The Accident

It just wouldn't be a trip to a foreign country if I didn't have some sort of undesirable encounter with a vehicle.

In one of my earlier posts I reference my white-knuckle trip north to Belin. What scared me was people's judgment, or lack thereof. The general rule is, "Pass if you want to." Big scary bend? No problem. Oncoming traffic? Heck, they'll get out of MY way. Solid white line? That's just a suggestion. (Not that the lines are always there anyway.)

In this instance, I was feeling pretty good about my ride. We were coming back from our site visit to Gorongosa. The driver was from Chimoio, so this was his turf, and he worked for an international development firm, which for some reason made me more confident in his driving abilities (don't ask me where the logic is there). But all around cool, calm, responsible guy.

The problem, as I mentioned earlier, was the OTHER guys. It was dusk, we were on a two-lane highway approaching a big ol' semi chugging past another semi (read: in our lane) as it was coming up a hill, around a bend (see? judgment issues) and would have hit that brother head on. So, our driver calmly pulls completely off the road and comes to a stop - it wasn't going to be a good idea to drive at high speeds on the barely-there margin.

Crazy chapa driver man behind us was either not too bright or going way too fast and didn't make the move in time. Instead, he DID slam head on into the semi and spiraled into our parked car, which promptly slid down the embankment. At first I didn't realize what had happened - had we hit the truck? I just prayed we didn't start to roll. We all had on seatbelts and fortunately the car stayed upright. I walked away intact with only a headache.

Chapa folks weren't so lucky. First of all, as usual, they were packed in like sardines. All those people there? That times two, that's what filed out. The little kids were wailing. A man covered in blood was laying motionless on the sidewalk. The men were busy tugging luggage out of the front of the chapa so that they could get to the driver, who was wedged between the crushed metal frame.

We waited around for an hour or so before a friend of our driver's came to pick me and the other TDYer up. Our and his colleague stayed on. The police had arrived and were directing traffic around the scene, and some of the onlookers helped flag down a pick-up where they lifted the unconscious into the bed of the truck - an ambulance was out of the question. I have no idea how they made out. Chapa riders had begun to start the long walk to who knows where.

We eventually made it to the hotel, where they couldn't find our reservation. Go figure.

Cape Town, I love you!!!

Even though I'd been hoping to take a long trip while here, I wasn't sure whether I could swing the vacation time. But Kraemer gets antsy. We tossed around the idea of Madagascar, but it never really grabbed me, and when we found out that it's nearly just as expensive to fly there from here as it is from Washington (eh, and that bit about political strife), it got the ax.

Enter Cape Town.

YAY! Amazing!! Worth every penny!! I would LIVE there. Are you grasping my excitement here? Mom, you would like this.

There's no way to fit everything in in a week, but we sure gave it a shot. We visited the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, which are gargantuan, and I'd be out there every afternoon reading if I lived here. Gorgeous, blue Table Mountain framed by bright white clouds; a trickling stream hidden amongst leafy, green rain forest; endless exotic flowers = awesome. The first flower we walked past was with Mandela's Gold, a Bird of Paradise they spent 20 years + perfecting.


















Of course, I could never leave Cape Town without visiting wine country, so we spent an afternoon ... at only two wineries. Hey, don't drink and drive, folks. We had to limit ourselves. But we were so enamored by one that we bought a case. Mostly pinotage, but it even included a port (which Kraemer typically despises) and two whites. If only they sold it somewhere in the U.S. other than California. Maybe that's where I should move. I love wine country.



The mountains, the vineyards, the country roads, the open sky and brilliant evenings..... Anyway. I would recommend Delheim to anyone. I might even get it shipped to me. The one right before it - Murati, just in case you go, was cool-looking, their windows covered in cobwebs and the rooms stalked with heirlooms, but their wine was forgettable.

We went on the recommendation of a lovely woman (and her hubby) that we'd met while eating lunch at Olympia Cafe in Kalk Bay. Pretty sure it used to be a dry town back in the day; something about the king not wanting to have to deal with a bunch of drunk sailors. Makes sense. This was the cutest, quaintest little harbor town I've ever seen. The shops ran the gamut and were all adorable, little antique shops, art galleries, shops with vintage clothing, ice cream and gelato shops, shops, shops, shops, all right on the water, watching the boats come in.

