Final Chapter from Mozambique

This will be my last blog before leaving Mozambique, but with this one I wanted to make some closure on a process I started some months ago that now seems to be making some exciting progress.

On one of my trips first to a village location north of Beira called Nhangua, we had arranged a courtesy call with the Administrator of the region around Nhangua, a Mrs. Simango, to tell her the things we were planning to do in her region. During our hour-long conversation while we were describing our “Water for Gardens” program I mentioned that we were looking for a beneficiary for one of our Rope and Washer pumps. We also told the Administrator that in a few weeks when our gardening expert Eric Crowther arrived we wanted to have someone that she might recommend to work with Eric on some garden projects in the area. She said she would look around for someone who might benefit by having one of our pumps installed on their property and also someone we might work with on the garden program.

Maria working on her new pump.

On our next visit to Nhangua Mrs Simanga told us about a widow in the village who needed a pump for a garden plot she was working on. Her name was Marie Da-Conceição. Maria was there on the government property that day and we went out to visit with her. In a few moments talking with Maria, we learned that she wanted her life to be different. She wanted a real life for herself and her nine year old daughter, and she was willing to work for it. Maria is a 48 year old widow and at the time was living in a cluster of small one-room homes built by a humanitarian organization working in this area, Care For Life. These homes were provided for widows and orphans in Nhangua Region. She was living in this hovel with her daughter and two other women.

We loaded Maria in our car and made our way out a muddy track that led into the bush where we eventually were asked to stop where this property she owned was located. It was about 3 km from the main road by the Government Administrative Offices. We learned that Maria was frequently walking this 3 kilometers to where her deceased husband had acquired the small plot of land some years back. There she was attempting to work the few pineapple plants that were yellow and crowded with weeds, but it was a hopeless job as there was no water except when it rained. That didn’t stop her, however. In an effort to have her own home, she had cleared a small part of the land, gathered sticks and had begun to build a mud and waddle one-room shack.

We looked over her property at several possible locations where a well might be drilled for a water pump and Maria immediately saw the vision of what was possible when she could use water from a new well and pump for irrigation. Days later with Maria’s constant help we had the pump installed and operating. Maria had carried all the sand in a bucket on her head from some source hundreds of meters from her farm that we needed for the pump’s concrete base; plus she was there through every stage of the construction leaning about tool use and building and maintenance of the pump. Between our visits there she cleared the land around the pump and began to cultivate some of the property for a vegetable garden. She also obtained some tomato and lettuce seed, and had planted seed beds that were already growning.

The house built with help from Maria's neighbors.

Villagers heard about her pump and came by to see it, and then we heard that on the Sunday after we finished the project a dozen or more villagers had all showed up to finish the building of her house. With a home of her own, she and her daughter would now have a chance to change their lives forever. In addition we promised her that with instructions she would receive later from our Gardening Interns she could become an entrepreneur produce vendor selling her vegetables in the village market.

We continued working with Maria on her garden project, first by bringing her a sprinkling can that she could use to water the plants she was starting on her own. On one visit we made to her place she had a huge area already planted and vegetables of several kinds that she had grown in her seed beds and transferred were coming up. I caught Maria on video on one of the trips using a large axe and a machete cutting out a large stump that was in the middle of an area she had started to cultivate for more garden room.

Maria's garden today.

Eric Crowther finally came to her place and began working with her with all due diligence on planning techniques for her vegetables along with some strategies for irrigation of the plot and marketing of the vegetables she was planting. The included photos show her progress.

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At the same time that we started working on Maria’s pump and garden we were introduced to the young woman who Mrs. Sinango said she would find for us to possibly be a garden coordinator for this area. We hoped she who would eventually work with Eric Crowther. On several of our visits to Maria’s home we picked up this young woman, Feliciana, a 16 package of dynamite known in the village as “Nene.” She immediately became an active part of our team building Maria’s pump by carrying sand in a bucket on her head, mixing cement, and assisting Maria cultivating her garden. I was so impressed with this young woman that I was determined that some way we should continue working with her and committed to find a way later on to hook her up with Eric.

Feliciana

That day came a couple of weeks after Eric arrived in May. We were on our way out to a part of the village where we were working with another client building a pump when we happened to see Feliciana next to the school where she was attending 7th grade. I had told Eric about this young woman and at first he was hesitant to have us make contact with her because with him being single and the other intern who was helping him also young and single, Eric didn’t think it was ethical to work with this young single 16 year old woman. Before we saw Nene that day by the school, Eric and I had several conversations in which I finally convinced him that he at least needed to meet with the woman if nothing else. That day of our chance meeting we stopped the car and Eric got out to meet Feliciana. When Eric got back into the car after only talking with Feliciana a few moments, he was committed to finding some way that they could work with her.

Over the next few weeks Eric and Adam (the other intern) continued to make visits to Nhangua to conduct business with Feliciana and to work with other farm projects they had scheduled for that area. Every time they went there and saw what Feliciana was up to in the community they became more and more impressed with her. On one of their visits they found out that she had begun to buy lettuce from a local lettuce grower and was walking several kilometers to the beach and a resort that was located there selling this produce for a small profit. Leaning that, they decided that somehow they were going to assist her with a startup loan so she could start her own garden, grow her own vegetables and make a small business out of the project. Their excitement grew every visit they made to Nhangua when they met with Nene. More and more they were impressed with her drive and spirit.

They came back just yesterday (June 13) after a long visit with her and her family with a story they had not heard about Nene until then. Their purpose in going there was to start drilling a well on the small property she had by the housing complex where she was living. Without having heard about this before, on this visit they discovered that she and her sisters owned another small bit of land some distance from the complex; and after looking at it were convinced that this was a better place to drill a well, find a cheap way to lift water from the well and start a garden. They went back to the house to meet her other sisters and found out some other news that was considerably different than any of us had heard about her family or expected. She has two sisters, one older and one younger. Both their parents are dead. The older sister who is about 22 years old is chronically ill with Malaria and possibly HIVAIDS. She spends most of her time in bed. The younger sister, a girl of 13 is about to have a baby. There is no aid for this family from any source, so Nene is the sole bread winner of the family and completely takes care of and supports her sisters at the same time as she is going to school. The boys also learned yesterday that the even though there are cousins, an uncle and an aunt living nearby this young group of orphans get no support or attention from any of them. By what they learned yesterday, our interns are even more motivated to get this young woman off to a good start in her new business. And I am sure they will do just that.

The Issure of Sustainability

June 7, 2008 Blog

The issues of sustainability and my contribution to it have plagued me ever since I first started the work with Engage Now Foundation (which is now Ascend, A Humanitarian Alliance) in 2004’s. On all the projects where I have worked and introduced new technologies for the poor people who are our target beneficiaries for the technologies I have introduced, it has been my goal that these things be sustainable. Each one has required a small amount of skills and in some cases tools in order continue making new items for theirs or their neighbor’s uses or to keep the items going once they were in the owner’s hands. In almost all cases where I have walked away from one of these projects the last part of this process has not taken place. The programs simply have not been sustainable. This is a matter of concern for me and one for which I have yet to come up with a solution. Here are some examples of what I speak:

In Ethiopia in 2004 through 2006 we were building simple latrines for poor people who had no latrines and were creating a terrible and dangerous sanitation and hygiene problems around their homes. The latrines that were being built when I got there were cheap to build and solved one problem—that of getting human waste into one central location rather than all over homeowner’s yards and farms. That was okay, but it created another problem that needed to be examined and that was that all the pests (flies and other creatures and unpleasant smells) were also now centralized where they could really be effective. So while the latrines were solving one problem, they were creating another.

A Cmmunity VIP Latrine Under Construction in Ethiopia

To mitigate that potential problem and create a latrine that would eliminate flies and smells I introduced and built a few Ventilated Improved Pit Latrines (VIP Latrines). This is a simple technology solution for sanitary latrines that have been proven to completely eliminate the fly and smell problems of the old style latrines. These VIP Latrines are being built in many places all over Africa and other developing countries with great success. They required a simple modification of the latrines we were building in Ethiopia that included a cheap piece of PVC pipe that would be used for a vent and a door that could be closed on the latrine so the interior of the latrine could be kept dark. The total additional cost of this modification was about $5, making the total cost of the latrine in the neighborhood of $15 each, but required a change in the way latrines costs were put in the budget. After I left the change was never made, so the idea eventually went dry. Everyone on the Engage Now Foundation staff were excited about the idea, but as time went on, interns came and went and staff changes came about there was no longer any emphasis being put on sustaining this idea with the additional budget that was needed, so the entire concept is now forgotten.

Another blatant example was the program I introduced in Ecuador in 2007 when we built our first horno or brick bread-making oven and then before I left built another six of the units. I was on a short schedule to get as much done in the 16 villages where we were working. All of my time was consumed in the logistics of getting these seven stoves built and working (along with several other water and garden projects). Time ran out on me and I was required to leave three months earlier than I had expected to leave so when the stoves were all completed, I had time to do only one training program on their proper use. The Program Coordinator who was in charge of getting people together for the training was not doing his job properly so when the training occurred on the last day that I spent in the field, only a few people were present. I had created a manual for the building of these hornos that included a detailed section on use of the ovens with recipes and safe use of them. I had translated the manual into Spanish so that the local Program Coordinator could distribute copies to the people who had the stoves and to anyone who might build one later. Essentially everything was in place when I left for the program to continue and for it to be a success.

