tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360484862024-03-13T19:40:42.492-07:00...Tales of Life in MozambiqueLynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.comBlogger304125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-55511791808979382802021-12-17T05:17:00.005-08:002021-12-17T05:38:31.263-08:00<p> <span face="Calibri, sans-serif">How Omicron Stole Christmas</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">We are now into almost 2 years of life with covid and our hopes of things improving have certainly risen and crashed repeatedly like the waves on the seashore. But never have hopes been so dashed as with the announcement of the Omicron variant so close to Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">In October, we made plans to return to Canada to deal with several items “home-side” that needed our attention. Africa’s covid case rates were very low, and Dwight and I were immunized, so it seemed this trip home would be easier than the one we had done in February when we had to do hotel and home quarantine for 14 days. So, we confidently booked a flight on Air France out of Johannesburg, South Africa, to Canada on December 9, 2021.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The trip put us under a bit of time pressure though because of a heavy workload. The Cessna’s annual maintenance was due in mid-November in South Africa, so this gave little time to return to the mission in Mozambique afterwards to wrap things up so we could be gone for several months. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">During our two weeks in South Africa doing the aircraft’s maintenance, Omicron’s discovery (by a South African lab) hit the news. Everyone read in horror about how heavily mutated the new variant was and speculated what implications it could have. A seeming monster had been unearthed and governments around the world immediately imposed travel bans on 7 southern African countries including South Africa and Mozambique…the places we live and work. What has been referred to as a “knee jerk reaction” turned the anticipation and joy of many into a time of grief as travel plans had to be canceled. Couples separated by the miles would not be together for Christmas, sick parents could not be visited, grandparents could not meet grandchildren, job contracts were canceled, people separated by covid for nearly two years would remain separated again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">We knew that as Canadian citizens we had the right to return to Canada, but the restrictions they set in place for “their own” were so prohibitive that return became next to impossible. Negative PCR’s from the “red listed” Southern African countries, including South Africa…the very country whose capability and expertise enabled the sequencing of the new variant in the first place, were not accepted. And since there are no direct flights to Canada from the African continent, they required an “in transit” PCR in whichever country citizens or permanent residents were scheduled to transit through. The problem was that most countries with airline service put bans against Southern African passengers in place so quickly that there were almost no options for returning home. A very select few allowed passengers to transit, but they did not have PCR testing capacity in the transit zone. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">There were two small glimmers of hope…one was to fly through Germany where in transit PCR’s could be organized at a cost of approx CAD$460 EACH (for relocation cost of lab personnel into the transit area to do the required PCR). One could also fly through Ethiopia, but this entailed leaving the airport to get a PCR, staying overnight, then catching a flight onward the following day. The unsettling part was that Canada had issued a travel advisory due to instability and violence in Ethiopia. So yay, there were a few options. But equally unsettling was the question “what if I test positive in transit?” No one wants a covid positive traveler! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Within days of the announced bans, South Africa’s president and the WHO spoke out strongly against them. In response, restrictions and travel advice changed by the minute. Embassies and consulates sent email updates to their citizens overseas, but the details were often inconsistent with the information on their own websites. One wasn’t sure where to turn to find out what rules applied to the current situation. Travels agents were at a loss as well, and that was even more concerning. But difficult times draw people together, and there were some “covid travel groups” on Facebook and WhatsApp that I joined which proved to be very helpful. My phone buzzed and dinged incessantly as panicked group members posted questions and shared what they learned in an effort to help each other. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Initially, we decided that if this plan to return wasn’t going to work out we would just stay put. But we felt we should at least try and if there was an open door, we’d rebook. Once the first week of worldwide chaos was past, our travel agent said she could reschedule us on December 12<sup>th</sup> on Luftansa through Frankfurt--the only viable route for returning Canadians. The in-transit PCR requirement was still a concern so we didn’t respond immediately. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">There happened to be a Canadian girl’s field hockey team in South Africa when all this transpired. In light of the Omicron scare, their tournament was cancelled and they needed to get home. In short order, Canada issued a surprise exemption that saved the day for the many Canadian citizens and Permanent Residents who were otherwise stranded. The exemption did away with the mandatory in-transit PCR, so long as people routed through Germany (Frankfurt specifically). They also decided to accept PCR’s done by accredited labs in 2 major cities in South Africa. This exemption was to be in effect only from November 30th to December 13<sup>th</sup>. The new date and route proposed by our travel agent fit perfectly with this exemption so we finalized the booking. There was still a catch, because there’s always a catch, and that is that the narrow window of time for the PCR test which was exactly 48h from <u>collection</u> to <u>flight <b>departure time out of Frankfurt</b></u> to Canada. So, you had to count your hours carefully. Thankfully, South Africa’s labs are very efficient getting results in less than 24 and if you go private and pay a bit more, you can get rapid PCR in as little as 2 hours. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">We breathed a sigh of relief at that exemption! Also, by this stage we felt our bodies were pretty covid-savvy. We had already had covid (in January, 2021) and through an unusual unfolding of events, had received 3 doses of the vaccine (mainly to facilitate international travel since that defines our lives and work). When we originally booked our trip home we thought it would be smooth sailing. But Omicron threw that all out of whack. Not only did we need to do the required PCR testing to return, but Canada also required PCR and mandatory hotel quarantine on arrival regardless of vaccination status. The hotel quarantine was required while awaiting the arrival PCR result. If it was negative and you had a place to isolate safely, you could carry on to that location to complete a total of 14 days quarantine. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Somewhere amid this chaos, and before we even left Africa, cases of Omicron were discovered in Europe, USA, Japan and even Canada. We had done one 14 day quarantine in February when we were home and were not excited at the prospect of doing it again—especially for a variant that had beat us home. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The paperwork we had to prepare for this trip was mind boggling. It was recommended we have hard copies of our ArriveCan app registration number, PCR results (both to enter South Africa from Mozambique and to leave south Africa for Germany), flight itineraries, tickets for all 3 flights, proof of vaccination, authorization to leave Mozambique for more than 3 months, and a South African exit health statement. We practically needed a binder to hold all the pages!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The days leading up to our departure were long, hot, and sweaty in the Mozambican bush as we squirreled around tackling our many final tasks. Finally, we managed to wrap things up and were off, although we were thoroughly exhausted. That was partially from the business but also from the stress of dealing with chaos, uncertainty, and forever changing requirements.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Our flights all went well and we were surprised by how jam packed they were. We had joined a WhatsApp group primarily for South Africans who had become Canadian citizens or were permanent residents because we were all fighting for a way to get back “home” together. We had organized sub-groups based on departure dates from South Africa to Frankfurt so knew even when we left for Canada that many were on the same flights as we were, even if we didn’t know their faces.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOVjoH1_hpY1ywHT9y3NeaoGmGgLvOBrzmjAtqMjauOqd42tcKgiXRsXey9mZNM8g59EQCFh-2szXqQGgrsxHW1hUAXucVojbXWGOKn5etaY08NFnaU0PtdY2gdWGezQaXwwAuYkPpxgX8eOdbGgexztFkpnkKgP3ocRXEXn0fXOgxtwm4tQ=s1920" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOVjoH1_hpY1ywHT9y3NeaoGmGgLvOBrzmjAtqMjauOqd42tcKgiXRsXey9mZNM8g59EQCFh-2szXqQGgrsxHW1hUAXucVojbXWGOKn5etaY08NFnaU0PtdY2gdWGezQaXwwAuYkPpxgX8eOdbGgexztFkpnkKgP3ocRXEXn0fXOgxtwm4tQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span>When we landed at the Calgary airport, we were swiftly ushered into a side room reserved for southern African travelers where we submitted our quarantine plans, answered questions, did our arrival PCR swabs and received instructions. Dwight and I thought we had a fail-safe plan to head straight for home quarantine from the airport. We had booked a rental car that we would drive to a basement suite for isolation. The Canadian govt website had indicated we could use public transport to get to the car rental place, but that turned out to be just one more of many pieces of misinformation that had marked the past few weeks. The health officer at the airport said our plan was solid but only IF the rental agency could provide “contactless delivery” of the vehicle. Our hearts sunk a little. We called about 20 numbers until we finally had the right line only to hear that our request wasn’t possible. We had to go in person to the counter to pick up our booked vehicle. We had just been sitting elbow to elbow with hundreds of people crammed on the arriving flight, most of whom did not have to comply with this “enhanced screening” process we were subject to, but suddenly we weren’t allowed to approach a car rental desk for one last “transaction” before quarantine? It really didn’t make much sense. But that didn’t matter.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Our plan was turned down and we, along with our little group of southern Africans, were ushered outside into the winter cold. We boarded a school bus which took us to the Calgary Airport Westin Hotel--our new home while we awaited our PCR results. When we got on the bus, the driver instructed us to maintain distance from each other. “Leave empty seats between you”. We did. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKy5AKN3zOehEGU2rOjAQZdXe2tdjmbSRya7X1O01PtuvyHFGwC1YluIqaWQEekbdH29u2VthOy3GlmJqx5eWFTaTyZZYB4Pl6IYycca_rjzE5m-pdfo4GABvY1VGhqBI7-03b1iIBs-oJPI3QVCr4VsbsEbEcWyat-p7VAiR7j7pMYP9alg=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKy5AKN3zOehEGU2rOjAQZdXe2tdjmbSRya7X1O01PtuvyHFGwC1YluIqaWQEekbdH29u2VthOy3GlmJqx5eWFTaTyZZYB4Pl6IYycca_rjzE5m-pdfo4GABvY1VGhqBI7-03b1iIBs-oJPI3QVCr4VsbsEbEcWyat-p7VAiR7j7pMYP9alg=s320" width="320" /></a></span></div><span lang="EN-US"><br /> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">When we arrived at the hotel we entered the humungous lobby. It was elegant but empty and void, only reminiscent of what must have been beautiful and bustling with busy travelers. Once inside were instructed again, sternly, to stand far away from each other. I wanted to say, “Do you realize we just flew two 10-hour flights with barely 4” between our shoulders?” But I didn’t. The weather wasn’t the only thing offering us all a cold reception.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEja_2vdf4jhMhAiS7U2RDfjm3gqtk2qiMffHbSB6ktD90N-1Iq67arACJ5ZttCvy7zhT-wHo5bclP3Jwq-LS7g5fFIXCtKQzAIXfqEI2DyisriY3havnYZGt5VRLTvPtsGP2xEkvvmg7n7_1j3JK0udcqmFydRnGuJRnK7IGh3PpH2BpGhX3g=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEja_2vdf4jhMhAiS7U2RDfjm3gqtk2qiMffHbSB6ktD90N-1Iq67arACJ5ZttCvy7zhT-wHo5bclP3Jwq-LS7g5fFIXCtKQzAIXfqEI2DyisriY3havnYZGt5VRLTvPtsGP2xEkvvmg7n7_1j3JK0udcqmFydRnGuJRnK7IGh3PpH2BpGhX3g=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">One of the hallways that lead to the hotel’s “covid branch” was completely lined in white plastic—floors, walls, and ceiling. At the entrance to this hallway was a sign-in desk where they took down our details, handed us a bundle of paperwork with phone numbers, instructions on what we were and were not permitted to do, and so on. Then, one by one, and with more than adequate distance between us, we were marched down the white plastic hallway to the elevator. My mind immediately labeled this “the walk of shame.” Clearly, we were “unclean”. From the elevator to our room’s door, we walked on more plastic. I wondered what they thought we were going to do to their carpets. It seemed extreme, and surreal--like a weird dream. Outside each room was a plastic box that contained disposable gloves, a bottle of disinfectant, cleaning cloths, and extra toilet paper. We were not to leave the room, and we were to always wear a mask when opening the door for any reason. Since we didn’t go out ever, we only ever opened it to retrieve the food delivered three times a day and to set our garbage bags outside for pick up.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Our hotel room itself was very nice. It’s the Westin, after all. Some of the helpful items had been removed though, like the ironing board and iron, blow drier, and microwave. I guess they’re fire hazards but I’m not sure why that was specific to us. Maybe there were other reasons. The bed had been untidily made but seemed clean. From our WhatsApp group we’d heard horror stories of people being given dirty rooms with unwashed bed linen in Toronto, so we were thankful not to experience that. Our food for the most part was fine and usually warm enough to be palatable. Others had received cold food and some, who clearly had blow driers in their rooms, used them to warm their food up before eating. If we wanted to go outside (not that we did in -20C and no one came knocking), we would have needed a guard to accompany us and would have been allowed a 15 min break twice a day. Some hotels had cordoned off areas for this where travellers were not allowed to walk beyond. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Considering the fact that we had only 48 hours from PCR test time in Johannesburg to boarding our Canada bound flight in Frankfurt, we were shocked to learn that it can take 72 hours or more to just receive results of our arrival PCR’s in Canada! At least our samples were collected at the airport. Others have had to go to their quarantine hotel and wait more than a day to even have the PCR done. We are supposed to be reporting our symptoms each day on the ArriveCan app, but the app is broken. We had entered our information several times but it only retained my record…on Dwight’s phone! It certainly doesn’t instill a sense of confidence in the system.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhk0nv4-fhKRYUblFdPPs6k3eO93zOh9sYj3xMI3-jdWAW5Rqgq2ETTARXU3OyC6lLtCD-_uJM7K64brA2rh7j2psrtjglXRAaCVQnCo6_98OTQMzV0p7ok3q6JB_iXDecR6TSEsjOlM6EINKXIsIcc8M-n65mUBtc9LKaHkdCNouiGgWYA4Q=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhk0nv4-fhKRYUblFdPPs6k3eO93zOh9sYj3xMI3-jdWAW5Rqgq2ETTARXU3OyC6lLtCD-_uJM7K64brA2rh7j2psrtjglXRAaCVQnCo6_98OTQMzV0p7ok3q6JB_iXDecR6TSEsjOlM6EINKXIsIcc8M-n65mUBtc9LKaHkdCNouiGgWYA4Q=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from our window out the Calgary Airport Westin</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span>As I write this we are on day 3 of our quarantine and finally received our negative PCR results...58 hours later! This should mean we are good to proceed to our home quarantine, but we apparently need a release letter from the health agency. We are told it could take up to another 3 days for this to happen as well, but when it does, we can take public transportation to get to where we need to go. But we mustn’t stop anywhere or talk to anyone on our way to our home quarantine. And that’s not inconsistent at all…</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">One of the biggest questions that boggles my mind is, what is the whole point of quarantine to keep Omicron out if during these few weeks, it has already grown and spread considerably before we even arrived? Here in Alberta, as a vaccinated person, if I am exposed to someone with omicron covid I don’t need to isolate. But as someone who has flown in from a southern African country who is potentially exposed, I need to isolate for a full 14 days? Isn’t this the same bug??<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Also highly concerning is the great cost of all this to our country. These hotels cost $300-$500/night normally. Add to that the cost of security, food services, shuttles, and support staff and you’re looking at a cool $1000/night/room. And let’s not forget the cost to those who had to rebook tickets, pay for additional PCR’s and hotel rooms, and productivity lost to sitting for hours, days and weeks in isolation awaiting the “all clear” from yet another variant. All of this quickly adds up to hundreds of thousands of dollars in costs to isolate people, currently for no good reason other than simply because they came from a certain geographical location. Period. The practicality and science of dealing with covid has, at a breathtaking pace, been buried by politics, policy making, virtue signaling, and mandate enforcing.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Many have held these same concerns and more, and have gone public with them in any way they can. I will post a few links here of videos and articles that are worth a look. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Good report introducing those who set up WhatsApp groups and refers to Ethiopia transit</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p style="color: #dca10d; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7i63CcUM66Y">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7i63CcUM66Y</a></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Kamil--a traveler, like us, "stuck in South Africa"</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p style="color: #dca10d; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://www.ctvnews.ca/video?clipId=2333108">https://www.ctvnews.ca/video?clipId=2333108</a></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Personal news reports about prolonged hotel stays:</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">
</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://www.cbc.ca/news/business/south-africa-travel-omicron-1.6279085">https://www.cbc.ca/news/business/south-africa-travel-omicron-1.6279085</a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">One can only hope that the world learn from this experience, and that our health authorities begin to understand the costly psychological and financial implications of their decisions on countless innocent Canadians who do travel for important reasons!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p>Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-87757846747291097872019-09-11T01:21:00.000-07:002019-09-11T01:21:17.976-07:00Borders, cows and such<div class="p1" style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sf ui display"; font-size: 21.5px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">Today was the day our visitors visas for South Africa expired. They were the usual 3 month visas we have normally been issued with on border crossings over the past 25 years. If we returned shortly before the visa expiry, they’d usually issue a new one. No questions asked. </span><span style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">But this time was different. We were mistakenly suspected of “border hopping”. That’s where people cross borders while they are (or are not) trying to process proper residence or work visas in one of the countries they hopping between. Border hopping is a common thing here, especially of late since the legal processes for organizations and visa processing have become incredibly complex and much more expensive.</span><span style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">But that wasn’t our case. We have Mozambican residence permits so clearly didnt </span><span style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">need to “hop” anywhere. But the immigration official who stamped our passports made a mistake. Long story short and a trip to his supervisor later, we were </span><span style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">no further ahead. We were told we had to exit and re-enter South Africa through a border somewhere half way through our current business trip (annual aircraft maintenance).</span><span style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">Today was our visa expiry date, so we headed to the nearest border to us: Bulembu, Swaziland. Note the zigzagging road on the map? It didn’t lie...</span><span class="s1"><div style="text-align: center;"><font color="#454545" face=".sfuidisplay"><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-size: 28.66666603088379px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1CXiSwaP15cjCTZJ-NJO45oS6-OcXFv49" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1CXiSwaP15cjCTZJ-NJO45oS6-OcXFv49" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"></div></span></font></div></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">What we drove through was rocky, steep hillside after rocky, steep hillside nestled so closely together one would think whoever placed them there hadn’t planned ahead very well! </span><span class="s1" style="text-align: left; font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1HOMPU7NoNG0x3wop-sJtDKXBajHm5HIs" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1HOMPU7NoNG0x3wop-sJtDKXBajHm5HIs" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"><br></span><span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;"><br></span><span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">The hillsides were so steep and yet there were tree plantations. We wondered how you’d harvest on such steep slopes. Apparently getting stuff rolling down was no issue, but stopping it at some point must have been. The road was littered with pine branches and rocks that rolled off cliffs at whim. We also wondered if animals could possibly be farmed there. Turns out, yes, cows. Don’t ask me how an animal as stiff and awkward as a cow can walk those steep slopes without rolling down like the branches and rocks do, but they do. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">At the border, we engaged the gate officer in idle conversation for a few minutes before going inside to deal with the more stressful issue at hand. We talked about the steep rocky hills and the cows. He said sheep lived there too. That wasn’t as surprising to me as the awkward cow scenario. I asked him if there were wild animals up there too? “No. None. Just cows and sheep.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">Inside, the immigration officer scrutinized our passports and noted our visa expiry date was today. “So I see you are crossing the border the day your visa expires. You will be returning today again I take it?” His look said “border hoppers!” We explained our predicament and what the airport immigration officer had said (as Moz residents we can enter for 30 days for sure and should have been granted that last week. Except for the mistake.). He responded with a drawn out “Hmmmmm, I don’t....know....how many days I can give you on your return here later....Maybe 7 days...” There was no justification for only 7 days but hey, he’s the boss here. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">On the Swazi side of the border, the officials were friendly. An official portrait of the king of Swaziland, dressed in his tribal attire, hung on the wall. It looked to me like he just hung there smiling on everything that transpired there. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">We carried on into the little old settlement of Bulembu. It was nestled in those steep, rocky hills and clearly had been established during the colonial era. We found the Bulembu Lodge restaurant. I think it’s the only one in town, and the dining hall was empty. The waiter welcomed us and ushered us to the table of our choosing. I selected the one with the best view of those steep, rocky hills. We ordered our lunch and ate it while the waiter, in formal style, stood nearby watching us, hands folded behind his back, ever at the ready. The door to the kitchen was to his immediate left. There was a ton of chatter and laughter behind those doors and periodically he would duck inside for a few moments reprieve from watching us eat. Then he would reappear and resume his watch. Dwight read the hot sauce bottle label which declared that there was “chilli’s and no other nonsense inside”. The waiter chuckled along with us. It was heartwarming but also a bit awkward. And that made me think of the cows on the hills. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">When lunch was over, we left the aged little town with its nostalgic and aging structures behind. We now had to face the formidable South African immigration official again. First, though, came the Swazi border with its friendly staff. They love guests from Canada, they said. The portrait of the king smiled down on us as we said goodbye. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">When we arrived at the South African side we took a deep breath and went inside. Like, “Whatever. We will take what comes.” What else, right? To our surprise, the same official who had given us the gears granted us a full 30 day visa back into South Africa. We were relieved and anxious to get back to where we are staying. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">On our way back through those steep, rocky hills, we came across baboons. Huge troops of them scampering away from our curious eyes. So there was wildlife in them there hills after-all! Seeing them reminded us of the orphaned “bad-boon” (as used to call him because there seemed no limit to the mischief he could get up to) that we raised from infant hood until 7 months of age. He was actually a welcome gift to our daughter in law who was visiting Africa for the first time. When she and Russ left, I became his mommy. It was uncanny how human like and adorable he could be, but he could also a real character and could be downright bad! At the right time, we were able to release him into a wildlife reserve just north of the mission. For that trip, there were no border crossings, no suspicions of border hopping, and no portraits of kings smiling on us. It’s actually illegal to transport a wild animal so we had to hide him under a blanket to get him past highway police undetected. It was quite the ordeal but it was the right thing to do. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuidisplay"; font-size: 21.5pt;">There’s a whole lot more to it than that but that’s a story for another day.</span></div>
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Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-65939423886608310632014-01-25T05:13:00.000-08:002014-01-26T01:15:50.551-08:00The start of 2014Before I post anything about 2014, I should really close 2013 with a few photos of November/December. We spent a considerable amount of the time traveling between Mozambique and South Africa as well as quite a bit of time being in South Africa on business. We also got hung up for awhile checking up on health issues. I hadn't been feeling well for several weeks and my Dr. wasn't happy with the results of some routine tests, so I was sent for not-so-routine tests/procedures to rule out anything terribly nasty. Preliminary results seem to indicate nothing too nasty, likely "just" a respiratory virus. Just a virus that made me sick for about 2 months--right through our annual holiday and Christmas--<span id="goog_1437244694"></span><span id="goog_1437244695"></span>nasty enough for me.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jJbFTS34n3M/UuOoRFjQB2I/AAAAAAAAHvQ/kgQDRvP_GMQ/s1600/me+on+rock+messina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jJbFTS34n3M/UuOoRFjQB2I/AAAAAAAAHvQ/kgQDRvP_GMQ/s1600/me+on+rock+messina.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
One of our stops on one of our trips between SA and Moz was at Messina just south of Zimbabwe. We "climbed" a rock. As you can see, I did it in flip flops so probably can't officially be classified as climbing. It's a unique part of the country and is full of Baobabs and rock outcrops. It's also HOT there.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O8nkfgh9zWA/UuOpDY6ysPI/AAAAAAAAHvY/nulRGAANFUU/s1600/health+post+furniture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O8nkfgh9zWA/UuOpDY6ysPI/AAAAAAAAHvY/nulRGAANFUU/s1600/health+post+furniture.jpg" height="240" width="320" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-he3ONu5lpjs/UuOqG0WGnuI/AAAAAAAAHvo/_vtuaggCGek/s1600/cessna+annual.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-he3ONu5lpjs/UuOqG0WGnuI/AAAAAAAAHvo/_vtuaggCGek/s1600/cessna+annual.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a>We