Olympia's was divine. Fresh bread. Fresh juice. Heavy pour on our second glass of wine, to share. Our waitress was sweet. I had a scrumptious seafood pasta dish (I'm always looking for one done in red sauce and not cream!) and Kraemer inhaled his fish. We were seated out back, with walls of cracked stones and gems, and a little picnic table further out back (that was sucking down some good-looking mimosas with fresh orange juice). Kraemer made me leave early because we were there forever, and there was no way I should be eating all the mousse they gave me for dessert.


The V&A Waterfront, while as much as I want to call it a big mall, is really than just a big mall - it's on the harbor, and - featured once again - Table Mountain is lit up with spectacular blue lights in the background. (We climbed Table Mountain ... and took the cable car back down.) We ate at a good Thai spot, Wang Thai; twice, in fact, as the second time we really just were in search of ANY place that served a drink where we could sit and watch the semifinals. Actually made a killer spicy martini.

And while we're talking drinks: has anyone else discovered Appletisers? Only after I looked at their website did I realize they have flavors other than apple, grape and pear. They have POMEGRANATE. People in SA drink them everywhere and with anything. They mix it with their whiskey. They mix it with their wine. They drink it straight up. They probably serve it over ice cream or cook it inside of chickens (hey, we cook ours with a beer can).

We also discovered this amazing deli: Giovanni's. Well, not really, my coworker Bita told us about it, but It. Was. SO. Good. Seriously. We were there six days and I think we ate there at least three times. They basically have the biggest selection of ham ever, gourmet sides, dips and cheeses and wide selection of freshly baked bread (multigrain with toasted pumpkin seeds! toasty french loaf! homemade salty pretzel bread, holy cow!) Delicious breakfast goods goes without saying. Fortunately for us, it was basically right outside our door.

That, and the stadium. The place was nuts. At some points it was impossible to get from Point A to Point B, visible from Point A, without walking about 1/2 a mile out of your way and pushing the guy with the clown wig out of your path. There sure were some stellar costumes though. I think some people confused the World Cup with Halloween.

We spent some time driving (or, rather, Kraemer spent some time driving, since I am a pathetically incompetent individual and cannot drive stick, sorry!) up and down the coast, too. Took in beautiful Chapman's Peak, met with the penguins, had a run in with some baboons (but not nearly as close as another car, which had a pretty mean-looking 'boon pop a squat on the hood of their car) and peered over the meeting of the waters at Cape Point. We got a glimpse of the suburban beach town north of Cape Town with some sundowners at the Blue Peter (though next time? We'd stay in town and watch the sunset from the 12 Apostles. I write this for all of you who make the right choice and visit CT.)

As usual, food featured very highly in my adventure. We treated ourselves with a dinner at Aubergine, where we indulged in the degustation menu paired by a sommelier who visited our table between courses to describe his selection. We dined on tian of waterhog confit and crusoy potato, squid ink noodles with skate wing and calamari, the "cape sea harvest" (I can't remember what it was!), loin of lamb and aubergine, wizenberger puffs and dessert. And those aren't even the full descriptions. Uh huh. We also enjoyed a cookies and cream milkshake at Mr. Pickwick's (known for their shakes, that one in particular), some delicious salads and sandwiches at Frieda's, another fine dining experience at Savoy Cabbage and a thali (yay, how I missed you, my never-ending cheap lunch!) at Masala Dosa.

What we didn't do: Robben Island (our tour was canceled due to wind) or the open-top bus tours (both times we went to the office, all tours were off since roads were closed because the World Cup was in town). Plus probably another thing or two. ;)

The Bandit

O Escondidinho

Taryn and I went to Ilha De Mozambique because everybody says its awesome. It was briefly the capital of Portuguese East Africa and, as you do when you're conquering foreign lands, you build a big-ass fort. The fort on Ilha de Mozambique is appropriately named the Fortaleza, which I translate to mean, The Big-Ass Fort. It is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which in my mind means that it has been recognized as of such significant cultural importance to the world that the United Nations will step in and insure that it will be here for our grandchildren to see. Apparently that is not the case and a lot of people I talked to on the island indicated that it might lose its designation. They didn't really seem to care as UNESCO hadn't really done anything to help the island.