Before I left the country I transferred all my records and handed over the books I had made for the hornos to the Intern who would be there for four more months following my departure. I handed over the same information to the Program Coordinator who would be ultimately responsible for making the sustainability of these ovens a reality. The Intern first of all had no interest in the ovens, as he believed his primary mission was to teach classes in Spanish on how to start a small business, so he had his own agenda and ego to manage and didn’t do anything about the training for the ovens. I had been campaigning for some time to get the other man, the Program Coordinator, fired, but had no success in that effort, and he was a man about his own agenda too—that of creating a name for himself in the villages where we worked; so he was of no value in sustaining the program.

So there I was leaving with no confidence that any training would be provided to the other six horno owners that were waiting for instructions on how to use the units, and with dozens of others who had seen the units that wanted one built or wanted instructions on how to build them themselves. Neither the Program Coordinator nor the Intern did anything to provide the six owners of hornos any training. Nor were any more built, except one that may have been built that was promised to be done by one of the home owners who had an horno that we had constructed, who had contracted to build one for his neighbor. One woman, therefore, had received the training and it was a good possibility that she would continue to use her oven.

An Horno for Baking Bread. Galte San Juan Village, Ecuador

As it turned out months later a family unit and a couple of friends (about five people) went to Ecuador on an expedition with the intent of building another horno in one of the villages. I provided this expedition group with all the materials to do this and encouraged them to do the training on the other stoves while they were there. They built one stove, but provided no training for its use. Later, still, a married couple went to the same region as interns and was given the charge to follow up on the work that had been done prior to their arrival (the building of these hornos). They were there for three months of the four they were under contract to stay when I received an E-mail from the woman who said that several people in the villages were complaining about having these hornos and didn’t know what to do with them. She wanted to know if I knew anything about this matter. I encouraged them to get the manual from the office computer or find a hard copy that must have been there and do the training. It would be easy to follow and all they had to do was buy some materials to make bread for the demonstration and put together a meeting time for the one-day training. Two weeks later I got word back that they could not find any of the information, so I sent the material I had to them. By that time it was too late and nothing was done. I suppose by now there are at least eight of these wonderful hornos sitting around in the villages that are left open and are being used by the owner’s dogs who would believe that they are a nice dog house where they can stay out of the weather.

Example after example comes to mind and it is no different here in Mozambique. I have labored to train the Program Coordinator on how to build a quality rope and washer pump. He was building a model before I came that was so bad looking and worked so poorly that I insisted that the model be changed to one that would be sustainable. However as we proceeded to build the new model there were no proper materials here in Mozambique to build them with. We built some with the unsuitable materials and as I had predicted, they all started to break down soon after they were built. I will be leaving in a week and we have for the time being stopped building the pumps for lack of this material, but I am certain that the Program Coordinator will find a way to revamp his old idea and get the program going again for his own personal ego and status, and will be doing the same as he was doing before I came here—building pumps of inferior quality.

It’s a sad but true commentary that people in this country on average are not interested in quality and sustainability. If something works, even though it works poorly or will soon break down, they are satisfied with it as it is. If it stops working they will simply quit using it and go back to the old method. There’s a simple example right here in the office that stands out in my mind as to the way it works here and will continue to work that way after I leave. Here at the Mozambique Ascend office we are using a home that was built at least 50 years ago. The plumbing is old and in very bad condition. The city water supply is unreliable so water is here only about four days of the week then it is off most of the other times. The Ascend staff had been in this building over a year when I came. Their solution to the water problem was to have two barrels in the house; one in the bathroom and one in the kitchen that would hold about 80 liters of water (about 21 gallons each) that are filled during the times when there is water, and used by dipping the water out with a one liter pitcher to flush the toilet, bath or wash dishes. Everyone was okay with that system. I was not.

After a few weeks of living with that program I insisted that we use some of the money we had in the budget to purchase a large plastic tank that we could install on the roof of the house and plumb into the existing water system as a backup. Everyone thought it was an okay idea, except that there was little enthusiasm for it. I purchased the materials and the tank and materials sat around for over a month. Finally after much harassment on my part, on a Friday just before a wave of four Interns was supposed to arrive that would greatly exacerbate the problem, I finally got the Program Coordinator to assist me to set the system up. Of course the only material (galvanized pipe and fittings) available for the job were the sub-standard materials that I had said were no good for the pumps we were building, but I went ahead with the job anyway. As it was installed, as I had expected it would be, the pipes leaked and one cheap valve broke and created a continual leak in the system. The solution that I watched happen over the month or more since the system was installed was to put buckets under the leak. The Program Coordinator made no suggestions to me to repair the system nor did the Director who seemed also oblivious that we had a problem.

Further out in the yard where the Guards cook there meals there is a water line that comes from the house with a stand pipe and spigot so they can get water for their cooking. This spigot has been leaking a steady stream of water since I have been here (going on four months) and the solution to that problem was to tie a small piece of rubber inner tube from a bike tire to the handle of the spigot to keep it partially closed and reduce the amount of water that was leaking. Everyone knows this problem exists, but no one was willing to take care of it or even mention that it was a problem. Inside the house I noticed when I got here that the toilet didn’t flush with a handle and a bucket had been put by the toilet to be filled each time from the barrel standing by so that the toilet could be flushed with a partially filled bucket of water. No one had even questioned why the toilet didn’t work, and they all seemed okay with it. When the water was on the toilet reservoir filled okay, but there was no way that the handle would lift the float so the toilet would flush. I asked about the toilet when I saw the problem and was told that it was broken ever since they took up residency in the house. After a few days that I was here, I lifted the lid of the toilet reservoir and discovered that the chain that lifts the float had fallen off. In about one minute I fixed the problem and we have had a flush toilet ever since. It was the same story with the shower heater. In this country water is heated at the shower head by an electrical device that heats the water as it flows out of the pipe into the head. This unit worked only on High and was so hot it could not be used. The Program Coordinator uses this shower every day because, I suspect, he does not have running water at his home, but he never complained or wanted things different. I looked into getting a new head for the shower and offered to change it. The thing only costs about $5 to replace. Two months later after several reminders, the unit was purchased and in minutes I had a working shower. This was also done in the last minutes before the group of U.S. Interns arrived.

Outside with the leaking pipes and spigot I waited and waited and even asked the question of the Program Coordinator and the Director if they were okay that we were losing all that water from the leaking pipes and paying higher water bill than was necessary. Neither seemed to care nor were any suggestions or questions asked if we should take care of the problem. I was amazed at their responses and the sort of lackadaisical attitude they had to this problem that also created a mud hole in front of the entrance that allowed all of us to carry mud into the house every time we entered. Finally, yesterday, I found some time available, enrolled the one Intern who was here to assist me and we would dismantle the piping and fix the problem. I took the Director to a hardware store to pick up a valve and a spigot (at a total cost of $18). When I got to the hardware store she had such a low motivation for this effort that she had not even brought her wallet to pay for the items so I used my money to do so. When we got back to the office I asked for my money to be returned and she said she didn’t have any; that she had not budgeted for this item in the monthly budget. I insisted on getting my money back so she reluctantly paid me out of some money a client gave her that day for partial payment of one of the pumps we had installed for the lady. In a matter of an hour working on the problem we had a partial solution. The substandard pipes are still leaking a small amount and will continue to do so after I leave, and I am sure no one of the local staff or the guards will give a damn.

Tank and Piping for the Ascend Office, Mozambique

A Poorly Constructed Rope and Washer Pump That Failed Soon After Construction was Completed

A Rope & Washer Pump Built to Last with Quality Materials

So that’s where I leave this place as I have left others during my quests for doing quality humanitarian services to people in these developing countries. As I told my daughter last night while I was talking to her using a sub-standard internet system that kept breaking up our conversation over the phone, the light that has shown me the way and motivated me over the last five years to do this kind of work is slowly getting snuffed out. My discouragement is about a high as it has ever been as I ready myself to leave after four months of struggling for excellence. Don’t get me wrong that I feel that I have failed. In no way do I feel that way. I have continued to do my best and have accomplished many good things. There’s just this nagging complaint that I have that I have been ineffective in influencing some of the people I work with that caring for excellence is better than being okay with the normal. I mentioned in one of my earlier blogs that I had asked everyone locally that I knew what they wanted this city and country to look like in five years, and if they were okay with how it was right now (broken down everywhere, unkept, unsanitary and dirty). None of them had an answer to the question, nor do I believe that any of them ever thought to ask the question.

The Eyes of the Children

It was the children’s eyes that got me and tore at my heart today. Filipe and I had just finished eating our lunch in the car at the orphanage where we have been working for the past six days, when first a group of four orphan girls climbed into the back seat of our SUV and then later four boys climbed into the far back. We had left all the doors open while we ate because it was so hot, even in the shade. All of the children were well mannered and it was obvious they were just having fun, not begging or anything. They simply seemed curious and wanted to be with us I guessed. Filipe spoke to them and asked the girls their ages and what they had been doing. They were 11 and 12, but looked much younger to me. They said they had been busy painting their lips with some lipstick they bought. We didn’t ask anything of the little boys that joined in. They were quite a bit younger. They seemed satisfied to just be in the car.