received a container of mostly medical supplies from Sweden, among the
items were some wonderful cupboards. Here the health workers and Tome
deliver a cupboard to the one health post. I don't know about them, but I
smile when I see this picture because I know it meant we could finally
take health records/forms/etc. out of the paper boxes we've used for
years and put them in a cupboard. Talk about civilized! </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-he3ONu5lpjs/UuOqG0WGnuI/AAAAAAAAHvo/_vtuaggCGek/s1600/cessna+annual.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-he3ONu5lpjs/UuOqG0WGnuI/AAAAAAAAHvo/_vtuaggCGek/s1600/cessna+annual.jpg" height="240" width="320" /> </a></div>
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One of the big items to tend to in South Africa (at Mercy Air) was the Cessna's annual maintenance. This doesn't mean just checking under the hood and changing the oil--it means pulling just about every moving part of the plane off, or open, and looking inside its cavities, examining the wiring, testing this, testing that. I don't even know what all they do but it's a pretty big job. It is absolutely essential though since it's fairly impossible to take a pit stop if something goes wrong when you're 7000 something feet in the air over dense bush.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JQpfLa2nYhw/UuOqCkPotyI/AAAAAAAAHvg/Pos-0H6oXYQ/s1600/mercy+air+flight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JQpfLa2nYhw/UuOqCkPotyI/AAAAAAAAHvg/Pos-0H6oXYQ/s1600/mercy+air+flight.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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When the maintenance is done, the plane has to do a test flight or two to make sure everything's working well. Officials from Moz also came through to check the facility and do an aircraft inspection since the Cessna is now Mozambique registered. It was a busy time for the guys, and we were very thankful that everything worked out so we could fly home in time for Christmas.<br />
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We stick to as many Christmas traditions as possible out here where there is no snow or other things that are normal signals (for us) that it's Christmas time. And every year, I dutifully pull out one of my old puzzles that I've done and redone many times. This particular scene is a snowy church scene of some place in Germany. Doing this puzzle helped me pass quite a few hours of not-feeling-so-great-but-don't-want to-waste-time-in-bed. But apparently what you define as "bed" depends on whether you're a human or a cat.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hqxjcEMpW1s/UuOvfgU2rTI/AAAAAAAAHv8/Fgz8g2G0R9E/s1600/airstrip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hqxjcEMpW1s/UuOvfgU2rTI/AAAAAAAAHv8/Fgz8g2G0R9E/s1600/airstrip.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
To add to our Christmas and New Year's celebrations, we also celebrated the first landing of the Cessna on the mission airstrip. This was the culmination of quite a few years of hard work, money spent, document processing, inspection passing, and so on. So it was truly a joyous event! The plane has already made several "work flights" from this airstrip, one being to take essential supplies to pastors in a remote region north of us.<br />
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Moving along here. 2014 so far has been pretty busy and we're not at the end of January yet. There's been gearing up for the beginning of school for the over 300 students in our sponsorship program, making progress on construction projects, preparing budgets for the new year, reports for our AGM in February, etc. And then there's been addressing the crises that seem to pop up regularly.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lCM_C4nQmiw/UuOxkeCQBXI/AAAAAAAAHwE/qcOD7ERRuis/s1600/samministries+ambulance+mozambique.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lCM_C4nQmiw/UuOxkeCQBXI/AAAAAAAAHwE/qcOD7ERRuis/s1600/samministries+ambulance+mozambique.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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At lunchtime one day last week, we heard a huge BOOM in the distance. We weren't sure what it was but in short order received a phone call saying there had been an accident between two big trucks on the highway right in front of the mission property. Could we please come quickly! The scene didn't look good, but surprisingly there was only one casualty and he was alive. The health workers who live and work nearby had already made it to the scene and bandaged up the guy's head and checked him over. As quickly as we could, we got him loaded into the mission vehicle (which we have also nicknamed our local ambulance) and took him to hospital.<br />
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I'll try to wind things up with one last photo that everyone will be fine with. But this is your heads up that the ones to follow are the "bug section" which I always try to put at the end of my posts so the more sensitive readers can stop scrolling down in time :)<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PSSeN4i4YOo/UuOzHm9vQLI/AAAAAAAAHwM/AxfLMAfH1RY/s1600/Prairie+team+lunchtime.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PSSeN4i4YOo/UuOzHm9vQLI/AAAAAAAAHwM/AxfLMAfH1RY/s1600/Prairie+team+lunchtime.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
We currently have a group of students from Prairie who are spending a few weeks at the mission ministering to needs and relating cross culturally. Last Sunday after an animated church service, we were all invited to the pastor's home (above) to enjoy a lunch of Massa & Caril (stiff maize porridge that you dip into a stewed chicken sauce). This is served hot off the stove and eaten with the fingers. We north Americans know how to eat with our fingers, but handling piping hot food that way takes a bit of practice and a very light touch. It was delicious though!<br />
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BUG SECTION:<br />
It's summer here which means it's very hot, humid and rainy. This weather summons creatures of all varieties and sizes out from hiding (or wherever they were) and into our house. I'm sure they go other places too, but I especially notice the ones that come inside. Especially when they're oversized.<br />
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This first one is a huge centipede. These guys pack a nasty sting, though I've never been on the receiving end. Thank goodness!<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GMEEnd371LU/UuO0JapQpSI/AAAAAAAAHwU/ar6FporXmdQ/s1600/centipede.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GMEEnd371LU/UuO0JapQpSI/AAAAAAAAHwU/ar6FporXmdQ/s1600/centipede.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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The fork's sole purpose here is for comparison. Just clarifying.</div>
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Next is a cute chameleon. This one didn't come inside because they hate being inside, but we often find them in our yard busy hunting and eating insects. Good! :)</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2rcm2X2zww0/UuO0MsglZMI/AAAAAAAAHwc/6LG7UUCQsFQ/s1600/flap+necked+chameleon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2rcm2X2zww0/UuO0MsglZMI/AAAAAAAAHwc/6LG7UUCQsFQ/s1600/flap+necked+chameleon.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
The one below came inside and even went so far as to crawl up and get all snuggled into a fold in our mosquito net. A scorpion in one's mosquito net is not a nice visual to wake up to. Thankfully he didn't decide to come snuggle in our sheets instead.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JjrxAC7mev4/UuO0P6ccq_I/AAAAAAAAHwk/LcMgCAqFYaA/s1600/scorpion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JjrxAC7mev4/UuO0P6ccq_I/AAAAAAAAHwk/LcMgCAqFYaA/s1600/scorpion.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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He's semi-lifeless here. I have since discovered 2 others in the house :O</div>
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The stick on the wall below is actually a stick bug. It is rather disconcerting to spot a live and moving stick on the wall outside one's bathroom! Although they don't bite people, obviously they can bite and eat their prey (smaller insects...good!). I think this is the largest stick bug we've seen to date. This is a <a href="http://kaos911.com/" target="_blank">KAOS</a> radio station pen from Fort McMurray, btw, where it's -28C right now.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-38x5ItEhoy8/UuO0RobPoaI/AAAAAAAAHws/VgGCgV9g4LE/s1600/stick+bug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-38x5ItEhoy8/UuO0RobPoaI/AAAAAAAAHws/VgGCgV9g4LE/s1600/stick+bug.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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And then there's the tarantula type spider. Actually, we've spotted several of these, one of which was crawling up a big window in our front room. I should have taken a photo of it but I was too distracted at the time. <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6iBLPUVcJVI/UuO0UISD24I/AAAAAAAAHw0/Kbk_9jSOAWk/s1600/tarantula+mozambique.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6iBLPUVcJVI/UuO0UISD24I/AAAAAAAAHw0/Kbk_9jSOAWk/s1600/tarantula+mozambique.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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And to everyone's great relief, that's all I will post for now. All the best to you this 2014!<br />
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PS: There's lots more news at <a href="http://samministries.org/blog/">samministries.org</a>. <br />
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<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-he3ONu5lpjs%2FUuOqG0WGnuI%2FAAAAAAAAHvo%2F_vtuaggCGek%2Fs1600%2Fcessna%2Bannual.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-he3ONu5lpjs/UuOqG0WGnuI/AAAAAAAAHvo/_vtuaggCGek/s1600/cessna+annual.jpg" -->Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-35793122838369504802013-11-07T05:20:00.001-08:002013-11-08T00:02:28.438-08:00Stepping over cracks<div> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-w8vou6KEnvs/UnuTN1uJnuI/AAAAAAAAHrI/Ex7BtkM9tFs/s640/blogger-image-380408799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-w8vou6KEnvs/UnuTN1uJnuI/AAAAAAAAHrI/Ex7BtkM9tFs/s640/blogger-image-380408799.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">When we were kids and walking along a sidewalk, one of us would invariably pipe up with, "S<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">tep on a crack, break your mother's back; step</span> on a nail, put your father in jail." At this, we would adjust our stride and nimbly step over any pavement cracks or nail heads in boardwalks, all the while keeping a beady eye on the steps of others lest they slip up. If you did accidentally step on a crack, a chorus would rise, "Aha! You broke your mother's back!" or "You put your father in jail!" It was fierce but fun competition, and anyway, we were looking out for our parents' welfare! Thankfully, even though I probably slipped up many times in the game, neither calamity came upon my parents :-)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The cracked pavement above, which I think is actually quite pretty, is one of many on the veranda floor of the getaway beach spot we are at for just over a week. We have been coming here once a year for about 10 years, and each visit is unique in itself. One year, we arrived to discover that the wind had eroded the sand to the point where several thatched installations had collapsed and their reconstruction in a new location was underway. Another year, it was so stiflingly hot we could hardly bear the heat. The next year it was so unseasonably cold and windy we could hardly enjoy the hammocks on the veranda. Then there were the years where we had to deal with rat infestations, and the year where an arsonist almost burned the entire place to the ground. Yes, there are many stories to be told!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I wish I could say that this year's story is just about sand erosion, rats, or the weather. But it's not. This year's uniqueness has to do with recent political turmoil that has disrupted life in some way for just about everyone living in Mozambique. There have been many repercussions for us too. One of these was that we needed to take an alternate route south for this trip rather than take the in-country main highway where the military convoy has been the target of recent attacks. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-okt_3uyRYR0/UnuUd-PmCUI/AAAAAAAAHrQ/LfSifA1iZwQ/s640/blogger-image-1141635544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-okt_3uyRYR0/UnuUd-PmCUI/AAAAAAAAHrQ/LfSifA1iZwQ/s640/blogger-image-1141635544.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We took the convoy less than 2 months ago while on a business trip to South Africa. It was safe then, but things have since deteriorated and shootings and attacks are common. So we made the decision to get to our southern Mozambican destination via our neighbouring countries Zimbabwe and South Africa. Talk about taking the long way though. It was a 3 day trip as opposed to a 9 or 10 hour drive.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>It has been a long time since we have been to Zimbabwe, and after paying $75/person for single entry visas, not counting other border costs, it's no wonder. There are now also several toll charges of USD $1 each to drive the main road south.<div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0AV-ZggGyYc/UnuVJQJxiYI/AAAAAAAAHrY/mFUTyzBj2So/s640/blogger-image-2030150495.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0AV-ZggGyYc/UnuVJQJxiYI/AAAAAAAAHrY/mFUTyzBj2So/s640/blogger-image-2030150495.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">After our long, drawn out trip, we were weary and very happy to arrive at our destination! As I write this, we are concerned for Mozambique and her people. After 20 years of peace and development, the country has recently been plagued with hot spots of civil unrest, fighting, and increasing violent crime. There is a serious breakdown in communication and goodwill between the ruling and opposition parties, and much like our childhood's crack in the pavement, it is bringing calamity and pain to people. The country, especially youth, agonizes over events as they unfold. Just when things were going so well! Municipal elections are being held in less than 2 weeks and this does little to ease tensions, of course. We are keeping abreast as possible of the situation and so far in our area, things have been quiet and life goes on as usual. We do trust that once elections are over, things will settle for everyone and that this December will be one in tune with the season--that of renewed peace and hope.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Otherwise, for me, life has been a blur with the busyness of things. A key staff member left to pursue his career further north recently and it landed a heap of student photo taking and data collecting in my lap. I am training one of the health workers to take on most of this, but first he has to learn to type. So yes, there is much learning to be done yet! All in all, about 400 records needed to be updated (current student info, photo, and letter), but we have now completed that so we are rejoicing. I am so thankful for the enthusiasm of all those who work alongside us. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ME0VChdT2CQ/UnuXeZ379pI/AAAAAAAAHr0/_zY3n7MCBOc/s640/blogger-image-94189863.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ME0VChdT2CQ/UnuXeZ379pI/AAAAAAAAHr0/_zY3n7MCBOc/s640/blogger-image-94189863.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">This is what my desk and life have been occupied with primarily for the last few months. Reading the students' letters to their sponsors has been heart warming though.I love the attention and detail they put into their artwork...what a great avenue for creativity and expression it is. Like the mirror of one's heart. </span></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-VrClB5-QRXI/UnuWv5P4t5I/AAAAAAAAHrs/3O5KBW6KU1Y/s640/blogger-image--640913578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-VrClB5-QRXI/UnuWv5P4t5I/AAAAAAAAHrs/3O5KBW6KU1Y/s640/blogger-image--640913578.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> "Me taking pictures of students taking pictures of me." Fair's fair. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">For now though, let me sign off. There is a break I must enjoy :) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Take care, and keep Mozambique in your thoughts and prayers.</div>Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-26676472552411591752013-09-08T10:42:00.000-07:002013-09-08T10:52:40.286-07:00A boy, a mouse burrow, and a snake<style>