The island is quite the dichotomy of cultures. The north is composed of stone houses built by the Portuguese and is appropriately named Stone Town (you have to like a town with a no bullshit naming convention). The southern half of the island is made up of a town of locals. Some of whom fish, but most of whom just hang out for the day in relative poverty.

But what a place to be poor. The beaches are beautiful, the weather is pretty darn nice because of the sea breeze, and there is a fair amount of tasty quality seafood. Apparently, this high-life of the do-nothingness has attracted quite a few people to the island (or convinced nobody to ever leave). The unsustainable overpopulation has lead to some bad outcomes, such as the inability of the island to support the amount of waste its inhabitants produce. Most of the locals grab a squat in the ocean, so it's not exactly a swimming beach. I kind of think having the gentle waves lapping at your feet during your morning movement sounds refreshing...until I realize your movement will also soon be lapping at your feet.

That said, Taryn and I stayed at an idyllic restored Portuguese house in Stone Town named O Escondidinho, which means the bandit. It was nice and peaceful and had one heck of a restaurant where we ate bolo chocolate (the best brownie in the country) and had a Lobster that was better than anything I've eaten in Maine.

We hit up the Palace, or governor’s residence, which is still decorated with colonial style furniture and gives you a pretty good idea of how everyone lived circa 1500. Apparently it was still in use around 1970 when the president sat on an antique bench and broke it. He declared on the spot that the place was becoming a museum.

In addition to the palace there was also a maritime museum that wasn't half bad. It had all of the regular stuff: cannons, swords, anchors and the like. But it also had a ton of Ming dynasty porcelain. Apparently a shipwreck nearby the island was carrying porcelain and in 2002 a Dutch archeologist team found the largest collection of porcelain ever. I thought that they did a pretty good job of donating some back to the island for the museum but according to the locals, they didn't do enough. I always think that unless the shipwreck contains something that's of "significant" cultural importance (like the lost crown of Botswana or some such) then finders, keepers.

The Fortelasia was also a huge slave trading port. They would put slaves in small boats and string them together forming a daisy chain of rowboats filled with slaves. I'm sure that a bit of the explanation was lost in translation but you essentially picked up a few slaves on your way out of the harbor and then set sail for Indonesia or some other little spice island. The guard also seemed to be quite proud of the execution site. I guess that's the part of the tour that elicits the most reaction, and on a sleepy little island town, about as much excitement as the guard expects.





Another strange happening on the island is the complete lack of fresh water wells. You would think that before you declare a place a capital you would at least get past Maslow's base level, but instead the Portuguese built all of the buildings to channel water into basement systems that are still used today (though the majority of water is piped in from the mainland).

On the way to the airport we passed a little village that was next to what use to be one of the largest soap manufacturers in Southern Africa. During the war it fell into disuse and disrepair and the locals put the scrap metal to good use, making it into roofing tiles.

When we were in the airport I came upon this wonderful window into the Mozambique psyche. For those of you who do not read Portuguese, the note says, "Be advised, Do not use this urinal"...it's difficult to read because someone pissed on it.

A Day on the Job

I love my office. Right now, I'm talking physical space. And that's right - I said office, not cube. Who knows the next time I’ll get an office, because goodness knows I don’t have one back in the wonderful world of Washington. And even here I better appreciate it while I can – these digs are temporary. Please see Exhibit A. One whole wall is basically a window, and I get a nice glimpse of the ocean - when the sun starts to set (and yes, I'm here when it does that since it sets so early), I can see it reflecting in the glass that separates my office from the rest of the room. Absolutely fabulous. See Exhibit B. Now, yes, the people. Even better than my view. I had the pleasure of meeting several of them when they flew into DC for the Worldwide Program Officer Conference I helped organize back in February. They were friendly then and just as much so now, checking on me throughout the day, showing me where to eat around the office, providing tips on how the heck to fit exercise in my schedule (given time and safety and transportation constraints), suggesting where to go on the weekends ... the list goes on.

Maybe more than anything what I like – oddly, I guess? – about my colleagues is how much some of them know about my personal life and how much I know about theirs. Basically as soon as I got here I had bacon on a Sunday morning with my boss and watched as her son stabbed his French toast and her daughter pranced around in her princess nightgown. I sat in the living room with another colleague and his wife and discussed their “naughty room” (it’s not what you think!) It’s a totally different scenario than what I have in Washington, and I love it.