They stayed in the car until we shooed them out, laughing and giggling and begging me to take just one more photo of them. All of them were dirty, and the four little girls’ lips glistened with the lipstick they had put on. One of the girls in a torn dress that she continued to lift back on her shoulder was strikingly beautiful. I made the comment to Filipe if this little girl made it to adulthood she would be one of the most attractive women one would ever want to see. All of their complexions were almond brown, but their eyes sparkled in the dim light inside the car. Because of their strange color, Filipe called them Mulatto and I was struck by the negative tone of his voice, as if something was wrong with being “Mulatto” or mixed blood.

The orphanage is run by a local church group in the town of Lamego that is about 75 km from our office here in Beira. We found out about the place when one of our Entrepreneurs went there and learned that the orphanage didn’t have any water anywhere on the premises. He had gone to Tica to tie up some contracts for water pumps and had met the woman who is the District Director. She had suggested that someone go there and see if drilling a well and building the orphanage a pump would be a possibility. We took on the challenge to drill the well and build a pump as a gift to the orphanage. We called ahead to let them know we were coming, but didn’t know what we were going to find there. On entering the gate of the place, we were immediately welcomed by a singing chorus of children and some adults, and this very dressed up lady who is the director of the place. It was amazing seeing 75 children from ages 3 to 16 singing and clapping their hands for what seemed like 15 minutes before they stopped. The Director was funny. She first kissed us all (five of us had arrived for this first day’s work), then she went into a tirade of welcoming and blessing us all, and assuring us that it was God’s will that we were there to bring precious water to their orphanage.

We got right to work, but found soon that we were up against a real challenge on this project. Our idea was that we would drill the hole for the rope and washer pump casing, find water about 2 meters down like we have done on all the other wells, and we would be out of there in a couple of days with a fully operational pump. It didn’t work out quite that way as we struggled with caving sand, and water that was not two meters down but five and one half, and the aquifer was only about one meter deep. Well anyway during our visit there and through the completion of the pump after five days of hard work, we found out a little about the orphanage and its wonderful innocent children.

As I said there are about 75 of these kids—all from the village where the orphanage is located. Each has his or her own foster family who take them at night, but in the early morning all the children come back to the orphanage and stay there all day. Depending on their ages, they are schooled for part of the day in an open classroom with just a roof and bare poles for walls. The seats are benches made from simple cut boards and there are no desks. A blackboard hangs precariously on the back posts of the open hut. The man who is the children’s teacher is a carpenter who has his own business right there in the school where he builds beds and other furniture. The children are fed one meal during the day, and I am suspecting that this is the only meal they get from morning to night.

The rest of the orphanage consists of two grass roof huts. One is the office and the other a cooking hut. Four women come each day from the village to assist with hauling water for cooking and drinking and two other women do the cooking full time. There’s a full-time guard and the woman who welcomed us comes every day from another village closer to Beira to direct the operations. She’s a sweet smiling woman who has been along side us helping and watching since we arrived on the first day. The village mothers who carry water make two trips a day to the river carrying on their heads jerry cans full of water for the orphanage. The trip is about six tenths of a mile (1 km) one way. Water at the property we knew from the first would be a welcome addition to the place. We found out today that it was more than that when we started pumping water for the first time and people of the orphanage and surrounding homes couldn’t wait to get their hands wet and take a drink of the stuff.

But back to these sweet faces that had piled into the car. I couldn’t begin to describe the heartache I felt with these children surrounding me. And when I took pictures of them and looked at the photos up close, I was further struck with this heavy feeling in my chest. Their sparkling eyes were what really got me, though. I couldn’t keep my eyes from tearing a little as I watched them and took pictures of all of them one after another.

On the way home later in the day, I couldn’t get the children off my mind. When we stopped in Dondo about half way back to Beira so that Filipe could talk to some school officials there that we had been doing business with, I didn’t get out of the car, but sat there contemplating what had been tearing at my heart all afternoon since lunch. It was about the children—these orphans, who have no mothers or fathers, who are shuffled each day to and from the orphanage, and have only each other during the day (other than the time they have in school) to play and chase the frequent wagons that roll along the dirt road by the orphanage carrying sugar cane. The children are loosely confined in a small lot about 100 feet square along this same dirt road. There’s one tree on the lot that provides shade under which many of the children play or just sit around, and when their food comes around noon-time, they spread out in small groups eating and doing what little children all do when they are eating together. They have no latrine on the property, so when the children have to go to the bathroom they go to a lot nearby where the owners have a squat latrine. In the corner of the property, there’s a place where the children are bathed I am told, but I didn’t see anyone using the bamboo enclosure while we were there. And with water having to be carried to far, I suspect that bathing is a luxury not often used.

While I sat in the car at Dondo waiting for Filipe, I kept thinking about these children and the little they have to look forward to in their lives. It was heart wrenching for me as I thought about all the people I have known or know about who can’t have children who could give children like these a home and a future. If only it were possible. . . I though about what heartache these childless people must be going through if they are some of the many who could sustain and provide for a child in their home, while these beautiful, healthy children eek out their lives in this orphanage. How would it be if all the children like these could find a home in a place in America where they could get education, have clothing that was not torn and tattered, who could play in a playground with other children and could have parents who loved them like they need to be loved. It’s even difficult to write about this and I cringe just thinking about what is ahead for these children. How would it be, I wonder, if all the legal and bureaucratic barriers were suddenly dropped and people who had the money could come to Mozambique and see these children and take them into their arms and return with them? How that would make a difference in this world. And what a service they would be giving to mankind.

When Filipe came back to the car I asked if it was difficult for foreigners to adopt children from Mozambique. He gave me the simple answer that I had expected, “It takes a long time, but it is possible.” I guessed at the rest of the story, “And there are a lot of people along the way that have to be paid off.”

The Issue of Intimidation

Everywhere I go here in Mozambique I am constantly challenged by my own standards for quality, for behavior, for initiative and for forward thinking versus those of my colleagues (nationals) and other nationals that I encounter who appear to be lacking of these principles and behaviors. For the most part, because of those standards in which I am invested, my age and my position here in the work I am doing, I find that I am so intimidating to those with whom I work (those nationals spoken of earlier), that most of what I am attempting to pass on to them (new technology, ideas, concepts, standards, etc.) is lost as long as I am in their presence. I have attempted on occasions to simply leave the scene to let them struggle on their own, turning over the entire operation to them, but when I return I often find that most of what I believed was leaned by them is not put into practice, though I know that they have learned it. When I ask them or attempt to determine why those principles I know that they know were not put into practice, I am convinced, though they will not always admit it, that they are afraid they will make a mistake or will do wrong what I know they know.

When the frustration level has become too high for me, I have criticized my colleagues (the nationals) by saying things like, “Do you remember the conversation we had a few days ago about how I want you to think ahead about what has to be done?” or “We just did this operation over there and this one is exactly the same. Is there some reason that you are unable to see that we simply have to repeat what we did there?” But these questions are usually met by a hanging head and a quiet, “I’m sorry,” or some other statement that leaves me believing that once again my presence and the criticism that I had expected would assist them in seeing the importance in taking initiative, has been lost within this over-powering intimidation they feel by my position, age, or whatever.

Just the other day, for example, me and my national colleague were working on one of our rope and washer pumps, making some changes that would cause the pump to work a little more efficiently. He and I discussed what needed to be done to make these corrections, and together we made them and the pump worked like we wanted it to. Making these changes were simple tasks that required drilling some holes, cutting some wire, tying the pipes off, and reworking a bracket used to hold the riser pipe in place.

We had two of these pumps to revamp. They were both within a few dozen meters of each other so we walked over to the second pump with the same tools and wire that we used on the first one. I stood off to the side to let my colleague make the first move to begin this operation, and nothing happened. After waiting some time, while he walked around the pump and assessed the situation and talked some to one of the people who lived on the farm where the pump was located, still noting happened. He took no initiative to begin the work on this second pump. Finally, not wanting to just jump in and start working on this pump, and feeling a good deal of frustration by that time, I said to the young man, “We just finished doing the other pump and this one is to be revamped the same way. I am just wondering why you haven’t taken the lead to begin work on this pump. I am sure you know that we have to do here is exactly what we just finished doing on the other pump.” His answer to me was something like, “I was afraid that if I started doing this work, it would not be right or that I would not do it like you wanted it done.” With that I just stepped in and began directing the work and in a few minutes we had it done. But I knew I had hurt the young man’s feelings, and that he was very ashamed that once again I had brought up the matter of his taking initiative. Another man who was standing by, a U.S. Intern who was working with us, took the young man’s side and told me I was too intimidating to the young man, and that was why he didn’t start work on his own. I knew that and it was interesting to me to see the relief on my colleague’s face when he realized he had someone on his side. I let the matter drop then, but I am not sure that the process that I am in with this young national is over.