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Last night, right after supper, I got a call. It was one of
the health workers. Someone had come to his home and asked if he would give a 9
year old child with a snakebite an injection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bite was 3 days old and the first shot had been
administered at a hospital. Knowing he lived too far to come back each day for
subsequent shots, they sent the vial home with instructions to find a health
person to administer them. He hadn't received yesterday's shot and had cried
from pain all the previous night, so they were desperate. Since health workers
aren't trained to give injections, they called me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>
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It was dark already so I picked up one of our guards to
accompany me along with the health worker who received the call. We drove along
a wide dirt path that wound through the huts in the local community. After taking
several left, then right, then left again turns along the path, and where the trail
by then was very narrow, we stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>From there we walked to the home where the child was. The guys with me
used their cell phones to light their way. I had brought my MAG light and in a
community that has no electricity and is very dark at night, I was the
brightest beacon for miles around. </div>
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When we reached the child's home we found the family in the
yard huddled around a small fire. This is customary here. The fire in one's
yard is central to all evening activity since it provides both heat and light.
This is where food is prepared, then eaten, and where evening socializing
occurs until bedtime. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2BvJGaiwJSc/Uiyyi_1X4xI/AAAAAAAAHpA/tqyO1AlCONc/s1600/cooking+fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2BvJGaiwJSc/Uiyyi_1X4xI/AAAAAAAAHpA/tqyO1AlCONc/s400/cooking+fish.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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We greeted the adults then called for the child with the
snakebite. He got up from amid the group and walked slowly toward us. All eyes
were on us from the darkness as we worked in the beam of my bright light. </div>
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The boy's hand was very swollen from the wrist to the fingertips
and he had a draining gash on the bitten finger. Apparently he had been out
hunting field mice so he could have some meat in his stew. (Meat is an absolute
luxury in these parts.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He found a
mouse's burrow but when he put his hand in to grab the mouse, discovered a
snake instead (which was probably there because it had eaten the mouse).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZvUJrJWIH-0/UiyzAuzLbaI/AAAAAAAAHpI/9pJojB7jvO0/s1600/snake+bite+hand+mozambique.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZvUJrJWIH-0/UiyzAuzLbaI/AAAAAAAAHpI/9pJojB7jvO0/s400/snake+bite+hand+mozambique.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked why his finger had a gash instead
of puncture holes from a snake. I was told that per tradition, the puncture
site had been cut open to remove possible fangs left behind by the snake. I
know about this tradition, actually. So I launched into my usual explanation
that the chance of a fang being left behind is very, very low while the chance of
the wound becoming infected is very, very high. Rather just leave it alone. But
I know letting go of long-held traditions and beliefs is difficult. I have some
myself. We all do. And even though my explanation is
received with subtle skepticism, I give it anyway. I am convinced that things
can change over time if we are patient yet consistent.</div>
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Anyway, to wrap things up... We decided on the best course
of treatment, gave him medicine to help bring the inflammation down, and prayed
for him. Today, the boy and his uncle stopped by for a check up. The boy
reportedly had slept soundly and his hand was visibly less swollen. He was in
much better spirits and chattered away with me while I cleaned and bandaged his
finger. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l0L_T2KfjgI/UiyzfCxvPdI/AAAAAAAAHpQ/R-ABwcBGwvk/s1600/boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l0L_T2KfjgI/UiyzfCxvPdI/AAAAAAAAHpQ/R-ABwcBGwvk/s400/boy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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We'll closely follow his recovery and trust we can keep damage to a
minimum. When they left, I told him that next time he's out mouse hunting for meat
for his "caril" (stew), rather probe the holes with a stick than his
hand. And I couldn't help but restate the part about not cutting a snakebite
open to search for fangs. He's young, and impressionable, and I hope he remembers. I also hope that when he tells his friends his story, he includes that and the part about using a stick to probe the burrow instead. Maybe we can save someone else needless injury and pain.</div>
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A hand is far too high a price to pay for a bit meat.</div>
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Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-84830310323702007662013-07-21T02:55:00.002-07:002013-07-21T09:16:20.146-07:00A Family Wedding and a whole lot more!The last 8 weeks or so have been very busy for us as we went to Canada to attend primarily our son's wedding and just got back home to Moz a few days ago. As always, there were plenty of other things to attend to besides wedding activities, so I'll try to give you the nutshell version in photos.<br />
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The weekend we arrived back was a great time to connect with our family and kids and their significant others. </div>
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Turns out it also was a great time to stay up until 3 a.m. catching up on lost chat time! We enjoyed every minute we had with our kids. Their lives are very busy too-our daughter is a full-time high school teacher, and our son is just finishing his Master's in Biomedical Engineering. </div>
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Our son's at-the-time fiancee was participating in a Ukranian Traditional dance festival so we enjoyed the colorful sights and sounds of the day. The sunshine was wonderful although there were so many mosquitoes we feared we may be carried away. Thankfully someone remembered to bring repellent, thankfully also (even more so) these mosquitoes don't transmit malaria. :)</div>
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We set a week aside to visit our daughter who is now a full-fledged highschool math/chem/science teacher. It was an awesome week. </div>
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And do you spot a proud dad pointing out his daughter's name on the sign?</div>
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The end of a busy school day, the classroom is cleared and made ready for the next day's classes.</div>
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Fort McMurray is an oil boom town with big "trucks", and lots of them. Construction also abounds.</div>
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Although we were not on furlough, we took the invitation to share with the church in Fort Mac on Sunday since we were in the area. They are key partners of the work of the mission, and their generous offering that Sunday topped the project funds we needed to purchase a truck (pick up) to serve the school, orphan, and clinic work in Mozambique. We were so honoured and so thankful!</div>
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Week 3-ish: participating in SAM Ministries' strategic planning meeting.</div>
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Part of the activities during the meeting included jotting down our thoughts/vision on poster paper. </div>
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It was a good day of looking back at where we came from, and projecting forward to where we want to be.</div>
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During our time at home, we also took in the SAM Ministries annual banquet and Global Care a Thon walk. In the photo below taken at the banquet, Carole Argo describes the quilt that she made to the winning couple (the wife is blind). <br />
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Moving along to the wedding...</div>
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Weddings are a time of great excitement, family gatherings, but also of lots of work and planning. It's impossible to capture everything, so the above photo of us decorating the wedding arch at the church will have to do to represent all the other preparatory activities that took place, many of which took place before we even landed. The bride's family did an absolutely amazing job and things turned out so well! I was also privileged to prepare the wedding slideshow which was great fun to work on despite the hours of sifting through and organizing photos and music!</div>
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The bridal party right after the ceremony. </div>
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The weather cooperated wonderfully and we had a nice and cool but sunny day where everyone felt comfortable, even the guys in suits.</div>
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Russell and Melodie</div>
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Stealing a quick shot while the photographer was otherwise engaged.</div>
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Amanda and Russell (our kids)</div>
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With my mom and mom-in-law. What a wonderful chance to be together and celebrate such an awesome occasion!</div>
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Jon and Amanda, pleased at winning both the bouquet and garter toss :)</div>
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Me with my mom and sister and our daughters.</div>
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The Lagore side of the family several days after the wedding. Missing a few members but it's hard to get everyone together!</div>
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The week following the wedding was a time of sad family goodbyes and fevered packing to return to Moz. We are now back home in the bush recovering from jet lag and preparing for intensive seminar which starts tomorrow. I'll do my best to keep posting here!</div>
Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-63577993117177420542013-05-24T22:46:00.000-07:002013-05-24T22:46:27.974-07:00Dirty Letters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Written last week, before leaving for Canada to attend our son's wedding, SAM Ministries' annual banquet, etc.:<br />
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After a considerable degree of effort, the teachers at the school and I managed to get the kids to fill in letters to their sponsors. These letters aren't complicated or lengthy. Mostly, they're a drawn or colored picture. Maybe a circled or written word or words, depending on what grade they're in. Depending on their level of ability.<br />
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It can be very hard to connect this world with other worlds. This world is rather basic. We have bugs and dirt and low-end technology (when it works). Other worlds are super-hygienic, bug-free (a luxury where, as my daughter put it, is to ask oneself "how did that bug get inside??") and have high speed internet. I'd like to say that the term "high speed" in Moz is used in some capacity, but that's not characteristic of most of life here. That's not good or bad. It's just different. Where we live, it is buggy, dirty, and has slow-end technology. It's a part of the world that tugs at your heart. It's a tough place to live, but I love it.<br />
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Anyway, back to the letters. Lots of them were soiled by the hands of children who don't have running water in their school yet. I had thought to pack plastic basins, water, soap and towels, but forgot since my time was taken up with packing food to keep tummies filled, sight words for the next week, medicine for the school clinic, etc. Sending dirt-smudged letters is never our intention, but it seems an inevitable and normal part of life in Africa. The dirt is as hard to avoid as the oxygen we breathe.<br />
