This morning I ran into Irmã Dolorinda, the head sister of the mission. “What are you doing now?” she asked. “Right now? I am going here.” I responded. “No not right right now. Are you leaving here?” “Yes, I’m leaving next week for Namaacha and then America.” I responded. “No, like today, will you be here? Can you do me a favor?” she asked, slightly exasperated. Sometimes I really miss operating in a language I feel completely comfortable in.
My colleagues continue to say things that require me to respond, “but you know I am leaving next week, remember?” Then they are shocked and say “already?!” “Yes, my contract was only for two years.” And they respond “but you haven’t been here two years already. Have you been here for two years? Already?”
One of my colleagues basically begs me daily to cut my hair and give it to her. Women here love to weave hair into their own. This doesn’t seem weird to me at all anymore, unlike when I first arrived two years ago. I am surprised because usually the red and blonde hair is coveted, mine is kind of boring because it’s already the same color as hers. But she still really wants it. And the other day an argument sparked between her and another colleague over who I was going to give my hair to.