I am continually struggling with these questions about how far I can go before my work here becomes useless or counterproductive. I am clear about my mission of being a mentor for these people, and I am also convinced that this mission is valid and that when the people I am working with realize the importance of such things as taking initiative and thinking beyond “the box” that their lives will forever be changed for the good. I have seen the results of these changes in some of the people with whom I have worked, and I know the process is workable. But to what extent do I go to make it happen before I hurt people like I did my young colleague the other day before he becomes so resistant and fearful that he will become unreachable? That seems to be my overriding challenge for the moment while I am on this quest.

Clouded Expectations

I guess as long as I am doing this type of work in the developing countries I will never cease to be amazed at some of the experiences I have that are so different from what I expect they will be. It isn’t like I am surprised, as I learned a long time ago that any time I have expectations for another person, a place, a behavior, and attitude, etc., I am bound to be disappointed because my expectations are always based on what is true for myself. And for the most part, except for moments of frustration or anger or disappointment, I know deeply that this is the way it is and I am bound by it, and can either accept it for what it is or continue to be disappointed. I choose not to be disappointed, but I forget sometimes.

Here are some of the things I am speaking of that can and will happen on any typical day: I had devoted my entire day (Friday), to doing the plumbing on the water tank we are installing on the roof of the office building. On the day before, Thursday, I asked my colleagues if that was the plan for Friday and was assured that it was. I asked what time we would start, and the young man I am working with said he would be at the office at 8:00 A.M. Okay, I say, and plan for that time, forgetting this is Mozambique.

First disappointment of the day. He arrives at 9:30 A.M. and says he had transportation problems. Okay, I say, when can we get started? Just as soon as I check my E-mail, he says. I go ahead and get the equipment out and ready and get involved forgetting the time and the fact that my helper’s not with me and that his main reason for wanting to do this on Friday was to get the experience of plumbing one of these roof-top water tanks. At 11:30 A.M. I go in and find he is downloading a program on the computer and has forgotten that I was expecting him outside. Second misplaced expectation of the day. He stops what he is doing, complaining that he was just getting ready to download this program when I came in and would have to do it later, and comes outside to join me.

At 1:30 P.M. we are going along good when my companion breaks a valve that we were installing on the pipe line, and we have to have another valve before we can go ahead with the project. We have no vehicle, so I say, Lets go to the hardware store and get a new one. He says (and I realize I should have known this before), The only shop within walking distance is closed until three. All of the Indian shops close from 12:00 P.M. to 3:00 P.M. every day as a matter of tradition and anyone who wants to get something done has to plan around those times. Third challenge of the day. We will have to wait until 3:00 P.M. to continue.

We break for lunch ourselves, and talk about walking to restaurant down the street, as the Director with the truck has taken it to a meeting out of town. Okay, the restaurant is only a ten minute’s walk; so we go to lunch. At lunch we both remember that we have a scheduled meeting with the home office on Skype at 3:00 P.M., so instead of walking to the Indian shop for our parts, as it would have been on the way back from the restaurant, we conclude we will have to go straight back to the office after lunch. We get back and for a few minutes we work on some of the things we could still do on the tank piping without the valve that was broken. At ten minutes before three I go into the house to get the computer and speakers ready for our Skype meeting, and at 2:55 P.M. the lights go off—no meeting until they come back on. We wait inside for a while, and then finally go outside to wait, watching for the power to come back on. We continue to do a few things with the piping. At 4:10 P.M. we discover that the lights have come back on so we go back into the house I call the office in Salt Lake to see if the man who was going to call us is there. The receptionist doesn’t know where the man is for sure, but thinks he is still home. I leave a message for him with her. He doesn’t call, so we continue to wait until 4:30 P.M. when I call the office again only to find out that the man who we were supposed to be meeting with is on his way to the office and will be there in 15 minutes. We wait until 5:15 P.M. with two more calls to the office to see if he has come in, but he hasn’t. At 5:45 P.M. we bag it, but now it’s too late for the Indian shop, as it is probably closed by then or is closing soon. Another day gone asunder. I say I want to finish this project this coming weekend and ask my coworker if he can come to work with me and go to the Indian shop to pick up the parts tomorrow (Saturday). He refuses to use his Saturday for this purpose, but says he will call the Director and get her to come over to take me to get the parts on Saturday morning. He promises that he can come over on Sunday in the afternoon and help me to finish the project. I say okay, when? And he says I’ll be there at 1:00 P.M. I say okay, and before he leaves, I ask him again not to forget to call the Director. He promises he will do so. I go on with the day with mild expectations that I will be able to get the parts on Saturday and that he will come over on Sunday to finish the job with me.

I get up early on Saturday with expectations that sometime in the morning the Director will be here to pick me up to get the parts I need (once again I temporarily forget that people don’t keep there word here, and that time is of no value). I wait all day, and no Director. I can’t call her as my cell phone with her number on it is dead and I can’t make it work. Just another aggravation that I am helpless to correct as I am certain no one in the city will be able to diagnose and fix the problem as it is a new type phone, like none that I have seen here. I think to my self throughout the day that if it was me, and I was the Director or my coworker who said he would call the Director, I would have the courtesy to call me one way or another to tell me that she wasn’t coming. I know and he knows my phone is broken, but the office phone isn’t. Before getting upset about my expectation that my colleagues would have the courtesy to call me if something was wrong, I just say to myself, Oh well, remember where you are. So I wait until 4:30 P.M. and finally place a call to my coworker who had said that he would call the Director. When I get him on the phone he has some lame excuse that he called in the morning and couldn’t reach her, but he did leave a message. I am also wondering why he didn’t come over as promised if she couldn’t and he acts the big victim part and tells me he is eating dinner, but can be at the house at 5:00 P.M. I say okay, but know he lives in the city and it will take him 45 minutes at best to get here even if he left right then. I am not going to be disappointed by him again, I tell myself. At 5:30 P.M. he arrives, comes in and announces that he is Sorry, Sorry, Sorry. I say okay forget it, but isn’t the Indian shop closed? He says he thinks it stays open late. I ask him to call, but he doesn’t have the phone number and the phone books are not up to date for him to look it up. We take a chance and walk to the shop. It takes almost 20 minutes to get there. I was surprised and relieved to see that it was open.

Inside, we get the items we need, and I remind my companion that we have brought a float for the tank back to have it replaced and he acknowledges. We bought a float for the tank shutoff along with purchasing the tank from this same Indian shop, so I was confident (bad choice) that they would see the bad workmanship on the float and give us a new one. More disappointment. The Indian lady behind the counter finally waits on us but ignores us most of the time as she was counting up her receipts for the day and seemed irritated that we had come at all. When my companion asks her about the broken float, she flatly says that they don’t guarantee anything. I’m not satisfied and suggest that my companion talk to the man who is one of the owners. He does, and gets a long explanation that went something like, we buy Chinese made goods and since they are cheap and we are passing on those savings to our customers, we don’t guarantee any of them. I get momentarily angry and shout at the man asking him in English if it means anything to him that we spent many thousands of dollars on products that he has sold us over the past few weeks. He plays ignorant of English, though I know he speaks English and asks my companion to interpret for him. My companion who is about as timid as they come is almost in shock by then and says something to the man that I believe was a soft, modified version of what I said. The man of course comes back with an angry argument again to my companion and then I realize how hopeless that is and step away from the counter telling my companion, Let’s pay for the damned stuff and get out of the place. I quietly curse under my breath, realizing that once again we have been snookered by the Indian Merchants.

We go back down the long counter to the ignorant woman who doesn’t know the prices of anything and shouts at the black worker who had retrieved the parts for us for the price of every item, and finally adds up the total and I pay the bill. She doesn’t want to make out a receipt for the goods, (I guess she’s too busy counting up her take for the day) so she calls another man on the other side of the building to do that for us. We go to the other end of the shop and a black employee comes out with book of receipts. He has a hard time with the three copies of carbon paper and doesn’t know any of the prices of the things that were already bagged that we had to dump out on his desk, so one at a time he calls the other black employee, his coworker, for the price of each item as he writes them down. Of course the paper doesn’t have enough lines on it for all the parts we bought, so he has to make out two receipts, each with three carbons. When he gets done, a process that takes a good ten minutes, he realizes he doesn’t have an adding machine at that end of the shop and has to go get one. He gets one from the nasty woman and adds up the bill. It is the same as what I already paid to the woman, and then before tearing off my copy of the two receipts, he returns the adding machine to the woman behind the counter. The shop has been closed for a half hour before we get out and head back to the office.

On the way back I make the comment to my companion reminding him of the discussion we had a few days ago about how the Mozambique natives better get their act in gear and start setting up businesses on their own and selling good quality goods and run the Indians out of the country. He says he remembers our conversation, but I am sure he is in the dark what I am leading to. I am still fuming over the cheap Chinese stuff the Indian sold us, so I go on saying, I’ll bet that owner doesn’t get into a Chinese car when he leaves tonight; and that I further bet he’s driving a new Toyota or Mercedes. I didn’t see any Mercedes, but I did see a very nice Toyota Camary parked in the lot when we left. My companion didn’t get the point, so I left it at that for the day. Four disappointments and missed expectations was enough for one day, I think. After all I still have to morrow to get through. Just to be sure I ask my companion before he leaves if he is still planning to come over on Sunday to work on the pipes. He says yes. And I say what time, and he says right after church, at one o’clock. I say I will have some lunch ready for us (I remembered before when we talked about his coming over on Sunday he asked if I would make him lunch if he came over). He says fine. See you tomorrow.