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Tomorrow is my last day here before I head for a different world with the luxury of running water, fast internet, and being shocked to see a bug or dirt anywhere but outdoors where they belong. But part of me is sad to leave the "real" world behind. There is so much humanity and value in a hand written note, though it's smudged with dirt and erased misspellings. Those are the elements that shout, "Real people with real needs live here!"<br />
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I would like to keep these letters before me as a constant reminder that the fast, developed world is good, but there is another world that calls my name. It's the world that is still struggling to develop; the one that suffers hunger, poverty, and death from treatable illnesses--things I don't want to experience, but others must. Lives I can impact as long as I don't shrink back.<br />
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This is why these dirty letters mean what they do to me. Each one represents a sweet face, a unique personality with its own quirks, mischief, and vulnerability. A loving heart, and a life full of potential, still "under development", that hopes for change. Most importantly, a life that <i>can</i> be changed.<br />
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<br />Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-10645495101404262982013-05-11T16:23:00.000-07:002013-05-12T03:22:03.736-07:00In honor of my mom on Mother's Day<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I thought I'd post a few pictures of my mom. These are taken
during my childhood and are the few I have with me here in Africa.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">This one was taken, I
believe, before our lives got crazy (aka we moved to Dallas, Texas, then later to
Brazil).</span></div>
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Here, we were your average Canadian family at a family
picnic. My mom comes from a big German family of 14 surviving children, so I think
our picnics pretty much took over the entire park :) When I was young, I
thought all normal families consisted of 100-ish people... Anyway, this is us. My older sister, our
sweet younger brother, mom, dad, and me (the tow-head at the back, left).</div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This photo is of my 11th
birthday (I think). It was my first birthday in Recife, Brazil.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nxt2FzPvnWg/UY7LFG__EYI/AAAAAAAAHgU/rvLEnB-2T1c/s1600/16+Recife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nxt2FzPvnWg/UY7LFG__EYI/AAAAAAAAHgU/rvLEnB-2T1c/s640/16+Recife.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
It had been a very difficult year for us as a family
adjusting to a drastically different country and culture. If someone had handed us return
fares during the first year, I think my parents would have happily hopped on a plane to return to
their normal world! That option didn't exist right then, and oddly enough even
when the opportunity eventually did roll around, they decided God had called them there to stay and fulfill the calling on their hearts: care for abandoned and needy children. So even
though there wasn't much "feel-good"factor in those early years, they stayed. I don't
even know how to place a value on the impact parents have on their kids when
they don't quit--when they refuse to run away from difficulty--when they stick through the tough
times.<br />
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Back to the party though, there was a good mix of my
American and Brazilian friends at my birthday party. I recall that my mom
really knocked herself out to make this birthday a huge smash. She even did my
hair in an up-do (yep, that's the back of my head). It's pretty sweet how my
little brother is looking at me and smiling and clapping his hands :)</div>
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This last photo was taken several years later, after much adjustment and assimilation. After our
lives and family grew to accommodate a number of children who had no family and
who needed to be sheltered and loved. I remember the names of over
half these kids. They were my first "additional" sisters and brothers. I like to
tell Mozambicans that I have black brothers in Brazil. :)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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The little girl in the front had health issues and her spine
was fused when she was very small (you can tell by her posture). She came to stay in our home for awhile and was she sharp as a whip! That was an interesting adjustment. I was about 17 at the time and she loved to
snoop through my drawers and test my make-up and chew the Wriggley's gum sent to me especially
from Canada. After I left home to study nursing in Canada, she and my little
brother became good friends and thick as thieves. It was cool that they had
each other, and that together they kept our parents on their toes. Several years after that, my brother (in striped pants on right, above) got sick and, sadly, lost his
life. Later on, the little girl did too due to complications from her condition. </div>
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<br /></div>
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In a perfect world, children should not be abandoned and suffer the break-up of their families, and they should not die. But this world is not perfect. It is made a better, however, by the love and self-sacrifice of moms who are willing to love their own, and to love those of others as well. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Thank you, mom, for the love you shared and for the example you
were to not only me but to the many children who are and were part of
our lives and family as well. My prayer is that this legacy will be passed on many times over. May the generation to come be a big one with hundreds in the family.<br />
<br />
That is normal after-all :)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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I love you, Mom. Happy mother's day!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-30102510220436516122013-05-09T07:48:00.000-07:002013-05-09T07:54:15.003-07:00CrayonsWe went to the school yesterday and took pictures for the kids to color. We started with Grade 1 and 2. I managed to capture a few moments of the fun so I'll post them here. <br />
<br />
This first picture isn't real sharp but it was the best of this boy (on the left) performing for the photo by stuffing crayons in his mouth.<br />
<br />
He is one of my "best" Grade 1 friends. I've taken care of him a time or two at the clinic, and as a result, I have his undying love and devotion. When I go to the school, he is often the first one at the car door to grab me by the hand and walks everywhere with me. And if he can't do that, he carries my bag of supplies for me in and out of every classroom. Anyway, this seemed to be where the focus on crayons started.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OApk7PcLP_I/UYupqEY28dI/AAAAAAAAHeM/2wLBJN0PpA8/s1600/kids+crayons+2+boys+a+stuff+in+mouth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OApk7PcLP_I/UYupqEY28dI/AAAAAAAAHeM/2wLBJN0PpA8/s640/kids+crayons+2+boys+a+stuff+in+mouth.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Here I got a cute wrinkle-headed smile and and pointed at with crayons.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NOtYtnmcXVY/UYupr3QhBsI/AAAAAAAAHeU/nt-hTu_YPRA/s1600/kids+offer+crayons+group+of+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NOtYtnmcXVY/UYupr3QhBsI/AAAAAAAAHeU/nt-hTu_YPRA/s640/kids+offer+crayons+group+of+4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Then, a row of girls held up their crayons for the shot.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bHS8WE-DyIo/UYupsBlTAII/AAAAAAAAHeY/wwBGnViPqpk/s1600/kids+row+of+3+girls+offer+crayons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bHS8WE-DyIo/UYupsBlTAII/AAAAAAAAHeY/wwBGnViPqpk/s640/kids+row+of+3+girls+offer+crayons.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
But that wasn't good enough, so they held them higher. (And I never did manage to focus on the crayon tip.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CRwfoNHn0zQ/UYu0Q8drJDI/AAAAAAAAHfs/6Av84XttYZI/s1600/IMG_5099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CRwfoNHn0zQ/UYu0Q8drJDI/AAAAAAAAHfs/6Av84XttYZI/s640/IMG_5099.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Next row, same thing...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a8J1QZ9ao5E/UYu0ShVqPeI/AAAAAAAAHf4/Usm4IPTHN_o/s1600/IMG_5101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a8J1QZ9ao5E/UYu0ShVqPeI/AAAAAAAAHf4/Usm4IPTHN_o/s640/IMG_5101.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
And so on<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3HjUtBORQTU/UYu0Kgfx5dI/AAAAAAAAHfg/PppbZAThwFw/s1600/IMG_5103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3HjUtBORQTU/UYu0Kgfx5dI/AAAAAAAAHfg/PppbZAThwFw/s640/IMG_5103.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WRUiWqjAaK4/UYu0QLuvTiI/AAAAAAAAHfo/40sXTK1XIl4/s1600/IMG_5104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WRUiWqjAaK4/UYu0QLuvTiI/AAAAAAAAHfo/40sXTK1XIl4/s640/IMG_5104.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5jcCrV3oV4/UYupx8QBtWI/AAAAAAAAHek/7XntPgtA88k/s1600/kids+with+crayons+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5jcCrV3oV4/UYupx8QBtWI/AAAAAAAAHek/7XntPgtA88k/s640/kids+with+crayons+girls.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This little boy didn't bother. I guess he figured his winning smile was good enough :)</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PcIAP2b94r4/UYuv5hQ1E7I/AAAAAAAAHfQ/0cF4KHRwpU0/s1600/child+smiling+ASAM+Mozambique+SAmministries.org.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PcIAP2b94r4/UYuv5hQ1E7I/AAAAAAAAHfQ/0cF4KHRwpU0/s640/child+smiling+ASAM+Mozambique+SAmministries.org.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Kyra and Jackson helping out and catching the action on video.</div>
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZTebbLfPxqM/UYuqrrrSIxI/AAAAAAAAHe8/D7Lmi0t3to4/s1600/Ky+and+Jax.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZTebbLfPxqM/UYuqrrrSIxI/AAAAAAAAHe8/D7Lmi0t3to4/s640/Ky+and+Jax.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The kids loved Sharon's attention!</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UGC6w1nj-D8/UYuqroVZ2CI/AAAAAAAAHe0/KhRbquYsT0c/s1600/Sharon+with+kids+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UGC6w1nj-D8/UYuqroVZ2CI/AAAAAAAAHe0/KhRbquYsT0c/s640/Sharon+with+kids+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Dwight helping distribute sweets and brightly colored pipe cleaners when they were all done.</div>
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There may be noise and dirt and goofing off and mayhem at times at the school, but you can't help but love these kids.Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-83835191751091074842013-05-07T14:09:00.002-07:002013-05-07T14:09:36.285-07:00Tetanus, Rabies, Youtube, and QWERTYWe were supposed to have our monthly health worker meeting today but two of the health workers couldn't make it so we postponed it until Thursday. While we were all sitting around chatting, the topic of typing came up because a new health worker needs to learn computer skills. I drew a diagram of a keyboard and he filled in the keys he could remember. He did well considering he's only on day 3. We then went on to discuss what QWERTY means and how cell phone dial pads differ. I thought this may help him a bit as he learns to type. Mostly, it's just kind of interesting to me.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n3Iyt2p5gcU/UYltWAdiCoI/AAAAAAAAHd8/ExcfB2G1Kc0/s1600/monthly+socorrista+meeting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n3Iyt2p5gcU/UYltWAdiCoI/AAAAAAAAHd8/ExcfB2G1Kc0/s400/monthly+socorrista+meeting.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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From keyboard layouts, we went on to discuss dog bites (which we've seen recently), rabies and tetanus. Although we've all learned about these conditions, no one has ever actually seen someone with rabies or tetanus. There are only pictures or rough sketches in medical textbooks. So I had a novel idea...look up videos on youtube. There are a surprising number of videos of actual rabies cases, considerably fewer of tetanus cases, but still, enough to get a good visual so it would be recognized more quickly if ever witnessed. These aren't fun to watch, but the essential things in life aren't always fun. They do tend to be very useful, however.<br />
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My other task (while Bob and Dwight had a meeting, Kyra painted ox carts, Jackson worked on Joao's roof, and Sharon did laundry) was to figure out just how to merge a Word document with an Access database table. This is a huge learning curve for me, and oh how I dislike huge learning curves while I'm going through them! If I can't figure out the merge procedure, Kyra and I will be doing lots of hand printing of preschooler and Grade 1 kids' names on their artwork pages tomorrow before heading to the school to get them working on them! I'm thinking close to 100 names--that's lots of writing. So pray my mind can wrap its way around this learning curve real fast. Don't suppose QWERTY knowledge will help with this one.Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-77209038916480354422013-05-03T12:10:00.003-07:002013-05-03T14:26:01.117-07:00A baby, a puppy, and prayer<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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We were sitting in a circle having a chat with some dear people the other
night while a cute baby with beautiful, bright eyes played on the rug in front
of us. He was wearing a bright red sleeper, the all-in-one neck-to-toe kind,
but the sleeper was having a hard time keeping up with the busy little body
within. It sort of stuck to the rug as the baby inched his way forward. The toe
and foot compartments, left flat and empty by the baby's forward movement, followed along obediently. Whenever the baby lay down or roll over, the empty sleeper toes twisted and flopped nonsensically. This attracted the attention of a cute little puppy
that was romping on the rug as well. At 6 weeks old, the puppy was cute as a
button and small as a bug. He had been minding his own business until the
jerking motion of the floppy red fabric caught his eye. That was about the point
in time when we were called to prayer. As I closed my eyes, I noticed the baby
headed my direction with the puppy in hot pursuit of the red cloth trailing behind him. I only closed my eyes momentarily in compliance with the group, but opened
them again quickly in order to intervene in what was coming. </div>
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The baby got to me quickly and I reached down to help
him stand just as the puppy caught up. The baby turned and took a playful swipe at the
puppy, and the movement made one of the empty sleeper toes flip tauntingly.
