I’ve just returned from an afternoon walk through Manga, a community near Beira, Mozambique. I skipped out a bit early today from work so I could take an hour to wander. I wanted to make sure to do so alone so I could drink in every drop of village life at my own pace. I’ll soon be back on an airplane. This was a great chance to stretch my legs and fill my head with the sights, sounds and scents of my sweet Africa.
School children in colorful uniforms race around on the street, excited about the pending weekend. Vendors line up their tangerines, small bags of peanuts and cashews and stacks of easily bruised bananas. Bootlegged movies scream from makeshift movie theaters — a reed shack with heavy black plastic draped over the roof to provide darkness in the otherwise sunny day. I wonder how these entrepreneurs rigged the electricity, found a DVD player, were able to purchase movies?
A friend said this week that a book should be written on African ingenuity. There is no end to the creativity of these people. Children make elaborate toys from wire, recycled bottles and plastic bags. Women find new uses for the oddest things. Clothing is worn until it is thread bare and then is used for bandages or cleaning scraps. Bicycles are repaired time and time again; welders sit on the side of the road with parts hanging from avocado trees.
There is a simplicity and beauty to African life that one can’t help but appreciate. In Manga, you eat what you grow. If your children are lucky, they have uniforms and basic supplies to attend school for one of the three-hour sessions offered daily. You walk everywhere. You know your neighbors and you know that life is fleeting.
It is hard to explain why I feel so alive here, so connected to the people. When I lived in Cameroon, I was just 20 years old and so scared and culturally shocked. My first experience traveling to Mozambique wasn’t much better. Now, with several more stamps in my passport, I am sad to be leaving after spending a month wandering and working. My heart beats differently — it is as though I am more connected to God and have a clearer purpose. I simply love Africa. The people have so much to teach me. The land never ceases to leave me in awe. Mozambican women are absolutely incredible. I saw a 20-something mother yesterday who had a young baby on her back, wrapped in a bright capulana, a child at her feet, a swollen, pregnant belly leading her, and a shovel balanced perfectly on her head. When I looked at her in complete admiration, she smiled. Such responsibility and such happiness!
Tonight I’m celebrating the 4th of July with a group of Americans. We’re making pizza and there were rumors about Chinese fireworks found at the bendover market. We are ever more thankful for independence, celebrating our country in one that is new to democracy. We are also ever aware of the turmoil in nearby Harare, as Robert Mugabe continues the active distruction of Zimbabwe. The immigration riots in South Africa also have Mozambicans worried. Their democracy is a precious commodity on a continent where the majority of leaders are dictators. A reminder of their violent past blows in the wind; their national flag includes an AK47.
One of the favorite expressions here is “how is it?” Mozambicans ask me this regularly and I laugh. At first I responded, “I don’t know? How is it?” Soon enough I learned the right response was “tudo bom” — everything is groovy. Indeed, this 4th of July, tudo bom.

~K

There are distinct scents to this part of southern Africa. It’s smoky — most of the trash is burned. It’s sweet — the tropical trees are heavy with papaya, banana and oranges this time of year. It’s savory — dried fish is a staple to the diet. It’s earthy. The people smell like they live — a life of hard work, sweating in the sun, living near a wide sandy beach in the salty air, bathing occasionally when the bucket from the well is full and nearby.
Last night a child stayed with us at our guest house. Among the dozen American volunteers, this 14-year-old girl has found a team of friends. One of the organizers of our group took to this girl — Amelia– several years ago and ever since she has been a staple of the volunteer house. This morning when I woke up in my bunk bed, I forgot that she was sleeping on the couch nearby. I clicked on my headlamp and rolled over to read for an hour. (Silence is precious here. Living with a dozen people leaves me craving for alone time.) I was five minutes into my book when I felt the mosquito netting being lifted and suddenly Amelia was climbing into bed with me.
I scooted over and greeted her in my basic Portuguese. She gave me a big hug and tried to read the words on my page, occasionally finding one she recognized.
“Good bye!”
“With!”
“Sit down!”
I nodded and smiled. She kept trying to hug me. I laid there with her, our arms entangled and thought about how nice it was to have this child with me. She talked quietly and from what I could gather, she babbled about perfume, new underwear and school. I thought about who I was at 14. I probably wanted perfume, new underwear and to be popular at school too. But would I have been able to care for my little brother at that age? Do we know what we are capable of? At 14 I was very naive. I still loved playing with toys and remember taking troll dolls and gummy worms with me to Mexico when I was this age.
Amelia doesn’t have dolls — she has actual children she is caring for.
When we crawled out of bed, I realized there was still at least an hour before anyone else would get up. I went through my backpack and found red nail polish. Amelia and I sat at the kitchen table. She smiled wildly as I painted her fingernails.
I suppose there are certain universal truths to being a teenage girl. You want security. You want to feel pretty. You want to be smart and well-taken care of. You want to be loved. This teenage girl wants to be able to take care of her siblings. And I even managed to find her some new underwear and a half-full bottle of Dove body spray that made her jump up and down in delight. If only all of her wishes were so easily granted.
I wish for her to stay in school, be able to keep the boys away, go to church and be the recipient of a fabulous stroke of luck that keeps her from sickness and further sorrow as an orphan raising a family. If good fortune had a scent in Mozambique, I’d say it would be clean and smart — a combination of bleach and that musty smell that rises from old library books when you crack one open. For today, body spray will have to do.