So Sunday comes along and I am busy in the morning getting things from the market so that I would have some things for our lunch. I buy vegetables as I am planning to have a nice stir fry. That will be easy I think, as I can have things ready, and if he is late coming, I can start it any time after he arrives and it’s just twenty minutes away from eating. So about 12:00 P.M. I begin to cut up the vegetables and thaw the chicken. Everything is ready before 1:00 P.M. and figuring he will be late (I did not have any expectations on that matter. I was protecting myself), I go in and read for a while. At 2:00 P.M. I start to cook forgetting that there is still very much uncertainty that he will come at all. At 2:30 P.M. I eat alone.

After the dishes are cleaned up I know there were some things I can do that didn’t require that I go on the roof of the house, so I get the tools out and begin working using the guard as my helper. At 5:00 P.M. I am finished with the piping as far as I can go with out going on the roof, so I go into the house to clean up and hear the phone ringing. I run to the phone, but it’s dead when I get there. And, I notice the power has gone off in the meantime. I go into the kitchen to wash the pipe cutting oil off my hands, but the water is now off (no surprise that the water and power go off the same time), so I wash with my extra water that I have saved in a barrel in the kitchen and then go into the front room to place a call to my coworker who was supposed to be here at 1:00 P.M. He answers and I ask, Was that you who called earlier? I have been trying to call you many times this afternoon, he replies. I say I was out working in the yard and didn’t hear the phone. I am sorry he says. I was thinking about coming over, but I have a tooth ache. Okay, I say (being as non-judgmental as I can be), when will you be here tomorrow? He says, At the usual time. I say eight o’clock? And he says Yes. Okay, I think, eight o’clock in Mozambique time is what???? I’ll just have to wait and see. But you can be sure I will be ready at eight.

Children of Mozambique--Hope for the Future?

I have often heard said that the children of a country, place or home are the hope for the future. I have been asking myself that question here in Mozambique for the past two months of my stay and I have wondered many times of the validity of that statement. Many situations in which I have been here have included children and young adults in some manner. I have noticed that there are striking contrasts between the children of the city and those in the villages, but in some ways, they are the same. There are many contrasts that are apparent in the children who have access to education and those who do not, and even there, because the school systems vary so much from area to area (city vs. village for example, private vs. public) I have had a hard time to reach a closure in my mind about this issue of hope for the future. But here is my best shot for the subject—at least now, as I am only two months into this quest:

There are the young adults that I have seen in various places in the city of Beira who are well dressed and seem to be about high school to college age. I have to believe with this cohort of children that they must come from families who have some or a lot of money. Those children are active, bright looking, and seem to have excitement in their lives. Those with whom I have come in direct contact seem all to have some knowledge of English, and a few even speak it quite well. Their hair styles are similar to those I see in the U.S. and the same is true with their clothing which is modern, fashionable and comparable to any modern city anywhere. For these children, I hold out some hope, but there are things that they must do, in my opinion to make this a place (Mozambique in general) that can be accepted as a viable developing country.

There are others in this same age group who, I believe, are struggling for this same status. These are the children I see in the streets of Beira and in the villages. Partly because of where they live and more likely due to the lack of money, jobs or opportunity for education are in a different place than this more elite group mentioned before with little or no hope of change. These fall into the category that will be discussed more below when I get to the question of hope for the future of this country. These kids, while they seem to have this same drive for existence, education and status are blocked and will continue to be blocked by corruption and mismanagement on the part of the government entities. Most of the young women of this age group will likely get married and the young men will assume roles that their fathers have. They will continue to be undernourished, will contact malaria, HIVA AIDS, have lung and stomach illnesses and will live lives that end on average at 40 years of age. Before they die, they will have brought many children into this world that will carry on from where they left off with no change in their status.

The smaller children that live in abject poverty are the most likely to follow this hopeless pattern and already show signs of becoming even less a possibility for a shining future of this country than their older siblings.

Here are a few examples of things that I have observed lately that illustrate these striking contrasts:
Every time I go to the one and only large (well anyway large for Beira) super market (Shoprite) I see teen age young people milling around in the mall next to the super market. They seem to be high school age, all are dressed well and have fashionable hairdos or hats and most of them are carrying and likely using a cell phone. Many are standing in line to get to the ATM or are shopping in the store by Shoprite that sells electronic items—mostly cell phones and their accessories. I rank these kids in that upper level that may have a chance to make this place grow and develop if they take the proper steps.

Another example can be seen in this same place of the same age kids hanging around the cars that are parked in the parking lots and at the gateway where one enters the shopping mall or leaves it. These kids are still dressed quite well, but some of them will be begging, while others are selling things like phone cards, watches, other small trinkets, belts or ties and even clothing. These kids, while desperate for money, are at least doing something to lift themselves up from their current status, and trying to make things a little better for themselves. This group is primarily boys. I haven’t seen any girls near the mall that look like they would fit in this category.

The next group down this seemingly hopeless ladder can be seen in the villages and on the streets of the city. They might be standing or sitting around in small groups talking, but not doing anything that is productive. I have spoken to several of this grouping and find they are desperate for work, but none is to be found. The ones I had spoken to are not in school, and when I find out the details, they are lacking the money it takes to pay off the school administrators who are running scams to get money for special enrollments in their schools. One specific example of that regarding a young 17 year old boy named Matthew. After meeting this boy, I wrote a letter about him and his situation to my friend. Part of the letter follows:

…The other thing I ran into this week that has caused me much consternation is a situation with a boy named Matthew that has been helping us recently out at this lady's farm where we have been installing a rope and washer pump. He's a 17 year old boy who shows a lot of initiative and is obviously very intelligent. He speaks a little English, so the other day I was talking with him while we were having lunch and asking why he was not in school. He said he wanted very much to be in school, but has only completed the 7th grade and needs a 1000 Meticales (Mozambican currency) before he can continue. I calculated the amount that this was, about $40, and asked if that would take him through the whole year, and he said yes that it would. Then he explained that there was some sort of quota of 250 students that get into secondary school free, and that when this quota is filled, anyone else that gets in has to pay this fee to the registrar. The boy went on to tell my how he would like to get in school, and knows that without an education, his life is nothing. He went on to tell me that if he was able to finish 10th grade he would be able to get a job in the Hospital. I wasn't clear what he said about working in the Hospital, but that became clear later when I leaned that to get a job, one has to complete 10th grade and have a certificate to show the employer.

As we were talking Adolfo who was nearby who speaks quite good English, overheard the conversation I was having with Matthew and told me that he has children in school and that he has to pay this same fee for them to get them in. Then he told me a shocking story that this 1000 Meticales "fee" was paid to the registrar under the table and that it was illegal, but was condoned by the higher ups in the school. He said the reason it exists is because there is a great deal of uncontrolled corruption in the schools and that it comes all from the top.

I went home and thought about this all night and decided the next day that I would find something that I could assign this boy to do to create an education fund for him. I was thinking that the best way to do this would be to put him to work and pay him for working for me. We have some gardening work that I could have him do in preparation for our gardening people who are coming over to Mozambique in May and I could pay him at a rate of 200 Meticales a day for working in the garden until he had the thousand Meticales. At the time it sounded like a good plan until I started thinking that if I paid him the amount he needs and he in turn pays the registrar, this is promoting the corruption and even encouraging it to continue.

The next day, I mentioned this problem to Filipe, one of our staff members here in Mozambique, and he had another story to tell that clarifies the reason this corruption occurs in the first place. He said that when the Portuguese ran the country the education system was quite good and there was no corruption (before 1975). But when the Mozambique natives took over and ran the Portuguese out along with it went the good schooling system. Over the years the population has increased at a rate greater than the government’s ability to build new schools, and so the only way people can get their kids in school above 7th grade is when there are classroom seats available, and these are very scarce.

As Adolfo said, because of the shortage of classroom seats, there are quotas set for how many children can get in free under the government program. Initially for every school there is an open enrollment for first come first served that is set at 250 for each school. But all schools have room for a lot more students, so to fill the rest of the seats in a given school the school administrators are left to fill those seats with their own children or those of their relatives. This program was supposed to help alleviate the classroom shortages they have in the country. However, though it is a legal system it makes it easy for school teachers and administrators to be corrupt in the enrollment of children. According to Filipe, it is not at the higher levels of education that is making this happen, but at the teacher and registrar level, and here is how he says it all gets started: Apparently when the first open enrollment quota is met for any school (250 students), then the teachers or administrators are allowed to enroll (at no cost) any of their relatives up to a certain number. That works okay when the teacher or administrator has children of their own or nieces or nephews he/she can enroll. But if they don't they can and do bend the rule and go to the registrar with a story that they have this nephew or other relative that wants to be enrolled, and so the registrar allows it. But what he doesn't always know, unless he is in on the deal, which Filipe says is most often the case, the person to be enrolled is not a relative, but is someone who is willing to pay the 1000 Meticales under the table.