This was too much for the puppy and as he poised to pounce on it, I hoisted the baby up. I wasn't
quick enough though and the puppy caught the tip of the empty sleeper toe firmly between his teeth. I didn't want a tug of war to ensue, so I lowered the
baby and tried to "shoo" the puppy away from his new toy. He relaxed
his grip a bit and I lifted the baby again. But that puppy was quick on the
uptake and grabbed the sleeper tip before it got away. I decided to set the
baby on my knee so I could free one hand for dealing with the persistent puppy. But as I lifted the baby higher, the sleeper
fabric stretched, and that stretching brought out the puppy's reflex to lock all
4's, pull backward with all his might, and swing his head from side to side
like only a determined dog will do. The baby's mom, sitting next to me, stifled a snicker. Everyone else managed to ignore
the circus and kept on praying. Thankfully I managed to lean over and pry the
puppy's jaws open quickly and release the now fairly stretched empty sleeper toe. I pulled the sleeper toe and leg back into proper position on the
baby and tried to bounce him quietly on my lap. But he was too far into the game by then
and was reaching and kicking for the puppy on the floor--who by
then had moved on to chewing on my purse's strap. Seeing the puppy was distracted,
I decided to try and set the baby on the rug again to crawl. But as I did so, the puppy bounded
toward the baby again and the baby's eyes sparkled with delight! I quickly pulled the baby back to myself and realized this wasn't going to be an easy game to quit. People were still
praying (somehow) so I decided the best policy was to hand baby off to
mommy. Thankfully that settled
things down for a while so I could put in at least a few moments of earnest
prayer. </div>
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That's what life is like. Some moments don't have a
"stop goofing off now--this is serious" button. And that is probably what saves our sanity. I'm sure glad God hears our hearts either way. <span lang="PT"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Paul, we miss you. And these and many other fun and fond moments like them remind us of you. We will see you again one day.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-11987768212247403532013-04-30T14:07:00.003-07:002013-04-30T14:07:36.060-07:00Today I gave a first typing lesson to someone who has hardly used anything electronic (or electric) in his entire life. He is not accustomed to cell phones and touch screens. His hands are calloused from swinging a hoe and an axe for subsistence survival--the norm in these parts. Teaching him to set his fingers nimbly on the keyboard seemed counter intuitive to all his life's experiences to date. His touch on the keys was too clumsy for the set "repeat" rate, and there were several runaway "D"'s and "S"'s. His spaces and returns were half intentional, half accidental. But he is excited to learn. And it's a start.<br />
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We are down an office member these days and need lots of help. Primarily, this young man is earmarked for the health program as a health worker. He has come up through our school and sponsorship program and completed 11th grade, which is more than most of our current staff have. He is sharp, knows the local area and its people well, and seems to have a good heart. Those are essential ingredients. Typing and further skills can be learned.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-12GtVEwH1yw/UYAyY77HKqI/AAAAAAAAHds/hZGNZIfD65I/s1600/celestino+on+computer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-12GtVEwH1yw/UYAyY77HKqI/AAAAAAAAHds/hZGNZIfD65I/s400/celestino+on+computer.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-78883007351050908792013-04-28T12:54:00.000-07:002013-04-28T13:08:56.730-07:00Church and Massa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JJGWzaSfKJw/UX123wHh5JI/AAAAAAAAHdM/wUPs42CCt2Y/s1600/IMG_4836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JJGWzaSfKJw/UX123wHh5JI/AAAAAAAAHdM/wUPs42CCt2Y/s640/IMG_4836.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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We attended and shared in a church today just up the highway from us. Last time we were here, they were still meeting in a mud hut but busy making bricks by hand for this building. Now their building is up and even has a tin roof. It's wonderful to see progress! </div>
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When we arrived, the song service was already well underway. There is no such thing in Africa as a "dead" worship service. They're all loud and vibrant with beating drums, moving bodies, clapping hands, and shaking shakers. The shakers used in this church were made of tin cans, filled with seeds, then placed end to end on a stick (you can see the very end of one just beyond the song leader's white gown). They also had shakers made from gourds. All in all, it's was loud. No one got bored or fell asleep. It also took awhile after the singing was done for my hearing to key down enough to hear normal sounds again. Sort of like after a noisy concert.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X2WtQH-bbJE/UX126YcCMfI/AAAAAAAAHdc/YGyHJtUISeI/s1600/mozambique+church+ASAM+SAM+Ministries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X2WtQH-bbJE/UX126YcCMfI/AAAAAAAAHdc/YGyHJtUISeI/s640/mozambique+church+ASAM+SAM+Ministries.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is the building. Every brick, individually made by hand from mud, patted into a form, dried in the sun, then baked in a fire. Every brick carefully brought to the site and set in its place and cemented there with precious cement that was brought all the way from town. There seems to be no part of life here that is easy or convenient. Everything comes at a high cost in one way or another, and this building certainly testifies to the commitment and hard work done by this congregation.<br />
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As is the custom, we were fed after the service. This is a year of poor crops, and hunger, but still they prepared a delicious meal for us. The meal was massa (cooked, ground maize) and chicken done in a tomato, onion, and oil sauce. The massa is prepared as a stiff porridge that is dipped into the sauce and eaten with the fingers. We north americans aren't entirely adept at this type of eating. I'm pretty clumsy at it though I do manage to get the food into my mouth (all over my hands, some on my skirt, etc.).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h63iaRbTM4g/UX125UzpUhI/AAAAAAAAHdU/B-M3mKz06F4/s1600/eating+massa:sadza+mozambique.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h63iaRbTM4g/UX125UzpUhI/AAAAAAAAHdU/B-M3mKz06F4/s640/eating+massa:sadza+mozambique.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch at the Pastor's house with Dwight, Cara Bob and Sharon, Jackson, Carlito and his brother, Kyra, and Joao. </td></tr>
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Dwight shared that what makes us "rich" in Christ is that we have Faith, a Father, Family, and an eternal Future. We felt so honored and blessed by the time spent with this part of our Family today. We are rich, indeed.<br />
<br />Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-76586609080857818912013-04-26T14:37:00.001-07:002013-04-26T14:37:17.666-07:00When ordinary becomes delightful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The days have been simply packed and tonight I'm tired and very tempted once again to skip blogging in favor of just showering and crawling bed. But I managed to negotiate a deal with myself: keep it short. Capture one highlight of the many over the past 2 days. That was a tough choice, but here it is.</div>
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This afternoon, Cara, Bob Guzak, Ernesto and I visited the home of one of our students. First, we had to contend with the horribly eroded road to the school (shoot, no photo of that yet). Then, we walked the "short" distance of about 1.5 km to the home. The kids were SO excited!</div>
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When we got to the home, we were welcomed warmly and a grass mat was brought for us to sit on. This is the Mozambican bush home's equivalent to a living room with a comfy sofa. It was a great time for Cara to connect with a sponsored student. It was also a great video/photo op which always delights the kids immensely when you show them the playbacks.<br />
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We all enjoy seeing moving images of ourselves, but it's especially fascinating when it's the first time ever.<br /><br />
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Gifts were presented and the moment was enjoyed by all, but note the two boys still stuck on video replays on the iphone.</div>
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The momentum really picked up when Bob videoed the whole scene and replayed it on his ipad. I don't think any two apple screens have ever been touched by such wondering fingers as these were today, repeatedly. </div>
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Photo fever reached an all-time high as I snapped a few more shots and kids squealed with delight at the playbacks. "The dog! Take a picture of the dog!!" they cried.</div>
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That seemed a rather boring subject to me but since it's what they REALLY wanted, I took the shot.</div>
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When I showed them this playback, they doubled over and screamed with laughter. It's delightful to see a replay of yourself, but apparently it's hilarious to see them of your plain, ol' dog laying around in the dirt!Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-18445462417754078592013-04-24T14:18:00.000-07:002013-04-24T14:18:15.225-07:00Quick trip to PungueGot a call at the end of the day to saying someone down the highway had been (badly) bitten by a dog and needed to be taken to hospital for shots. I wasn't sure what shots were even available locally, but we went to see the person and at least dress the wounds.<br />
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We pulled off the highway several km's from here where the family stood in a huddle waiting for us. A man held a child, about 5 or 6 years old, who was crying. The mom was nearly hysterical. Turns out the "someone" bitten was this child. As we examined the wound and discussed what to do, we discovered the child's older brother was also bitten, though not as badly. And apparently a 3rd person was also attacked. We decided to all pile into the vehicle and head to the Pungue Health Center. At least they had Tetanus immunization.<br />
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We arrived at the health center after dark, and the place has no power.<br />
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The nurse emerged from his house nearby to greet us in shorts and flip-flops. He quickly ushered us into the room labeled "Triagem" and set about cleaning and dressing the boys' wounds. The youngest boy cried from the moment we arrived until the moment we walked out, but especially when he got his shot. Everything about the place was so very humble and simple. He used a flashlight to work by that he obviously was used to positioning "just so" while doing this sort of thing. Since there were quite a few of us in the room with idle hands, Dwight held the flashlight from a better angle. I had brought one as well that was quite bright and I couldn't help but think that was the brightest that little triage room had ever been after dark. He worked quickly and efficiently. Thankfully he had the basic supplies for dressing the wounds and immunizations were kept in a battery operated cooler.<br />
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When he was done, we made small talk. He asked Dwight if he recalled giving him and his laboring pregnant wife a ride to Vanduzi awhile back. Dwight said, "Yes, I remember you." The nurse said, "Well, that baby is born and at home now. Won't you come meet my family and see our baby? It's our firstborn." So we took the extra few minutes to visit his home, meet the family and neighbor kids who were there for supper (spaghetti...a delicacy out here) and some TV viewing, and then we left.<br />
<br />
By the time we stopped to drop our passengers and little patients off, the little boy had stopped crying and the whole family was settled and happier.Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-65180399400450554602013-04-23T12:30:00.000-07:002013-04-23T12:30:01.587-07:00At 3:30 a.m.
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3rbGCahzsbE/UXbfxHH0aNI/AAAAAAAAHbQ/I76ol4iqjVc/s1600/moon+and+stars+night+sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3rbGCahzsbE/UXbfxHH0aNI/AAAAAAAAHbQ/I76ol4iqjVc/s400/moon+and+stars+night+sky.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At 3:30 a.m. got a call that a woman in the community who
had given birth to twins had lost a lot of blood and needed to be taken to
hospital. The babies were 2.4 kg and 2.6 kg and wrapped in a capulana and towel
each. Two teeny tiny, perfectly formed little girls. When we pulled into
Vanduzi Hospital Maternity ward, they took the twins into the birthing room,
where the only scale is, to weigh them. It was a busy night for the one nurse on duty and the small
birthing room was packed. One mom was on all 4's on one stretcher, laboring I
imagine. Another woman was lying on the only other stretcher. And a third woman was lying on the floor (on a mat, I presume) and had just given birth.