Right, now so what do I actually do? At the risk of boring you all, I’ll give some of the details. And I’ll start by saying I really like it. Sure, I’m still doing some of the stuff no one really wants to do, like putting together the weekly bullets to send in to Washington, but I also get to do stuff that challenges me and exposes me to aspects of development in areas I knew little about. I’ve designed a water and sanitation activity and am now writing up a Request for Applications. I’m working with the Education Team to develop our brand new education portfolio. I’m writing scopes of work and hiring people. I’m consulting with implementing partners on their performance monitoring plans. I’m doing branding assessments and writing public relations pieces and, of course, I’m editing everything under the sun. I’m learning all the time.

What does this all mean? Maybe I was cut out for the Foreign Service after all. Really, though, I have really enjoyed my work here and exploring a new country – it’s just too darn far from home to make this a permanent situation. P.S. Sigh, although …. even the ride to work every morning is like being on vacation. See Exhibit C. ;)

Gorongosa

Hunkering down day in and day out in a cubicle in Washington generates a certain amount of separation from the reason you’re there, from the people you got into development to help. So in my MOU I’d negotiated one of my duties/responsibilities to be a site visit, where I could go to see for myself what USAID is doing. Honest to goodness, that’s all I wanted to see... Okay, with plans to tack on a trip at the end. A personal trip never happened, but what I got instead, and I am NOT complaining, was a USAID-funded trip to a national park. And for anyone concerned about their tax dollars, I promise I did work. No. Really.

Gorongosa has a pretty wild history. It’s Mozambique’s big success story, and everyone loves the place because of what its restoration means for how far the country has come since war. After Mozambique achieved independence and the Portuguese jumped ship, the party claiming power (FRELIMO – and they’re still in power) established itself as a communist government. This freaked out the surrounding countries, who started supporting the opposition group, RENAMO. RENAMO camped out anywhere they could, eventually attacking the park’s camp, kidnapping a couple of the staff. From that point on, the park closed and transformed into a battleground – you can still see where the shells gutted the camp’s dormitories and offices.

Needless to say, this didn’t bode well for the wildlife. Besides becoming casualties of combat, the animals were hunted for their goods, which were sold in exchange for weapons, and for meat to feed both the soldiers and surrounding villagers, who the rebels kept from making a living or feeding themselves any other way. The zebras were completely wiped out. So were the lions. The buffalos, the elephants, the hippos.

Cue Greg Carr, a Michigan man. From what I understand, he made all his money as the creator of voice mail (not answering machines), and maybe SMS. He started the Greg Carr Foundation and invested heavily in the park, so much so that the foundation and the Gorongosa Restoration Project became one in the same. They’ve built a wildlife sanctuary, have reintroduced elephants from Kruger (see pic from a press release) and may have zebras from Zimbabwe in their future. They have invested in the surrounding community as well, which is key since though the war is long gone, there is still lots of poaching that goes on, not to mention cutting for timber and slashing and burning to clear land for cultivation.

While I was there I was checking up on their branding and marking, making sure the USAID brand was visible (we have a big issue with no one knowing who we are since we give the money but never get out there and actually implement the activities); helping them improve their monitoring and evaluation plan; and collecting information for “success stories,” which continually heightened my opinion of the work they’re accomplishing there. They are doing some pretty innovative stuff with waste management, including fashioning stylish sandals out of tire treads. And some of the community members are really getting on board, like this dude who grows saplings and donates them to schools for planting. Overall, awesome learning experience.

