20/01/11

There is a shopkeeper in town who particularly loves us and always takes the opportunity to practice his English with us whenever we visit his shop. Earlier this week he invited us over to dinner. I excitedly asked if he makes Indian food and he said “yes yes, you must come.” So we set the date for Thursday night. When we showed up he invited us in and offered us boiled cassava and some rum and sat us down in from of the TV broadcasting Indian soap operas. We poured as little rum as was socially possible and then tried to shoot it each time he left the room, chasing it with the heavily salted cassava. It eventually became clear that he had already eaten dinner and the covered leftovers didn’t look like nearly enough for three more people. So we waited out one incredibly awkward hour and a half until we felt it was acceptable for us to leave. But those incredibly awkward moments are what make the whole experience right?
Today I wore my hair down and curly for the first time apparently because all of the girls in the orphanage were completely transfixed by it. They demanded to know how I had gotten it so curly, insisting that I had gone to the salon. I don’t quite understand their logic, because there isn’t a salon that could curl my hair within 100k, but they were positive I had had it done.
I generally like to dress nicely during the week for my classes, but on Sundays I wear something a little more comfortable and low-key. The past two Sundays I have worn a nice capulana skirt and a fitted shirt (note: not a t-shirt). A couple of the girls in training (11th and 12th grade) were talking to me today and said “you always look beautiful during the week, but then look ugly on Sundays!” (direct translation.) Gotta love Mozambican honesty. I assured them that I would be dressed to kill this Sunday.