I really want to assist this young man in getting into the 8th grade by having him earn the money he needs. I would pay him out of my own pocket, but don't know how to do that without jamming the system more. So I asked Filipe if there is any way that I can get this boy started and not break down the system more. He said that I could just pay the boy and hope that the corruption is curtailed at some point or I could have the boy take the money to the registrar, but have the police notified that this is happening and have them arrest the person responsible (this Filipe said happened just a short time ago in one of the schools). This second option would likely be difficult to pull off, as Filipe says that people are really being cautious now that this arrest has been made and it is well known. He said that we should have another conversation with the boy about working and making money and more details about what the school is requiring of him, and then work out the details on how we might make it a success and get the boy in school. I had to ask myself what is the most important? Get the boy in school or try to curb a very entrenched system of corruption. I choose to get the boy in school.

I can just imagine that there are really thousands of children all over the country who have completed the seventh grade. Schooling up to the 7th grade is available to most children and is free; but for those who would like to continue, lack of funds or a strong desire not to feed the corruption is holding them back. They are missing out on their chance for a decent education and are having to go on without it.

The last group, the most hopeless of all, is those children I have seen mostly in the villages, but also on the streets of Beira, who are simply struggling to survive. For most of these, especially in the villages, either there is no school available, or those that are school age are unable to go to school because of lack of facilities in their area or their parents don’t allow them to go to school (mostly female children of Muslim parents).

Every where I have gone in the city of Beira and the surrounding region I have found many small children who are obviously products of the impoverished. Those that are on the streets of Beira are either begging or leading blind people around who are begging or are simply grouped in locations between buildings, in alleys or around the open markets. In the villages they always show up when we are around, but unlike the village children I experienced in other parts of Africa, these small children of Mozambique seem to be in a state of despair. They don’t bother us for anything, but stay out of the way and simply stand around and observe what we are doing. I haven’t seen many of them playing, nor do they seem like they have the energy to do so.

Just the other day, for example, while we were on our way across a muddy marshland on our way to Piri-Piri, our vehicle got stuck in the mud. We worked on freeing it for some time without success and then one of the government people who were with us walked to the nearest home and sequestered some help. A boy of nine or ten came along with the two men and for almost an hour while they and the rest of us worked to get the car free, this boy, a dirty urchin with ragged clothes, just stood off to the side and watched. Later when the car was free and we had arrived at the community of Piri-Piri three children came by as soon as we arrived. We were at this place surveying where we will be building a school and talking with community officials for almost an hour. The entire time we were at this place these three children stood by looking at us with such pathetic looks I almost cried for them. Currently there is no school in this community for children and so these and others I am sure are being left out with no current hope of any change—at least until we can manage to get a school building erected.

I have pondered on the situation with all of these children and believe there are some solutions. However, great steps need to be taken by the older ones, and firstly by the educated older ones before any slight change can be made. Of course there must be administrative changes made as well, like curbing of the corruption in the schools, but that’s another matter that is out of the hands of these children. I have yet to determine a way that my ideas might be implemented, but for now I place them in this blog as a starting point.

Right now in the city of Beira, as one example, there are hundreds of shops that provide goods of all sorts, from food to clothing to paper goods, and hardware to name a few. And for reasons I don’t fully understand most of them are being operated by East Indians or other East Asians. They employ a few natives, but in all the cases that I have observed, there are no partnerships involved and I have seen first hand and heard from the Ascend staff that these native workers are like slaves, and they say their pay in very poor. So on this matter I can see that this overbalance has to change in the future and somehow these educated young people have to make business plans, get partner financing and set up their own businesses competing with the Indians. I am convinced that when they are able to do this, they will provide the competition just because they are natives that will make them successful and eventually cause the Indian businesses to collapse or they will have to upgrade their businesses and form local partnerships to survive.

For the next group of same age teens who have no education and no means of getting money to buy their way into the classroom, I believe they have to take a stand with the government and the school officials and curb the corruption that is holding them back from having free education to 10th grade. I do not see the government or the upper level school officials taking care of this problem, so a “boot straps” approach, in my opinion is the only way.

The next generation following these older children, especially in the villages where there are no classrooms for them will simply have to wait until the government or NGO’s like us have the means to provide the children with enough classrooms in the primary levels.

There is one more factor in this complicated process of getting this country on its feet that involves the current adult population, but is a significant aspect in bringing the children along with it. That is the current subtle growth of the Muslim population in the villages and the city. By subtle, I mean that that growth of the numbers of people joining the Muslim faith must be held to a minimum through recognition of the ways this growth is taking place. Good examples of how this is happening in such places as Ethiopia, Somalia, Algeria and other African countries should be a warning to the people of Mozambique that it could and is happen here. The process is simple, but powerful. From some foreign entity (I believe from rich Saudi religious zealots) money is flowing into these countries (and I am sure Mozambique is also a target country) and into the hands of the religious leaders in the communities both in the cities and the villages. This money makes these religious leaders rich and powerful, and soon they are pressing the public to join them and become part of this prosperous entity. They proselyte by building mosques (using this foreign money) and encouraging the current members to create multiple marriages and have many children. Secondly, they seek out young women not of their faith and either lure them into early marriage or they abduct them and put them with men who “need” a second or third child-bearing wife. The overall affect of this will be that the Muslim men will subject their women and young girls to marriage and away from school, making it so that the females have no chance in life but to have babies and be subject or property of their men. The subtlety of this comes with is slow but steady process of increasing the numbers of Muslims in a given area or region. Once the numbers get into the 50% or more of the population they can then become politically involved and make changes in the way the government runs. And soon there is an Islamic state, run by the religious zealots with the Koran as the constitution.

I stand amazed at all that has to be done both physically and socially to get this county working as it can be. It has the natural resources and all the people it needs, it just has to be directed and empowered to do the right things and take the right steps, and we shall see the children of Mozambique leading the way as they gain adulthood.

A Search for Buckets Changes the Day

I never cease to be amazed at the timidity and naivety of the people in developing countries. I have seen this anomaly more since I have been here in Mozambique than any other place I have been so far. Now that I am once again absorbed into the society, activities and challenges of working here I find myself getting temporarily frustrated, wondering how much I am causing what I see and checking out ways that I might prevent these seemingly debilitating incidents that I casually cause. It has occurred to me that much of why countries like Mozambique have not progressed beyond the point that they are currently at is because of their gentle accepting attitude, and most important the naivety of the people in general. Day after day I see examples that make me wonder how they have even gotten as far as they are now in development and modernization. The example that I will feature in today’s blog to make this point is just a simple one, but is one that is so indicative of every day activities that I see and so frequently shake my head at that I have to surrender and let be. Here’s what happened most yesterday (Saturday, 29 March 2008):

Our Director came to the office early Saturday morning. She had told me on Friday that she had some work to do on the books and was going to organize the tool shed. She had brought the local consultant who does the accounting for Ascend and it was my expectation that they were going to do the work on the books that she had been talking about on Friday. It was near the end of the month and so it made sense that this was the goal. I, too, had a goal for the day, but its priority was very low, but I did want to get it done during some part of the day. So I mentioned it to the Director and said that we needed to do this sometime that day. The task I wanted to do was to meet with a local merchant in the city (Beira) who had promised to get some information on costs of PVC pipe from a manufacturer in Johannesburg. We had missed seeing this man on Friday as planned, as we had worked too late to get back into the city to see him, so I thought since his shop would be open, it would be logical to do it on Saturday.

The Director asked me when I wanted to do this (she speaks only a few words of English, but understands much more), and I told her that anytime during the day would do for me. She asked if I wanted to do it right them and I said it didn’t matter to me, but if she wanted to we could go right then. She said yes that she wanted to go right then, so I didn’t argue. She said something to the consultant, and in just a few moments we were loading into the vehicle for the ride to town. I was sure it would not take too long, so I didn’t oppose the idea since it seemed to me that her response to me that it would be best if we went right then was really what she wanted to do. At first I thought it was strange that the accountant was going with us, but I knew he spoke a few more words of English than she and he was going along to interpret. As we loaded up, on of the guards, a young man who also cleans the house and does my laundry got into the car with us. On the Director’s instructions he loaded some things in the car (packages and a box) and we were off for the trip to town.

There was only the conversation between the Director and the accountant as we went to town and the guard said nothing all the way in. When we arrived in the city in a few minutes and instead of going to the merchant’s shop she went to another part of the city and dropped the accountant off. He got out of the car as if his work was done, and I thought maybe he was going to take care of some business and meet us later. In a few minutes more of weaving through the streets of Beira, we suddenly arrived in front of the place where the Director lives. She said something to me that I didn’t understand, but figured she needed something from her house that she had forgotten. Instead, the guard got out, took the packages he had loaded into the car and disappeared into the corridor of the apartment. We drove off.

Our next stop was the Portuguese merchant’s shop where we spent a few minutes with the man only to find out that his contact in South Africa had been out of town the previous week and he was unable to get the information I needed. I would have to wait until Wednesday and come back to see him then. Okay, we could now pick up the accountant and go back to the office. I was through with the things I had to do. But no. Instead, the Director said, “We go lookey for buckets now,” and off we went.