The twins were placed in a large, square receiving bassinette along with the other newborn,
and carefully unwrapped and placed on the scale one at a time and then in turn, wrapped up again. I
couldn't help thinking about stories of inadvertent baby-swaps. I saw no I.D. bracelets on
moms or babies last night, but this nurse seemed pretty on top of things and kindly handed the
correct infants back to us to take in to their mom.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was thankful it was still dark when we arrived back home
again at about 5 a.m.. I was all too happy to crawl back into bed and steal a few more winks
before the sun and busy day ahead leapt up to greet me.</div>
<br />
<!--EndFragment-->Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-73530524464330416492013-04-22T15:28:00.001-07:002013-04-24T15:00:28.696-07:00The day's highlightsToday was a full one. After devo's, I had to rush out to see a man at home who was very ill. Possible pneumonia, as it turned out. He was sick enough that I felt he needed to go to hospital for evaluation and possibly rehydration with IV fluids. His wife told us about his condition, and she did so amid moments of tearfulness. We don't see this everyday. Most people are concerned, or sad, when they share of a loved one in need, but they tend to be quite self controlled. This woman was moved to tears. It was unique, and touching. The man was assessed and treated at home, then referred to hospital with a letter. He has been seen there and further testing will be done (for possible TB).<br />
<br />
We took a trip up to Honde to visit pastor there who received an ox cart. It was an adventure, just the ride itself. We had biting ants galore, cars that quit, and calves that didn't want to be loaded. Children chased us through town and up the hill to pastor Paulo's place, they played on the cow cart, and hammed it up in front of our cameras. Lots of fun, in a different sort of way.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ei-i6g3kjQs/UXW4bdEVTlI/AAAAAAAAHaw/YfXPWVe6Z6g/s1600/IMG_4683.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ei-i6g3kjQs/UXW4bdEVTlI/AAAAAAAAHaw/YfXPWVe6Z6g/s320/IMG_4683.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ypaQsbdaWoo/UXW4yxXgdcI/AAAAAAAAHbA/JJwg5_24PY4/s1600/IMG_4703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ypaQsbdaWoo/UXW4yxXgdcI/AAAAAAAAHbA/JJwg5_24PY4/s320/IMG_4703.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mlOHGosKnqA/UXW4eNpxv6I/AAAAAAAAHa4/fs6xeox0Xqw/s1600/IMG_4722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mlOHGosKnqA/UXW4eNpxv6I/AAAAAAAAHa4/fs6xeox0Xqw/s320/IMG_4722.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
At the end of the day, we were all hot and sweaty but the day was full of beautiful faces and touching times. And pastor Paulo had his new oxcart. Looking forward to similar adventures tomorrow!Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-40471753209887304922013-04-21T11:50:00.003-07:002013-04-21T11:50:27.320-07:00Internet
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Twenty years ago we had no internet. Today, we can hardly live
without it and we wonder, how on earth did we used to communicate anyway?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even though we have internet now, which out in the bush is
nothing short of a miracle, it is quite the effort to get and keep. For years
we depended on a satellite dish that was hard-wired to a modem that was plugged
into several other machines with a ridiculous number of cords that are wound
and twisted around each other. No one really wants to risk unplugging and
detangling the mess because it's such a mission to get hooked up and receiving
signal properly again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nsuuOrtSD3s/UXLyONsEQBI/AAAAAAAAHaY/rZkLCU9c6XI/s1600/modem+internet+satellite+cables.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nsuuOrtSD3s/UXLyONsEQBI/AAAAAAAAHaY/rZkLCU9c6XI/s320/modem+internet+satellite+cables.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actually, this doesn't look bad. This was awhile ago. Now it's worse. Maybe I can get an updated photo...</td></tr>
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One time during a thunderstorm, lightning struck the office and burnt out a few machines. It took us a month to replace the machines and get things reprogrammed and hooked up and in working order again. Like I said, when it's working, no one wants to mess with it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-82j4MoOFe5Q/UXLysPCP5-I/AAAAAAAAHag/Dj7NOO8l_kY/s1600/satellite+dish+signal+set+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-82j4MoOFe5Q/UXLysPCP5-I/AAAAAAAAHag/Dj7NOO8l_kY/s320/satellite+dish+signal+set+up.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Capturing signal. This took an entire day. :/</td></tr>
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Recently though, we've been using more of Movitel's service.
This is a company that uses fibre-optic cable and they've taken internet into
regions of Mozambique no one would have dreamed would have internet a year ago.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our movitel signal is ok from here, but not great which
means that we get internet, but it's slow and comes in bursts. It doesn't take anyone
out here long to figure out where the signal is best and we've discovered ours
is no place less convenient that outside on the edge of the veranda. So when I
really need to get something done and signal fades in and out and in again, I
lug my computer, modem, and extension wire out onto the veranda. If it still
isn't cooperative, I've found that standing on your tippy toes at the very edge
gives a distinct advantage and ups transmission speeds. Or maybe I just think it's faster. Either way, it's not a strange sight to find me standing on the
veranda at night holding a wired modem above my head.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One solution to this is to get Movitel to bring a line
straight here to us rather than the closest tower which is down the river, around
the bend, and across the valley from us. So Dwight has been settling contract
details with a Mr. T. who sort of runs Movitel in this area. It's been
interesting because Mr. T. is fluent in Vietnamese but not so much in English,
and Dwight is fluent in English but speaks no Vietnamese. Let's just say
there's a lot of repetition in their conversations, kind of like mine with Mr.
B. (see previous post). So it's become a bit of a joke around here when we know
Dwight is on the phone with Mr. T. and they're trying to understand each other. We hear lots of "Sorry, say again?" and "Sorry, I didn't understand." The other day apparently Dwight spent 2 hours at the Movitel office trying to
finalize paperwork for our new system. When we wondered why it had taken so
long there, he said, "Well, first, it took Mr. T. and I quite awhile trying to understand
each other..." He didn't have to say another word. He couldn't anyway,
we were all so busy laughing we couldn't hear him anymore.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite the difficulties though, it seems things got settled and signed. The line is cleared and the posts are in and ready for the cable to be strung. Hopefully, soon enough, my days of teetering on the edge of the veranda to get internet will be over.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-67756965446015692832013-04-20T11:04:00.002-07:002013-04-20T11:04:50.949-07:00Communicating
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<br />
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This morning turned into ENT day-- staff member with
swimmer's ear and infection further inside, another one with welding induced
conjunctivitis (pink-eye). It's become a joke now because when he comes to have eye salve put in, he
has to go sit for 5 minutes until his vision clears. The joke is that this is
his "time-out". It's always good to find humor in things :) A young mom came to seek help for her 3 kids at home
who have "asthma". She had the baby with her and when I examined the
baby I discovered she in fact had pneumonia. Baby's now on treatment and I did
some asthma teaching with the mom. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A different kind of challenge came awhile later when I was
trying to communicate with an older staff member. He had mentioned the previous
day that he had 10 children, so I was curious to know their ages. But his
command of English and Portuguese is limited (his home language is an African
dialect). My home language is
English and I speak Portuguese, but don't speak his dialect. So having a
discussion gets interesting... </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Mr. B., I would like to know more about your family.
You have 10 children?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Yes, 10. The oldest one is about 40 years old. They're
all big."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"How old is the youngest?" This draws a puzzled
look. So I clarify, "How old is the smallest one? Your baby?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"No, I have no babies. They're all big."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I make a height-measuring motion with my hands, "Your
first-born is about 40. How big is the last-born?" Another quizzical look
so I resort to, "Do you still have children at home?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Yes, four. And two wives."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He mentioned his kids were "big" so I'm assuming
maybe these 4 kids at home are grandchildren in his care, so I ask, "These
four, are they grandchildren?" Another puzzled look, so I try again to
clarify, "Are they YOUR children? Or grandchildren?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He shakes his head and laughs, "I'm not
understand."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hold up 4 fingers, and ask, "These 4 at your home,
are they your children's children?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He clicks his tongue, shakes his head more emphatically, and
laughs again, "Ahhh, I'm not understand."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was getting us nowhere, so I grabbed a pen and some
paper to draw a family diagram. I'm no artist, so we're going with stick
people. I got as far as 1 stick man and 2 stick women side by side, and 4 stick
children on the bottom line when we both started laughing. I could tell from
the look on his face that my picture was as clear as mud. I decided it was time
to call Raimundo to come translate. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In short order I learned that the four children at home
still were his own, one in grade 4 and three in Grade 5. He has also lost 5
children. Not uncommon for these parts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Communication is much quicker and smoother when there's good
understanding! :) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lSqMGcOaexI/UXLYnXiVRhI/AAAAAAAAHaQ/Uj_kTzikLCc/s1600/Mr.+B..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lSqMGcOaexI/UXLYnXiVRhI/AAAAAAAAHaQ/Uj_kTzikLCc/s320/Mr.+B..jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-2144309870244515712013-04-19T12:13:00.002-07:002013-04-19T12:13:34.830-07:00Survival
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the first things I do each morning,
time permitting, is check facebook and my email inbox. I like to know what's
happening with my family and friends. Several days ago, I read snippets about the
Boston terror bombings while getting ready to head up to organize my day after
devotions. There weren't a lot of details at the time, and my daughter and I
were trying to chat. We don't get to connect very often, so when we do other
things get put on hold. Just about the time we got chatting, our internet line
"dropped" but it was also time to head out the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">While the health workers and I were
organizing our day, a woman approached us. She had a malnourished child slung
to her back. An older daughter (about 10 years old) accompanied her and had a
baby slung around her back as well. The child on the girl's back was about a
year old and both were healthy. The child slung to the mom was 3 years old and
only weighed 6 kg. She said it was the surviving child of a set of twins. Here,
where twins are involved, survival is always dicey. There is too much hunger
and struggle, so the odds are against survival of both, sadly. In this mom's
case, the twins were already competing for adequate food supply when she got
pregnant with the child on the little girl's back. This is just a bit of
background info though, her real concern for the malnourished child was that it
was struggling with a thrush infection as well as an eye infection. Thankfully
we had something for the thrush infection at the health post. Unfortunately,
our antibiotic eye salve is gone as all health posts are experiencing a serious
cut back in govt supplied meds. We have helped this mom with infant formula to
improve the child's nutrition, but we've encouraged her to have the child
further evaluated at Vanduzi Hospital. And we will help her get there however we can. She is currently participating in our work-for-food program to help provide for her family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">This afternoon, Ernesto (one of the health
workers) popped in since we had a few matters to discuss. When we were done, I
asked how his family was. Kids? Wife? Everyone was fine, and his wife just had
a baby. For him, this is #9. That's quite a few kids to keep track of since I
feel I barely managed with 2 myself! We got talking about numbers of children
when Mr. B., who was working nearby, said, "Well, white people generally
have fewer children. One, two, maybe three. We have more. I have ten children
myself." Of course, much more than race factors in to how many children
people have so I couldn't help but share that my own grandmother had 15
children. And she was white. I smiled smugly as that information sank in. Both
guys seemed duly impressed. We then went on to discuss how life is changing
everywhere. Kids are going further in school and have higher expectations to
earn an income. How there were many years of war here, not long ago, and how at
the time it was really hard to focus on anything more than just survival during
those years. Now things are different.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Things need to continue to be different in
order to not see malnourished children here, but I'm thankful that things have
changed as much as they have for us all. I feel for this mom who lives on the edge of survival, and I hope to see less of this as Mozambique changes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">My thoughts are also for those