I stayed in a sweet little grass-roof chalet - sweet because it had hot running water, a comfy bed, open windows and cool, still nights. And it looked authentic. I met Andy, a TDYer in from Washington, who was ensuring proper inclusion of biodiversity into the reforestation project. I also got to meet Greg. He’s a pretty cool dude. Friendly, definitely ambitious, and clearly knows what he wants done and how. When he comes to the park he’s got lots of business to do and some bigwigs along for the trip, so they bring in a helicopter. They had it then, and I was promised a ride if they could fit me, which sadly never came to pass. Very admirable that they’re responsible with their funds, but I admit I was jumping up and down a little bit when I thought I was getting on.
The park is different from what you imagine an African safari park to be. It’s got a lot of brush and is a little more temperate than most, rain-forest like at times. Amazing bird life. I never thought I’d be into birds but these lilac-breasted rollers were brilliant. We saw some crocodiles, about nine kinds of antelope, baboons, monkeys, and a ton of warthogs. Not surprisingly given the numbers, no elephants and no lions, but I’m counting on those at Kruger. I asked about going running in the camp, and they recommended the nearby dilapidated football field for laps … followed by a warning that they’d discovered fresh lion tracks. Um, no thanks. I want to stay alive more than I want to stay in shape.

KFC

As for what I do here, I work with chicken. I guess after working with Louis Dreyfus it makes sense that I'd come full circle and work with chickens again. Instead of a giant conglomerate like Tyson or Pilgrim's-Pride I work with the small guys. Most big farmers don't grow all of the chickens themselves. They sell chicks and feed to small farmers, the farmers raise the chicks, and then they sell them back to the big guys for slaughtering and packaging. So I work with the small guys and a few of the big consolidators to improve the competitiveness of the sector as a whole.

Ponta d’Ouro

Even before arriving in Mozambique Kraemer had been in touch with a friend of a friend named Blake who had been living here for several years and gave us the scoop on the safety situation in Maputo, whether Kraemer should bring his tent and how he’d really love if Kraemer could bring him some pine nuts so that he could whip up the pesto he was craving. He and his partner, Tumelga, purchased land and are building a home in Ponta d’Ouro. The beach is named the Golden Point for the shipwrecks said to have left behind treasure. As the southern-most beach in Mozambique, it's just 10kms from the South African border.

So when they were headed down, we took the offer to grab the backseat. Glad we did, as I’m not sure we would have made it otherwise. The road to the beach was less a road and more a conglomeration of dirt and sand trails that split every 50 meters or so. If a driver decided that the trail was getting too worn or wasn’t drivable, all he needed to do was start his road off to a different side. A few cars later and there would be a new road; of course not a sign was to be seen (though Blake claimed that “all roads lead to Ponta”). And calling it bumpy is a complete understatement. After a light rain we did pass one chappa stuck hopelessly in the sand with its passengers either pushing or milling around the road, waiting ‘til either they dug it up or night fell and the tigers started to pick them off one by one.

The town itself is small with a decidedly rustic feel. There are a few restaurants and lodges, but the place is still underdeveloped, probably owing to the pain-in-the-ass, 150km road that takes 4 hours. The bad road has its advantages though as when we stepped onto the beach there was approximately nobody around. That’s a big fat zero. So we plopped down on a nice sandy stretch with the waves crashing in front of us and the lush green hills rising behind. One hippy traveler chick did manage to walk by and looked as if, with a mile of virgin beach uninhabited, she was going to settle right in front of our piece of beach. Taryn shot her a pretty evil eye, so she moved on.

Tumelga’s mother and uncle are living in Ponta, and as soon as they heard that the land was available, her mother told Blake. They plan to use the house themselves but mostly to rent it out – a pretty solid investment, as there are plans for a new bridge from Maputo to be built within the next two years that would reduce the trip by an hour and for the road itself to be improved.

We stayed at Kaya Kweru, a nondescript lodge with basic amenities, a pool and a restaurant. And for anyone looking for a place to stay there, I’d definitely recommend this joint if you take their recently-added self-catering option (meaning you have access to a kitchen), which was clean, private and saved us lots of money!

I hate LAM

Kraemer is working with TechnoServe here in Maputo, but they flew him to check out some chickens up north in Nampula. A fabulous little escape called Ilha de Mocambique is situated just 2hrs from the city, so we made arrangements for me to come meet him in Nampula before shuttling to the island for a weekend in paradise.

But with the good comes the bad. And a verrry long day.

I had requested my (half-day) Friday off and left the house at 6:30 am or so to catch my 8 am flight. I was just a little nervous about being in the airport by myself, even though I knew it was small, and when I got there, I was, well, lost. I thought I’d found the check-in area for domestic flights, but as I scanned the signs – Tete, Beira, Chimoio – my final destination was nowhere to be found. I asked an attendant stationed at the entrance (doing absolutely nothing), who didn’t have an answer for me. I meandered around the airport looking for additional counters. Surely I was just missing something obvious. When I stumbled upon the LAM customer service desk, it took about five full minutes of scanning through the computer for them to find information about my flight.