I had been talking all week about the need to find some buckets for our water purification project, but I wanted a special kind of bucket that I had not seen in any of the hardware stores we had visited previously. She explained to me in more broken English that she knew this place and we would go there now. We hadn’t taken too long at the merchant’s shop, so I thought she was killing time before going back to pick up the accountant. I just went along. So in a few moments we were parking and walking to an Indian shop (most of the shops in the city are run by East Indians) that featured all kinds of Chinese-made buckets, basins, water cans and everything else that people use for their domestic needs that are made from plastic. There were buckets there, just like we had seen at many of the other places. In fact, they were exactly like all the ones we had passed over on previous trips. I tried to explain to the Director that these were not adequate because they were too flimsy, but she just took that as a challenge and soon we were going to another place. I kept my eyes open for a place that might have a bucket like I wanted, but didn’t see any quite yet. Over the next half hour, we must have gone to at least six of these same Indian shops but every one had the same kind of bucketa that the Director kept picking up and showing me, as if they were different than the last. But unfortunately, it was obvious to me that they were all made by the same Chinese manufacturer, and were only different colors or sizes. When we were walking to one of these places, we passed a vendor who was selling eggs. I mentioned that I needed eggs and wanted to buy some, but the Director said, “No good!! We go another place.” Now, suddenly, it seemed we were on another track not related to buckets or getting back to the office, so I just followed along after she refused to let me convince her that I didn’t really need the eggs right then.

We weren’t far from the egg shop, but on the way, there was a soft ice cream vendor on the sidewalk that had two of the kind of buckets I wanted sitting right my his machine, I guessed full of the mixture they were using in the machine. I stopped her and showed her the buckets, and she waved her finger at me telling me by showing me some paint on a post nearby that these were paint buckets, and that they were not what I wanted. It was what I wanted, but she insisted she knew another place that sold the buckets I really wanted. We got the eggs around the corner, and coming back as we passed the ice cream vendor, I stopped to look at the buckets again and tried to get her attention, but she was off to her own place. I followed and soon we were in another part of the city getting out of the parked car walking to another place to look for buckets.

This few minute stride took us through an open market place that was shop after shop of used car parts, bolts, tires, telephone parts, electrical things and every other used object one could imagine. It was a long way as I was walking without my hat and trying not to hit my head on the low hanging shades that prevailed along the narrow crowded path we were following. I had not known we were going to a market place when I got out of the car, so I didn’t bother to pick up my head protection. Finally, however, I figured out that we were in fact going to another plastic vendor (not the Indian shop kind, as all the shops in these open market places are always operated by Mozambique natives--another thing about this country that gets me—that only the lowest level of marketing is being done by Mozambique people. What a shame that the Indians have grabbed up all the good jobs in the country).

The plastic vendor, not to my surprise, had the same buckets as we had been seeing everywhere else we went. The Director tried her best to convince me that they were different and stronger (I guessed that since this shop was owned by a native, that it made the buckets stronger—I don’t know). We made our way through the maze, I was guessing, on the way back to the car, when suddenly I saw a young boy carrying a bucket just like the one I needed. I stopped the Director and pointed to the bucket and attempted to show her the difference between the buckets we had been looking for and reaffirmed that we needed to find this kind of bucket, not the others that were hanging all around our heads in the various shops nearby. She talked to the boy briefly and I was certain she was asking him where he bought it. I was relieved that we may now finally be on the right track as she left urgently heading back to the car. The next stop was at yet another Indian shop with the same Chinese buckets we had been seeing for the previous hour or more. Once again the Director tried to convince me that these buckets were different, but they weren’t. I guess the boy didn’t know where he bought the bucket or told the Director the wrong place. Well, anyway we didn’t get the bucket, and the Director seemed like she was anxious to go pick up the accountant and get back to the office to do her work, so she sort of ended the search for the day by saying that she would Sunday for a bucket for me. I thought at the time that she will for sure find buckets, but they will be the same old ones we had been seeing all along. I wouldn’t be surprised if she buys one of the Chinese buckets that she finds.

We found the car and instead of picking up the accountant, we were soon on the main street that takes us back to the office. The Director’s agenda had obviously changed by then as I was not really surprised when we got back to the office that she said she was going to organize the tool shed (a task she had mentioned before that she was going to do on Saturday along with working on the books).

You know, this is what I would label as a funny but sad story. But it is so typical of the day to day routines that go on as we attempt to get things done here in this country. The frustrations are never ending, and one thing that I have come to believe, is that I have to be very careful how I exert my own influence on these people when a simple statement like I made on Saturday that I wanted sometime during the day to go to this merchant’s shop, that turns into an agenda change that puts everything that was planned in the trash can. I haven’t as yet quite figured out how to avoid these things happening, but I have noticed that the same is true everywhere I have been. Somehow simple statements coming from me tend to carry a lot of weight with these naïve and inexperience people and I have to be very careful how I use that “hidden authority.”

This Is Mozambique

March 21, 2008

This whole area including the town where I live, a suburb of Beira, has its own character and ambience that grabs at me every time I walk down its streets or take rides along its roads. Take yesterday, for example, me and Filipe (the Program Coordinator for Ascend here in Beira) were working in the office in the morning, so just after noon, me and him decided to walk down the street about a half mile and have lunch. This restaurant had been pointed out to us on occasion and even Tim Evans and I, when he was here, ventured down there for dinner one Saturday night, but it was too crowded, so we left. I asked Filipe if he had ever eaten there, and he had not, but we decided to give it a try anyway.

It was a hot sultry afternoon as we headed toward the restaurant (I have yet to discover directions here, as there are no landmarks like towers or mountains, so I am continually confused). A mongrel male dog walked across our path, looked at us and continued. Its tongue was hanging out and it looked as hot as I felt, so I suggested to Filipe that we walk on the other side of the street where there was more shade. The street was still wet from the recent flooding and here and there, puddles still remained--breeding places for the many mosquitoes that infest this area. The sun, almost exactly over our heads was bright making the colors of the day, the beautiful greens of all shades that abound here stand out and look even brighter.

Every puddle that we passed that was hidden in the brush or under some trees rang with the sound of frogs. I have never seen any of these creatures, but there must be millions of them by there sounds. There are many people walking along this same road going both way; where I can’t imagine. A lady passed us; greeting us with a nod and the local greeting which sounded like “beun dia” but means good day. Two young men, maybe in their late teens or early twenties, were standing on the side of the road as we passed. I thought to myself, these young men don’t look any different than any college kid I might see in the U.S. They are dressed in very fashionable clothing and the one boy’s hair is made into some sort of special knots, like small braids. I commented to Filipe after we passed them that I thought these boys looked like they might be college students. He nodded uninterestingly, and made no answer.

Further on we passed a little shop and I looked in seeing only what appeared to be a small bar or counter with a few things on the shelf behind. There were two young women sitting at a table outside. They watched us as we passed by and I thought, as I have many times before, that many of the women in this country, like it was in Ethiopia, are very beautiful. These two women like many others I have seen here were attractive and well dressed. The table where they were sitting was empty of glasses or food. I asked Filipe if this was a restaurant, and his comment was that this was a place where people come to drink, like a Coke or Fanta, but that it was not a restaurant.

I noticed that the sand along the dirt road we were on was still wet and that we were making tracks like many people before us had made. A lot of people walk bare feet here as so many of the tracks are shaped like the bare feet that made them. I wondered how they do this, as I have seen people everywhere in all kinds of conditions underfoot, walking without shoes—many even carrying their shoes with them. It isn’t like they don’t have shoes. I just think that shoes must be optional.

It was a long way to the restaurant and my legs were feeling it. My old bum knee was bothering me and distracting me from enjoying the stride along the road. Filipe wasn’t talking much, so I broke the silence and told him about reading an article on the Internet the night before about mice used in Mozambique to identify buried land mines. He and Adolpho (a local volunteer working with us) had told me about this the day before when we passed this compound where a lot of people were waiting at the gate and I had asked what that was about. At first I thought he was joking, but both he and Filipe insisted that this was true; that an American company was using mice to detect old buried land mines. I couldn’t hold back from investigating this story, so that night I got on the Internet and sure enough, rats, not mice, and in fact, special giant African rats are trained to sniff out the nitro glycerin in the mines believing it is food, and thus with 100% accuracy, they can clean up an entire mine field in hours what might take days or weeks with other mean. So as we trekked along a little further, I told Filipe about the rats and some of the things the article mentioned. He said he knew where this place was that was mentioned in the Internet and had some more comments, but the discussion was soon lost as we continued along the road.

As we got nearer the restaurant, I noticed a large building to the one side of the road that appeared to be a movie house. I asked Filipe about it and if it was still operating, thinking it would be nice to go to a movie sometime. But he said the building was taken over by some church, but he didn’t think it was being used. The building is in pretty bad shape like most of the buildings in this city, and I thought maybe it was condemned and is not in use. But as we passed, Filipe remarked that it was being used after all. There was a makeshift sign where the ticket booth had been advertizing the church. As we continued, I was again distracted by another thousand frogs peeping in the bushes in some hidden pond they were occupying.

