Saturday, November 19, 2011


Yesterday I went to church at the sister’s place that is the equivalent of where I lived for the past two years in Inharrime. The Salesian sisters in Namaacha have an orphanage, secondary school, and primary school and have been there for maybe 50 years. They are one of the main houses of the Salesian sisters in Mozambique and I think all novice sisters in the country spend a year or two there. The mission in Inharrime began construction only eight years ago, so most of the sisters I lived with the past two years have spent at least a little time in Namaacha, and some of the older ones 20 or 30 years. I was talking to a friend after church, this woman is white Portuguese and grew up in Namaacha and attended the sisters’ school. She spent Christmas and Easter with us in Inharrime and has been there one other time to visit, which is how I know her. I had stopped by to introduce myself to the sisters a few days earlier and while I was waiting, all of the girls from the orphanage huddled around to talk to me and touch my hair and skin. As soon as she heard there was an American from Inharrime she came running up to where I was sitting, “Anata, I knew it had to be you!” After church I was talking to her about finding someone trustworthy to check on our house and feed Amendoim the three weeks when Anna and I are in the states. A young woman walked over with a big smile on her face and because she was wearing a nun’s habit it took me a second to place her—she was one of the girls in training who had lived with the sisters in Inharrime the first six months I was there. I had loved her and was disappointed when she left, but yesterday I learned that she had since become a sister and I’ll be seeing a lot of her this coming year!
The neighborhood kids tease Amendoim mercilessly, standing outside the gate and barking at him. And he’s just two young to just ignore them, so he whimpers and cries and frantically wishes they would play with him. We have yelled at them multiple times, but it only makes things worse. A few days ago I got a ride with Peace Corps to my house and when I saw them outside I made an exasperated comment to Ludovina, a Mozambican training leader with Peace Corps. “I’ll talk to them” she said. She got out and yelled at them. When they started to run away (she is a fairly formidable woman) she told them to get their butts back over there, and then she gave them a thorough tongue-lashing in Xangana. It worked for a while, but the next day the little heathens were back at our gate.

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