I should have known right away that I was in for it when it took so long for her to tell me my flight time. Finally, she heaved a sigh, stood up and walked outside her glassed-off cube to explain to me that my flight wasn’t leaving until 9:40.

Sure, I wasn’t happy, but I thought I could just wait. And then came the real news. No, no, my flight wasn’t delayed, it was CANCELED. And I wasn’t leaving at 9:40 AM, I was leaving at 9:40 PM.

Back to work.

They told me to come back by 7:30pm and everyone at work agreed – you never know when they’ll give away your spot.

7:30PM I arrived on time, found the right counter and made it through security in three minutes flat. I’d planned to carry-on but as I was about to walk away the lady told me my bag looked too heavy and made me check it. I had kept my money with me of course but forgot I’d left my camera in the top pocket. Crossed my fingers.

7:33PM Plop into an entirely uncomfortable plastic chair and amuse myself by staring at the other foreigners.

8:36PM Woman beside me wonders aloud when we’ll board and where, given the place has no signs and no attendants to be seen. Proceed to enter into long conversation covering topics ranging from dining options in Maputo to dating practices in the U.S.

9:10AM Attempt to board the flight flying from Maputo to Nampula to Pemba, given that my ticket doesn’t say anything about a layover in Beira, though apparently there is. The woman I’d been chatting with tries, too, and we both got nasty glares and an earful. Something about our stupidity, I'm sure. But this woman actually spoke Portuguese and was lost, so you can see how I'd be confused.

9:20PM First plane departs. Excuse me?! You mean there was an EARLIER, DIRECT flight, and you didn’t put me on it when my flight got canceled?

9:30PM Told we’ll board at 9:40.

9:40PM Absolutely no boarding.

10:00PM Nothing. Bar closes.

10:30PM Nothing. Try talking to anyone wearing anything airport or airline related, even if it’s one of the luggage truck drivers. Everyone stares down at their toes and giggles before walking away.

11:00PM Every time an announcement looked imminent, a cameraman who happened to be on the flight would whip out his black box and scare the poor little messengers into dark corners. Finally someone announces that we’ll leave at midnight and that they’re planning to serve us dinner in the airport. A couple of Mozambicans are outraged and demand an explanation. I didn’t hear the response first hand, but rumors circulated that because the plane itself was 10 minutes late in landing, the first contracted crew had walked out, and the ensuing delay was due to lengthy negotiations with a new crew.

12:40AM Five hours later, and I’m finally on a plane.

3:30AM Land in Nampula

3:36AM Wake up in a cold sweat on the airplane floor with about four heads hovering above me. Whether from stress or dehydration or blood rushing from my head when I sat up abruptly, I had blacked out. The girl who’d been sitting across from me was hold my legs in the air, and one of the flight attendants rushed to get me some sugar water as soon as I came to. I’d felt myself going and waved frantically as we taxied down the runway; they must have unbelted me and got me to the floor after I’d slumped over. One of the airport workers escorted me inside.

3:42AM Checked my luggage at the baggage claim. No camera. No phone charger. Well, dang.

4:06AM Checked into the hotel in Nampula – we’d canceled our reservations on the Island.

Good thing the Island was amazing. I hate LAM.

What I Think

When writing about India I felt I always had to have a story to tell. Well, folks, that took too much effort and surely contributed to my dearth of entries. This time I’m just being lazy … which is why I’m a month in and only now posting my entries. But this time I’m not going to worry about having to tell you about a spectacularly wild event (like getting on the wrong train without any money, ID or form of communication) or whether or not I’m posting pictures (though I will!) This time I’m just going to tell you what I think.

It’s not fair to compare Mozambique to India because I’m here and not there, and aren’t our memories always rosy? But the temptation is impossible to resist, so I’m going to go down that road anyhow.

