances, and there was also lots of singing and fist pumping. (Mabote hoy-ay! Inhambane hoy-ay! Presidente Guebuza hoy-ay!) My boss, Teresa, and I hitched a ride and followed the caravan to the next town in our district, the town of Mussengue, to sell the association’s cashew products: nuts, jam, syrup, brandy.

As we rode shotgun in the front of an industrial flatbed truck bumping along tiny sand roads through the real mato (bush), Teresa told me how our town has the only hospital in the district, but that the other towns have health posts stocked with basic things. She also said that in a lot of places in Moz there might not be a hospital for 70 km.

When I was in the town of Makwakwe this weekend, where my closest Peace Corps neighbor, Mandy, teaches at the secondary school, I saw what I think must have been a health post like Teresa was talking about. But it looked more like a tool shed painted white with a red cross on the front and Mandy said she’s never seen it open. So like I said, I’m learning to appreciate living at the bustling crossroads of Mabote sede.

Our association has several activistas (home based care providers) in Mussengue and the nearby town of Tessolo, and as we drove, Teresa went on to tell me how hard it is for the people there to get to the hospital. They have to either get a ride with someone with a car (I don’t know anyone with a car except NGOs or the government) or have money for a chapa (minibuses or pick-up trucks that serve as public transport). People living with HIV/AIDS, like a lot of our association’s patients, have to come in to the hospital to get their ARVs (anti-retroviral medications) so it’s a hard situation, to say the least. A lot of people just don’t come and die in their homes.

The first time I was in Mussengue was the week before last when I tagged along on some check-in visits to patients’ homes with a couple of activistas and a supervisor/nurse from our donor organization, International Relief and Development (IRD). I’m still amazed at people’s openness to having visitors show up at their house here – especially when they’re sick. In one family’s house, we ducked into a small mud hut when it started to pour down rain. I had been told that both the husband and wife were HIV positive, but that only he was on ARVs, and she hadn’t been to the hospital in a while.

I listened as one of the activistas translated for the supervising nurse from IRD because he’s from another area of Mozambique and doesn’t speak Chitswa. He was trying to get the man to commit to taking his wife to the hospital with him when he goes in for his next batch of ARVs. The man explained that he didn’t have money for (her) transportation, but that he would try. I just listened and tried not to judge – he doesn’t seem like a bad person, but why can he find the money to get himself on treatment but not his wife?

But in less depressing news, I can report that I’ve been pretty impressed with our hospital. Don’t get me wrong, compared to UAB, the state-of-the-art medical center where I worked in college, it’s like a country clinic. But when I had to go in to get a re-fill of the prescription drug from my medical kit that I used up during the worst of my cashew allergy, I was in and out in less than 30 minutes and only paid 5 meticais (about 13 cents) for the whole visit, including the prescription.

From what I can gather there are two doctors, one who runs the hospital and another who treats patients. I also go there every week with someone from my association because we meet with technicians, nurses and other activistas as part of the ARV committee. They discuss patients who are starting ARVs or who have missed doses or abandoned treatment so that they can make a treatment plan, or so that the home-based care activistas can follow-up with them.

So all in all, there’s a huge problem of access, and I’m sure the facilities are hit or miss (I heard stories during training of hospitals running out of ARVs) but it’s not all bad news. I see a lot of committed health workers and community activists doing good work with limited resources. I hope in my two years here I can play some part in helping them do more.

Wow, didn’t really mean to go on about the healthcare system in Mozambique… hope I didn’t just bore or depress you all. But I assure you that it’s more interesting than the topic of “what I do everyday” which is what I had been planning to write about. But just so I don’t leave you in suspense, I’ll sum it up for you: lots of sitting. Peace Corps calls it “building relationships” but I essentially sit around at my association a lot of the time, swatting flies and telling lies. Which is to say that I’m finally learning how to small talk, and learning to slow down and just enjoy people’s company. We laugh a lot, and one of my favorite topics of conversation is when they start asking me questions about the U.S. Favorite questions so far: Are there black people there? And do they speak Portuguese? Also: You don't have capalanas in the U.S.?? Well, do you have blankets?

I’m also sewing a messenger bag out of a plastic feed bag and a capalana. And I’m gathering materials to start my compost pile and vegetable garden (I’m hoping it will segue into a nutritional education project but first I have to not screw it up… and I usually kill houseplants). I’ve also named the spider who lives in my outhouse and we have regular check-ins. His name is Toby. And I photograph any interesting critters I come upon (see frog at top). Haha, am I losing it?? I hope not, but you’ll have to forgive me if, when I get back, I am easily entertained and overwhelmed by too much activity.

That’s all for now. I fell asleep last night when I was writing this so now it’s the next morning and I have to go take a bucket bath and get ready for the big day of sitting that I have ahead of me. Maybe we’ll even get what I used to think of as “real” work done. Wish me luck!

Julie

P.S. In case you’re wondering about whether I adopted the kitten I mentioned at the end of my last post… no. No, I didn’t. In fact I’m suspicious that my neighbors eat cats and I haven’t seen him lately. When I asked a Mozambican friend of mine about it he said it’s possible… some people here think cats are “good meat.” That’s one type of bush meat I will not be trying.