~K

I’ve just spent two days in the Luwonde National Reserve, just south of Lake Malawi. We slept in safari tents and had hippo, elephant and monkeys in the camp. It was unbelievable. Those jungle soundtracks they sell for soothing listening are a bunch of bananas. Unless you hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, sweat trickling down your brow, and your knees knocking together in sheer fright, you don’t hear the sound of the jungle when an elephant the size of a mid-sized car comes dancing through your camp at 3 am, eating his weight in leaves along the way.
It was thrilling in every sense. I got some excellent photos, especially when we took a boat out on the Shire River yesterday to get a better view of the hippos. In two days we saw gobs of elephant, hippo, crocs, warthogs (with their little tails straight in the air), baboons, tons of springbok and waterbuck, birds galore — including the beautiful blue-faced guinea fowl, and did I mention the elephant? In a forest of eucalyptus (gum trees) and baobab giants that look like tubers planted upside down, these animals graze and howl and fight and mate. We were there to see more than enough.
Wowie — I am loving Malawi! Tomorrow we leave for Mozambique and the trek by car. It should be an adventure and I am very excited to see northern Moz. I’ll be able to say I’ve seen a good portion of both countries by this time next week.
I am off to the “cow camp” for the rest of the week and reporting in to Beira for work on Monday. I’ll more than likely have Internet then, but not sooner. Hope all is well in your corner of the jungle.

Kelli

I am stealing two minutes of Internet time at the Lujeri Tea Estate in southern Malawi to check in; this is my favorite African visit by far. I cannot believe how gorgeous the landscape is. The estate is a fabulous mix of Hawaii’s tropical splendor and Ireland’s myriad of green. It is otherworldly.
I am staying in a colonial guesthouse and being waited on hand and foot — this makes me uncomfortable on many levels. And yet, I’ve been exhausted and it has been so nice to have someone turn down my bed, make my breakfast, help start a fire in the guest house each night. I start each morning with a long hike through the tea plantation, along a raging river. In the distance, waterfalls cascade off of Mount Mulanji — the peak is hidden by clouds. I am bruised from pinching myself. I cannot believe I am here.
Malawi was a British colony and the workers speak rolling English. They pepper their vocab with the local dialect. The food is a great mix of European and African staples too. We’ve had beans, plantains, rice, grilled meats, fresh bread, tropical fruit and some sort of English cake for dinner each night. I have had more tea in the last few days than my entire life, topped with milk from the estate cows. Thankfully I am just starting to feel right after three days of a sick stomach. I think the continent hopping caught up with me. Last night I slept well and the exercise and healthy, fresh food is helping get me on track.
Monday we leave for a visit to a game reserve where our group has a canoe trip booked. Apparently we are set to see elephants and hippos. I will be in Mozambique the following week and am looking forward to working too, although this vacation could happily last forever. Zimbabwe isn’t in the cards after all for this trip; the elections next week have everyone in this region on edge and many from Zim are in Malawi and Bostwana to get away. Swinging through Harare just to see it isn’t a wise move considering the unrest.
If you get the chance to visit Malawi for whatever reason, jump on it. The luxury, comfort, safety, natural beauty, kindness of the people is simply incredible. I am so lucky to have been invited along with this group for this adventure; I only wish my parents and brother were here to enjoy it with me. I know my dad and brother would love the outdoors and my mom and I could spend days with the ladies in the village watching them weave baskets, cook, and care for their community. I have to get my family here one day.
I’ll post photos soon. Hope you are all well!