1. Odors. India had lots of trash burning going on and more than its fair share of rotting flesh and street-side excrement. But it also came with magnificent wafts of fried dough and other street foods, of fresh laundry and fresh rains, of incense and steaming chai. In Maputo I am generally met with chappa exhaust (crazy little vans that whiz around the city picking up people so that they can sit on one another's laps to get around). But when I get to the outskirts of the city, I find sea breezes and seafood – whether it is fish off the boat or fried calamari. The grills are always going, stacked with whole chickens, oftentimes marinated in the cook’s own rendering of the country’s go-to piri piri spice.

2. Housing. Holy baloney, Mozambique blows India Out. Of. The. WATER. The TDY house is huge: three stories, three balcony porches, a spacious kitchen, a dining room and a small living room, five bedrooms, five full baths, a ballroom (yes, it’s small, but a ballroom), a car park and a small pool (not that there is anywhere to sit or even lay next to it, but isn’t that beside the point?) We have a rotation of guards who let us in through the front, solid wood-paneled gate when we ring, a clan of maintenance men and a housekeeper who cleans three days a week and occasionally cooks. And washer, dryer and dishwasher in house.

3. Safety. There are certainly worse places in DC, really, there are, and I was cautious in India, too. But here? I twist Kraemer’s arm to run with me in the mornings (though we frequently see the Ambassador walking with her husband, so it ain’t that bad), and I’m very alert when leaving and entering my house. Basically, no one has been seriously injured of which I’m aware, but there have been carjackings and muggings and home invasions (of people I’ve met or work for the USG) … because they want to steal your stuff. Your cell phone, your tennis shoes, your money, whatever.

4. Transportation. Sucks. Let’s just be real about it. Sometimes I feel like a prisoner in my own house. We aren’t allowed to take the chappas (er, not that I would), and only two cab companies have been vetted. There is no good bus system. And this is just within the city. No cross-country trains, and I might as well be flying to the moon when I get on a plane – it would cost upwards of $700 just for me to fly to a beach up north (this country seems to me about the size of California). Granted, I could reserve a USAID vehicle; but they’re almost all stick, and Maputo’s traffic is nearly as crazy as India’s (and left-side driving), and you wouldn’t find me driving there. India’s traffic might have broken my leg but at least I could take the bus, geez!

5. The view. Pretty much doesn’t get any better than this. From my house, well, I look out at the back of the Canadian Embassy or some such, but even that is kinda fun. I like the architecture. But from my office? I can see the ocean, not to mention a spectacular sunset just before I leave work at 5:30 (clearly, it’s winter here). Every morning we get picked up by a driver who then shuttles us to work, every morning along the boardwalk lined with palm trees and the morning’s fishermen.

I’m not sold on Mozambique as somewhere I would want to live – but it’s growing on me.

Belin

I almost feel like there isn’t much to say about Belin except that it rained. And rained a lot. As Mozambique is a coastal country, there are a number of opportunities to visit the beach. We’ve even got the beach in Maputo (though not the kind you want to go hang out in – kinda like Mumbai’s beaches, it’s just too close to the city.) So this was our first attempt at a beach vacation.

Firstly, I almost squeezed my fingers into smithereens on the way up I was wringing them so hard. I was petrified. The road is relatively narrow, and if there was a speed limit, I didn’t see it. There aren’t really any lines – they wouldn’t serve much of a purpose anyhow, as people basically drive wherever they feel like it as long as there isn’t a car coming in the opposite direction in the immediate future. The roads aren’t kept up that well, so it’s oftentimes necessary to veer toward the center of the road to avoid the rough edges. That and everyone passes everyone, all the time, usually without a honk and oftentimes on a curb. There aren’t any dotted lines that tell you when it’s “okay” to pass – and that’s what I don’t trust. Individual judgment.

Frightening road aside, we made it to Belin in one piece. But getting to the house we were renting with another couple was a different story. We were in this tiny little bugger of a car and were up against some ginormous puddles. Puddles that would swallow us whole. And was still raining. After taking some adventurous turns and windy back roads we found it – only to determine that in these conditions we’d never leave our house, so we promptly returned to town and rented some rooms with a beautiful view of the bay.

And yes, it rained some more. We spent our time there eating, drinking wine and playing cards. A brief morning run on the sand (which showed me I was entirely out of shape).