Just a little further a woman, perhaps in her forties came kitty-corner across the road in our direction carrying what looked like a heavy bag of potatoes or oranges. I couldn’t see what was in the bag, but it was obviously round, large objects. She was dressed very nicely and was an attractive lady but she was walking bare footed. When she got near us, she greeted us and said something to Filipe that I didn’t understand and then she continued on her way. I thought, as I had many times before, that the people here are very friendly and greet me and others warmly even when they don’t know us.

As we continued, a car passed us quite close and swung around the corner making some pedestrians who had started across the street jump back out of the way or be run over. I commented to Filipe about the drivers here in Mozambique and how I have come to the conclusion that most drivers when they are on the road it is as if they own the road and that they are the only ones on it. Pedestrians seem to have no rights; and like the people we just saw, they have to get out of the way or get run over. I was reminded of a ride down to the city we took the other day when our driver, Jenny, who is the Director of the Ascend programs over here, seemed to be in an extraordinary hurry for some reason. It was evening and people were everywhere along this divided main road that leads from our community into the city. I noticed from the back seat that Jenny was going 90 km/hr (almost 60 mph) when suddenly I saw this man in our lane on foot just standing there. Jenny didn’t slow down. It was as if she hadn’t seen the man. I shouted at her to stop, but she just swung into the next lane to the left, crowding a car out of the way, not slowing down any and then buzzed around the guy who by then was jumping to the curb. She only missed the man by inches. Filipe was with me at the time, so I asked him to tell Jenny that she should slow down so as not to run over anyone. He did and I told her through him that I was not trying to be mean, but that I just wanted us to be safe and not crash into a pedestrian or get into an accident. She nodded her agreement and slowed down some, but later it was back to the same old offensive driving as before. As Filipe and I crossed the main road leading to the restaurant, I was not surprised when we had to hurry up to beat two cars that were approaching us from the left at a high speed when I knew we would be the victims if we didn’t get across quick enough.

The “restaurant” is really a bar and restaurant—mostly bar, as I would soon learn as the majority of people who were there and came later were drinking rather than eating. At first we went inside and sat at one of the empty tables, but it was too hot inside, so I suggested that we go outside. We did and were soon greeted by the waitress who took our orders. The special for the day was chicken with either rice or potatoes, or we could look at the menu. We ordered the chicken and two Cokes, but the lady said they didn’t have any Cokes but we could have a Fanta or Sprite.

The outside along the street was cooler by far the inside. A nice breeze and the shade made it very comfortable. The table was surprisingly clean and soon we were drinking our sodas with, believe it or not, ice in our glasses. It’s a rare thing to find ice here, and as we started to drink, I commented to Filipe that I was taking a chance that the ice was made from filtered water rather than simple tap water. But it was cold and refreshing, so I took the chance. Filipe soon complained that his glass was dirty and called over the waitress to tell her. She took his glass, poured out the contents and either gave him a new glass or cleaned the other one returning it empty. She didn’t attempt to give him another Sprite as he had lost most of his, but he didn’t complain or ask for it. Once more I was seeing the timidity of these gentle people in action. At home I would have asked for another drink or the waitress would have apologized and given me another one. This waitress just seemed disgusted that she had to make another trip outside for his clean glass.

Our lunch was long in coming. I guess we were there more than one half hour after we placed the order. In the meantime a small boy sat on the veranda by us continually asking for money and food. Everything about the boy spoke well-to-do or at least better than average for this town. He was well dressed, was clean and didn’t look at all emaciated. But yet he kept on begging and even when Filipe told him to leave on several occasions, he would persist and move only a few feet away and then he would be back. The waitresses coming in and out of the building to serve other customers never said anything to the boy. Later he was joined by another boy who did look hungry and wore ragged clothing, but this boy did not beg, nor was he a nuisance. A bit later I watched the boy with renewed interest when he was joined by another boy who insisted that he move away from us. While they talked, I noticed this other boy who was bigger and likely older, take out a paper from his pocket that was rolled up like a stick and hit the boy repeatedly on the head until the younger boy was crying. The other boy soon left, and as I watched him leave, he looked at me with a smirk that communicated something like; I’m still the boss here.

Our meal finally came and it looked and tasted good. The chicken was over cooked, but I had expected that it would be. I haven’t tasted chicken here or in South America that was not over cooked and dry, but people don’t seem to mind. We chatted as we ate and the boy continued to bother us. About half way though our meal a woman came down the street from behind me and entered the restaurant as if she was going to be a customer. She was well dressed, was not dirty or slovenly, but I noticed right away that she began going around to all the people in the restaurant begging for something. She finally came to our table and did the same. Filipe spoke to her nicely and she finally went away down the stairs and along the street. I noticed that to everyone she passed she held out her hand. This woman appeared to be about 45 or 50, but I have a hard time telling age here as people don’t really look as old as they really are.

We had finished eating and had paid for our meal when Filipe received a call on his mobile. It was Jenny who was at the office and was soon going to join us. We had planned to meet her for a meeting with the Board of Education at 2:00 P.M. so I wasn’t surprised that she was there a little early and I believed we would be going right away when she came to pick us up as it was about 1:15 P.M. when she called. In about ten minutes she arrived, joined us at the table, said something to Filipe who told me that she was hungry and would be eating before we left. I was surprised at that as it was almost 1:30 P.M. by then and I knew it took at least 15 minutes to get downtown.

Jenny ordered minutes after she arrived and as we talked I asked Filipe if there was some change in the time of the meeting, as I knew we would never be through before 2:00 P.M. He said there was no problem, but didn’t explain. I asked again if the meeting time was changed and he said no, that it would be alright if we were late. I just surrendered to the fact that time is no factor here, and continued to observe the goings-on in the restaurant while we waited for Jenny’s meal to come. Most of the people were gone by then, but inside a man who had been standing at the counter all the time we were there drinking beer kept grabbing the young woman who was waiting on tables and cleaning up after customers who had left. At first I thought he might be the manager, but later I realized he was quite drunk when he came out briefly to the door of the restaurant and did a wobbly thumbs-up to me for some reason. When he staggered back to the counter, it was obvious that he was pretty drunk.

The woman who was being grabbed by the man every time she passed the counter displayed an ambience of sex in her behaviors and dress, which was likely the reason the drunk was so attracted to her. Her tight-fitting jeans, her makeup and blouse that revealed her large bosoms were quite stylish and she was very attractive and would be one of the women I spoke of earlier who ranked as some of the most beautiful women I have seen in Africa. But her attitude, even with us, was somehow seductive for some reason. When she would come to our table, I noticed her looking at Filipe, who is a handsome young man anyway, with more than what seemed to me a “regular” look. I noticed too that when she served the man who was sitting alone in the next table to us that she seemed to do the same with him. Oh well, I concluded, being old, I guess I notice those things more than others, as neither of the men (Filipe or the other man) paid any attention to her. It was only the drunk who seemed determined to grab her each time she passed that had more than a passing interest in her—except me, of course.

Jenny finished her meal about 2:05 P.M. I had already paid for it, and to my surprise, she called the little boy over who had been pestering us continually even after she came to our table. And then she invited him to take her chicken bones and one piece she hadn’t eaten which he did, and disappeared around the corner of the building to eat it, I guessed, or to give it to someone there. Suddenly, however, I noticed that there was an urgency in our leaving that surprised me. We all rushed to the vehicle, and in seconds were speeding down the road to the meeting we were already late for. I asked Filipe on the way what was the general attitude about keeping your word around here and mentioned to him that I personally had a thing about being on time and keeping my word. I know he understood what I said but did no more than nod his head at my critique that I had attempted to make very diplomatic. Nevertheless, we raced into town like there was a fire to go to, dodging pedestrians and swinging in and out of lanes as Jenny, I guessed, tried to make up the time we had lost at the restaurant.

When we arrived at the education office, I was not surprised that the office was on the fifth floor and that the elevator was broken. Was I back in Ethiopia, I wondered? That’s the way it was there all the time. Every government office I went to during my long stay in Ethiopia seemed always to be on the third floor, and the elevator was always broken. I commented about this to Filipe on the way up the stairs and asked if we were in the right office. He said we were and not to worry, that we would not miss meeting the fellow we had planned to meet. I looked at my watch and it was 2:30 P.M. when we arrived on the fifth floor.

Jenny and I sat down, as in all occasions when I enter any office I am forced to sit down, while Filipe took an inordinately long time, it seemed, in another office. I guessed he was apologizing that we were late, but I didn’t know. He finally came back in and said we would be going to another room to wait for the man we would be meeting. We did, where we found three large couches and a coffee table and were offered to sit and wait. In a few minutes a woman joined us shaking hands, but saying no more than a few quiet words to Filipe. He mentioned that she said we were waiting for the man we were supposed to meet at 2:00 P.M. and that he had been delayed unexpectedly. When the man we were to meet finally arrived with long apologies at 3:15 P.M. I now had a better idea of how this all works in Mozambique. It had been a long an tiring day for me when we finally arrived back at the office at 4:20 P.M. ourselves late 20 minutes for a meeting on Skype with the Salt Lake Home office.