~K

Griselda, my godson’s mother, invited our her home for lunch on our last day in Jinotega. She made an amazing pot of chicken soup with countless vegetables. Here she stokes the fire to get the soup boiling.

Back in the kitchen, she and one of her girlfriends make chicken meatballs to add to the pot.

Truly the best soup I’d ever eaten. I was hungry and it was so filling.

She also served boiled taro root, which I hadn’t eaten since Africa. It is chalky but good.

And these boiled plantains were sweet and perfect naturally — like a yam.

In a non-traditional moment, we hit a great pizzeria in Granada for lunch yesterday. After a week of rice, beans, chicken and more rice and beans (called pinto gallo in Nicaragua), thin-crust pizza, bruschetta and fruity cocktails were heaven.

Yum.

~K

The cathedral in Jinotega.

One of many statues inside the churches we visited. These buildings are remnants of Spanish colonization and are silent sanctuaries in the otherwise noisy cities across the country.

The cathedral from the view of the wildly colorful cemetery.

A typical Nicaraguan rural kitchen. The wood burning stove reminds me that nothing is easy or simple for Nicaraguan women.

Amazing how orderly and clean this kitchen is considering the animals roaming just outside and the dirt floor. And yet, everything had its place.

Sewing in rural Nicaragua.

Laundry in rural Nicaragua.

A farming cooperative in rural Nic that is supported in part by USAID.

Cabbage, anyone?

The national cathedral in Managua — this was destroyed in an earthquake in the 1970s and now serves as a totally inappropriate place for President Ortega’s advertising.

Man begging outside of the central cathedral in Granada. (Yes, I did feel like I was on a church tour, but really — they are the most impressive buildings in each city. Thank you, conquistadores.)

Air conditioning in church. I’m thinking the heat of hell is a pretty appropriate theme.

Scene from the central square in Granada.

Nothing says humid fun like a carriage ride, right? Or — you could just sit on the steps, sip a cool Coke from an icy bottle and take photos of the suckers who agree to such rides.

~K

This sweet woman was one of many dazed hens at the central hospital in Jinotega. She’d just given birth to twin girls. Most of the women in the cramped postpartum room had delivered twins. Women typically deliver at home with a midwife. Our midwives are trained to send breach and multiple birth pregnancies to the hospital to hopefully ensure safe delivery for both mother and child(ren). She was touched by the gift of a Peace t-shirt for each sweet girl and I had some knit beanies from a church group too. I took Polaroids of each mother with their new babies and they were so happy to have a bit of company in the otherwise stark, hot room.

One of many sweet children in a village where we worked.

Speaking of, how cute is this girl? Her little German dress had me confused, but we bonded over a break in the cool shade and a pack of gum I found in my backpack.

The sweet girl’s mom and grandma.

We also have a volunteer dental program we support. We took lots of toothbrushes and other supplies to be distributed. Unfortunately most of the work is extractions because people don’t see dentists unless they are in lots of pain.

Yikes.

She had two teeth extracted. One man had seven teeth removed. Ouch.

My godson, Victor Abel. Now that he is 5, he understands that when his Madrina comes to town, it means presents. He was very happy to have crayons and new clothes. I have a Santa Claus patina to my godmothership because I’m never there and when I do swing through town, my bags are laden with gifts for him and his siblings.

But seriously, how cute is he? Obviously, he gets his great fashion sense from his fairy American godmother.