grieving in Boston right now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-12490298386493171302013-04-18T11:39:00.001-07:002013-04-18T11:39:54.949-07:00Firewood on my wallsAfter having an African scene batik for about 4 years, I finally got it hung (well, my husband hung it with help from me saying "A bit to the left. Whoa! Ok, no, no. Back to the right again. Now down lower. Ok back to the left again? Yeah, hold it right there...etc).<br />
<br />
The main point is that I got to use some old, burnt wood I found in the bush quite a few years ago--remnants of an old hut that I rescued and varnished--to hang the batik from. I don't know why it took so long to get this stuff on my walls. Partly it's busyness I guess. Partly, it's trying to envision my many rescued and varnished pieces of "firewood" (as the guys here see it and believe me, I have quite the collection awaiting placement) as taking part in my interior decore which has been fairly non-existent since we moved to this house because I just haven't gotten around to doing it. I've had blank, white walls for far too long.<br />
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<br />
Anyway, I'm now kind of in the mode even though time is limited. The hanging of the batik motivated me to dig out some hand-made pottery items, bells and tea candle holders that haven't hung in our home since our last move in 2007. I enjoy this kind of thing and can lose myself to it. If I really get going it's hard to stop, even to eat. But getting that stuck into decorating or crafting around the clock would be a luxury. There are so many pressing needs here and things that MUST get done that it can be hard to pull myself out of work mode. I have to admit though, when I do, it sure is fun.<br />
<br />
Now if you'll excuse me, I really should decide to do with my +/- 20 other pieces of rescued, varnished wood. Hopefully no one has used them to stoke the fire.Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-26455941275541708932013-04-17T12:07:00.001-07:002013-04-17T12:07:32.287-07:00Health and Traditional Healers<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qgm3DcQ5eQU/UW7w5bpnQ7I/AAAAAAAAHZg/Sks1QzZJHPM/s1600/drum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qgm3DcQ5eQU/UW7w5bpnQ7I/AAAAAAAAHZg/Sks1QzZJHPM/s320/drum.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: <a href="http://roydenlepp.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Royden Lepp</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Toward the end of last week, our chief health worker told me that plans were being set in place to meet with the local area curandeiros (traditional healers, witchdoctors...choose your term) to discuss community health concerns that we and they face. This may seem like an odd plan since we often have to deal with the fall out of people who have spent too many days at the curandeiros awaiting their cure and who by the time we see them are too far gone to help anymore. But this is precisely why it is so important for us to establish dialogue and discussion with them. In terms of our beliefs, training, and practices, we're worlds apart. I don't condone their methods of treatment, but consulting a curandeiro is an integral part of life and the culture here. It's what you do when things go wrong, just as naturally as it is for us to pray or consult our family doctor.<br />
<br />
I have met and dealt with several curandeiros over the years (probably even more than I know). I have treated and prayed for them too, both of which they are very open to. Although their beliefs and rituals are of concern, ultimately they also want to see improvement in those they "treat". That's our aim too, and on this common ground we hope to establish a relationship and atmosphere where we can talk and teach about health issues they come across that are of concern to both them and us. There have been many cases where the person in their care was very ill, and getting worse, and we have been able to reach agreement to take the sick person to hospital. As a result, lives have been saved. So we do have credibility with them, and on that success, we are moving into a closer circle where we can impact them and their practices for a healthier community and even more lives saved. <br />
<br />
I must just say that I have never attempted this before, but I (we) are compelled by the desperate health needs we see. We desire to reach out not only for the sake of the community at large, but to the curandeiros individually as well. We've thought about this opportunity and talked about it for quite awhile, and now the door is open and our next steps will be taken both carefully and prayerfully.Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-10141624503542078722013-04-16T12:26:00.003-07:002013-04-16T12:26:58.750-07:00DanielLast week, one day, Daniel and his mom came to see me. She wasn't feeling so well. Daniel, on the other hand, was bouncy, smiling, cooing and full of life and happiness.<br />
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Daniel and his twin brother joined our milk program several months ago in order to provide supplemental feeds when their mom was struggling to breastfeed them both. Sadly, Daniel's twin brother died several weeks ago. His mom just didn't show up at the health post for over a week and then we heard about Josefa's passing. Apparently she was away on a trip somewhere and he got very sick. We were so sad over this news and sent a special message asking her to please come in as soon as she was back. So she did, and it as a joy to see Daniel thriving even though mommy wasn't feeling well.<br />
<br />
While I listened to Daniel's mom's chest and checked her for fever, Daniel smiled and gurgled at me. When I was done and was talking with his mom, he was still smiling and gurgling at me so I reached out, picked him up, and held him for awhile. He immediately reached toward my face to grab it. Maybe he was checking to make sure flesh so pink/white was actually real. He laughed at me and I laughed at him. I loved holding him for a short while, but had to give him back so we could all carry on with our day. His mom had a ways to walk to get home and I had a day full of work ahead of me. Thankfully, his mom wasn't too sick and I think she'll feel better again soon. I hope Daniel remains healthy and grows up to be a smart man with a good heart who loves God. And I'm so thankful we can be part of that potential journey.<br />
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(Thank you to all who have given, and especially those gifts designated to the SAM Ministries Emergency Feeding program!)Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-79268338393916363312013-04-15T12:23:00.001-07:002013-04-15T12:23:26.097-07:00The soft spotAt the beginning of last week, one of the health workers presented a critical health topic in a culturally relevant way during our morning devotional time. It was primarily planned for the large group of women currently participating in our work-for-food program.<br />
<br />
So what was the topic? Malaria? HIV/AIDS? TB? Nope. The critical topic of choice was--the baby's "soft spot" (fontanel). The question was, "What changes in a baby's soft spot do we worry about? What affects it?" There is quite a bit of preoccupation with the baby's soft spot and whether or not it bounces, and if it does, how quickly it does, and to what depth, etc.<br />
<br />
The first, bold person to answer was a lady who said, "Vomiting or diarrhea." A few others nodded.<br />
Then an older woman said that when the soft spot goes down, that's dangerous and the child could die but a traditional healer can help. Many more nodded their heads this time. Someone else suggested that that in this event, mom should have being taking "preventive measures" by massaging the roof of the baby's mouth with oil. "If she doesn't do this and the child becomes sick, the traditional healer will administer a mixture of oils and herbs or salts to then rub into the roof of the mouth, and administer an infusion of roots and herbs for the child to drink, to heal and control movement of the soft spot." There was much nodding of heads after this comment.<br />
<br />
After several others also contributed their ideas, the health worker went on to explain that a sunken soft spot indicates dehydration, and the danger that results from vomiting, diarrhea, and even fever. And that while the parents run quickly to the traditional healer to identify what evil spirit has caused this and how to appease it, the evil itself is the very diarrhea that is dehydrating the child. He went on to explain the critical importance of re-hydration, especially in infants. Everyone sat in rapt attention--surprised that there would be such frank discussion on the cultural practice of seeking help from traditional healers whose main purpose is identifying evil spirits during illness. Everyone sitting there in rapt attention also heard the message about dehydration and life-saving re-hydration. They have also joined us for several weeks of devotions so far, and prayer, as always followed the morning's discussion.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A mom, examining an image related to the lesson.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After our prayer time, I was swamped with quite a few immediate needs but couldn't help but catch out of the corner of my eye how, as everyone dispersed, one woman with a baby on her back came to the center of the circle and knelt down to be prayed for. A man, I didn't even notice just who it was at the time, saw her and came immediately to talk to her. Then he laid hands on her and prayed for her while everyone else milled busily around coordinating the day's and week's work. There was a certain sense of wholeness in that instant, but it was brief because I also was absorbed with milling around trying to tend to sick people and coordinate the health workers for the day's and week's activities.<br />
<br />
As that day unfolded, it held its fair share of challenges. But this was one of the high points.Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36048486.post-58034477343659566442013-04-14T12:18:00.002-07:002013-04-14T12:18:41.266-07:00Beautiful SchoolLast week I wrote a note at the end of each day. This week, I'll try to post one of those entries each day, just for a change. <br />
<br />
<br />
Wednesday. April 10, 2013. <br />
<br />
This morning I had to head back to the school. I was just there yesterday but when I left had forgotten to bring the infant formula from that health post to the main health post (it's not needed at the school health post right now). Anyway, the main post is nearly out of infant milk, and no one was going to town, so our only recourse was to fetch the formula that was at the school health post. That was how the day started. After devo's that addressed rehydration mix. After I woke at 5 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep again even though it was so pitch dark I had to push the Indiglo button on my Timex to see what time it was when I first woke up. And btw, I hate early mornings as long as I'm able to sleep, but when my mind starts racing at 5 a.m. and I get up at that crazy time, I really do love the solitude, silence, and the soft and gradual lightening of the sky as the sun slowly rises.<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to having to drive for over an hour in order to obtain enough cans of baby milk to see us through another day or so. When I mentioned that I needed to go to the school, Dwight mentioned that maybe he and Tome needed to come along to do some work on the badly deteriorated road and whatnot. Then he disappeared and I had to get antimalarials for Simon to take to Sede health post, had to get laundry going (no power this morning cause something happened to our generator last night) and organize a few other things first-off. When I was ready to head out, Dwight was goodness knows where so I had to head out to find him to see if he and Tome were in fact coming along or if I could carry on by myself. It took a bit of hunting until I found him looking for someone else who wasn't at their house (so he could make progress on the power-outage thing). Anyway, long story short, he and Tome had their hands full with electricity woes so I was to go on my own. So off I went.<br />
<br />
The school is always a busy place. As I approach on the BAD road by vehicle, kids always run out to greet me, waving with great enthusiasm. I pull in at the health post and as I climb out of the vehicle am instantly swarmed by my preschool, Grade 1 and 2 fans who are on free-time. They jabber to me in dialect, grab any hand/finger available that is not busy carting my bag/camera/glasses/pen/keys. Whatever it is I'm carrying, they want to relieve me of which is always very sweet and humbling to me. So in short order, my camera and miscellaneous bag are whisked ahead of me. My pen, glasses and keys I hold tight.<br />
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When I reach the health post, Ernesto is busy doing a student's health evaluation which makes me happy. I find the 6 cans of precious formula I've come for, go down to greet the school's cook and check that things are ok with him, greet the teachers, recover my camera and misc. bag and crawl back into the vehicle to head home. All this while attached to at least 5 kids/arm who are drilling me with words/questions in dialect which I don't understand. I answer them in Portuguese which they're too young to really understand, the whole time we're smiling at each other and enjoying the contact. They love adult attention and my own kids are grown up and pursuing their lives/careers far, far away. So this kid-adult-time works for us all.<br />
<br />
Anyway, once I peel myself away from the hands were holding every available finger and probing buttons on my vehicle's remote control and smudging my reading glasses from all the grabbing, I climb in, wave frantically back at them in farewell, and drive off. As I climb up the hill away from the school yard, I discover that about 8 of the young boys have hurried ahead of me, broken off the branches of some nearby shrubs, and are are waving them "Palm-Sunday" style in front of my vehicle as I drive past, and they're smiling big as can be and singing as loudly as they can, "Beeeooootiful schoooooolooooo, schooooloooo! I shall never, never forget, beautiful schoolooooo!"<br />
<br />
That song is their most rehearsed expression of appreciation and it really does touch my heart. I came to get powdered milk but I certainly received much more than that. The rest of the day can bring what it may :)<br />
<br />
<br />
PS: On a separate note, April 10th is also my little brother's birthday. He passed away awhile back when he was 17 from complications from a ruptured appendix. The years have passed but I sure still miss him. We have a lot of catching up to do one day. When we were little, on Saturdays I used to make him play school. I was the teacher, he was the student. I know for a fact he didn't enjoy that particular "fun", but he cooperated for my sake. I need to remember to sing him "Beeeeooootiful schooloooo, schooloooo!"Lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15094020733039797967noreply@blogger.com2