I also should not fail to mention the amazing cashews we picked up there and on the way home. They have these “cashew” trees that are basically just twiggy trees they use to hang bags of fresh, roasted cashews and empty bags just to catch your attention. It works. Yesterday I learned that after the civil war the cashew industry struggled and AID stepped in to help save it. Yet to learn exactly how, but I’m glad they did. These babies are delicious. We’ve since discovered the piri-piri variety, which are seriously spicy but completely addictive.

A week in Maputo

We arrived in Mozambique with high expectations. Dreams of white beaches, unexplored world class fishing, awesome uncrowded surf breaks and some good seafood. My first impression upon landing is that it was cleaner than India. I know that's similar to saying less painful than shaving with a cheese-grater, but these are first impressions. Our house is a nice three-story building with parquet wood floors and about 5 rooms. We have a distiller made in the U.S. by GE "Durastill." I thought it looked like a great piece of machinery, but ours tasted horrible.

Whether it's paranoia instilled in the U.S. government or a true picture of the crime rate in Maputo, we definitely have bars on every window, guards and a plethora of razor wire. But just judging from our neighborhood (the nice part of town) most places have at least a serious electric fence or razor wire.

It's custom in Maputo to take your wedding pictures on the jetty; maybe it's also good luck or some such, I'm not quite sure.

But one of the nice things about Mozambique is that you can drink anywhere you want to. And that is greatly facilitated by a plethora of people with ice chests selling refrescoes. So on the way to the fish market I grabbed a beer and took in the beach. The beach is nice and there is a pretty big tide, which leaves the dhows (or small boats with a sail) stranded high and dry.

We spent the first weekend at Bilene, a small beach resort up the coast about three hours. It takes a while to get out of the city because there is only one road heading north and everybody had built along side it or at least comes there to set up shop. Turn the same road into a turning lane, and then add pedestrians flocking up and down the sides and you have the makings of a very nice African traffic jam. Crazily about thirty minutes outside of the city there is a stadium that could easily seat 80,000 and is being built by the Chinese. Maybe my development theory is incorrect, and maybe they have the infrastructure base to support such a stadium, but it seems a bit presumptuous and a huge waste of money when the per person GDP is $330. But whatever, they are building it, and Louisiana did the same thing, and I love Tiger Stadium.

It rained on us when we arrived at the beach and while trying to make it to our original accommodations it quickly became apparent that four-wheel drive has its place and that place is Africa.

Getting Here

I remember leaving Columbus for two months in New Zealand my senior year actually excited that my flight consisted of multiple, long legs and undaunted by the need to recheck my bags in L.A. Now I’m much lazier so was unpleasantly surprised to learn upon my arrival at Ronald Reagan that after flying from Atlanta to Joburg I would be required to pass through customs, collect my baggage, navigate the airport in search of the LAM ticket counter, check-in, re-clear security and re-check my baggage. Within 45 minutes. Even the woman checking me in, who had been wearing a scornful visage only moments earlier, immediately adopted a pained, pitying look when my itinerary flashed onto the screen and spent another 20 minutes attempting to amend my booking.

In the end nothing could be done. Assuming my travel agent must have known what he was doing, I actually didn’t worry (after first calling about 12 of my relations to complain) and instead settled in for a long ride, appreciating the free glass of wine and the large selection of movies. After landing 45 minutes early and making the connection without a problem, I have since learned that the agent banned that itinerary, on account of too many people losing their bags or missing their connection.

After collecting my bags in the warm, sticky Maputo international airport (thinking, “Isn’t it supposed to be winter here?”), I was greeted by a smiling USAID driver with a “USAID – Taryn Anderson” sign who quickly took control of my luggage cart while I hurried to follow him to a large government SUV parked in the USG’s VIP spot.

My first glimpse of Mozambique was, well, dark. The air outdoors was still humid but not as warm as it was inside, and the night sky seemed a little clouded by the dusty landscape. Coconut trees were framed by the moon. Not surprisingly, the airport was small (and conveniently close to my soon-to-be home) but was being expanded in time for the World Cup – or so that’s the goal.

A quick 10-minute drive had us at my supervisor’s door, where she joined us before making the trek to my new house. She had kindly changed some money for me and bought me from that amount a few groceries to get me started for breakfast but the highlight was a bag of homemade banana-cinnamon muffins = YUM.