~K

This is what a home looks like after we’ve finished a roof. These homes cost our organization $3,000 each — much more now that gas prices have risen. Many of the materials are transported from the capital. To qualify for one of these homes, the family must have 5 or more people, be willing to work a set number of hours on the house and other homes in the community, place the title in the woman’s name (to prevent the home from being sold by the husband) and they must make a small financial contribution. Keeping this house in mind, we helped put a tile roof on a home just down the hill.

The tiles, pre-painting.

The roofing, pre-tiles. Our volunteer welder puts up the rebar that will hold each of the tiles.

Our volunteers painting the tiles (gasoline, just out of the photo.)

Juan, the owner of this home. He and his wife will move out of his parent’s home next door once his home is completed.

Handing the tiles up, one by one.

You wouldn’t guess that process would take several days, but my goodness work takes a long time in the humid heat. A few other work-shots:

Digging ditches for a water project. This project runs PVC pipes from a central well to more than 60 homes. Each family pays $2 a month to help maintain the well pump. They also much put in a certain amount of time in the project, digging ditches and setting the lines.

The cutest laborer, by far.

~K

I am in the capital of Nicaragua, Managua, where I am pretty sure the humidity tops 90% and the temperature hovers at about the same. The only relief is the afternoon thunderstorm that rolls in each day about 4 pm and pounds the city until well after we have all gone to bed. There is something about the sound of rain in the tropics. It doesn´t just come down on the tin roof. It beats and dances and falls at a pace that leaves this desert dweller astounded. The volcanic, black earth soaks up each drop like a garden sponge. The cobblestone streets and sidewalks are green with a slight cover of moss and algae that thrives in this Central American pitre dish.
This work team has been phenomenal. You never know what you are going to get when you throw 8 strangers together (premise of many a reality tv show). We´ve done well balancing the personalities and strengths. It has been an interesting trip and I can say that I´ll keep in touch with this crew. They are kind, humble folk and I am so proud to be working with them.
Tonight we celebrate our farwell dinner before heading off to the airport in the morning to each fly home to our respective cities. I´m in Phoenix long enough to do a load of laundry and head back to the airport. A week from today I´ll be in Malawi on a tea plantation. There are days I cannot believe this is my life. I am beyond lucky.
At the moment, I am also beyond tired. I am ready not to be group leader, not to be the sole translator, not to be the one to get everyone back into the car, to dinner, to the airport. Eight days is enough. I´m reconsidering my dream of having a huge family.
Looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tomorrow and downloading and sharing photos of this leg of the summer´s journey. The orphanage was amazing and they were very, very thankful for the clothing.

More manana,

Kelli

The last three days have left me a bit crippled. I am not cut out for manual labor. Triathlons? No problem. Running, hiking, sewing like a sweatshop worker? Cake. Digging ditches, moving heavy roof tiles, shoveling countless truck loads of sand? I am worthless.
And sore. And trying hard not to lash out because I hurt just about everywhere. Plus Tall Dark and Handsome sent me an email today that, in fact, he will not be joining me in Africa. Damn it.
There goes that idea.
Needless to say, I am now drinking Chilean white wine, listening to an afternoon downpour and cheering myself up by admiring my tropical surroundings now that the day´s work is complete. There have been a series of highs and lows in this adventure. We have been very productive — a plus. We´ve put on a roof, helped several other future home-owners with the construction of their homes and hopefully left these rural Nicaraguans with a good taste of hard-working Americans. Today we painted roof tiles with paint that was, let´s say ´´extended,´´ with a hefty dose of gasoline. We painted about 200 before I thought I was going to be sick. Several hours later and I´m wishing I´d gotten my first Nicaraguan high from a Cuban cigar instead of Venezulean petrol. Gasoline and tropical heat don´t mix. Who knew?
I´m rambling. Consider it the after-effects of the wine and the gas and the exhaustion. The work continues. Tomorrow we are digging ditches and laying pipe for a community water project. Friday we deliver the peace t-shirts to the orphanage. Saturday we tour Granada. If you have a second, Google ´´Nicaragua, Granada.´´ One of my favorite cities in the world. I can´t wait for a great cup of coffee and a day without a shovel.
See? I told you I´m not cut out for this manual labor. I´m a whiner after just a few days. These Nicaraguans without a doubt know how to pace themselves much better than we do.

Hasta,
Kelli