Arrival in Mozambique

I finally decided to get my journal out of the freezer and start blogging. No, it's not a security measure, it's an anti-bug measure (the kind with legs, not the electronic kind). When I got home, I put my suitcase outside on the terrace, and immediately washed everything that was even potentially washable, including my knapsack and coin purse. But my passport and journal needed a different approach, so I put them in a ziplock baggie in the freezer, in the hopes that any Mozambican insects wouldn't be able to handle the cold.

As soon as my feet touched the ground, I noticed that the very air smells different here - a combination of sun-baked earth, and faint burning smell, mixed with a pervasive scent of body odor. I would soon learn that these three smells are ever-present, just in varying percentages.

The airport is tiny -- only part of our group can even fit into the terminal. We wait in line outside until we finally get in the door. There is a mysterious $3 fee at immigration, but I'm lucky, because other people seem to be charged other random amounts. The baggage area is even smaller. Once I locate my bags it is hard to get them out of the room, because the aisle is narrower than my suitcase is wide. I'm fortunate in that the customs officials are so busy talking to each other that they pay no attention, and I don't have to explain the donations I'm bringing, including an excessive amount of feminine hygiene products (I chose them because they are light, and because I figured the guys would probably not opt to bring any).

Outside the airport, we finally see the ministry representatives [name intentionally omitted at their request]. They help us load our bags into the back of the flat trucks (which we later learn are called camions). After the bags are loaded it is time for the people to pile in. After a 10 minute drive we are there. We pull in by the visitor compound, and the staff mentions that they will get some guys to help us get out bags up the short hill to the gate. I'm expecting teens or adults, and am taken aback to find out the helpers are kids, who pull the bags onto their heads, and improbably make it successfully up the hill, where they unceremoniously dump the bags in piles of red dirt. By the time we then wheel the bags on the dirt paths it is like driving through snow, with the wheels wearing deep grooves and the bottom of the suitcase pushing the dirt aside like a flawed snowplow. It is our first taste of African dirt, and we naively still think there is some way to avoid getting dirty. We will learn better soon.

Our room has 7 bunk beds with barely enough room to walk between them, and one chest of drawers for 14 women to share, but we are ecstatic to find out there is running water! Hurrah! It is only a trickle, and you can't drink it, and there is no hot water, but when you turn the tap something comes out! (at least most of the time).

My bug repellent has leaked. The entire bottle has disbursed through my suitcase. Fortunately it's the Repel,not the deet, and didn't destroy any clothes, but it saturated a notebook and a box of pepto bismol tablets (both of which I had to toss), and contaminated the other items, so my end of the dorm room has a peculiar herbal aroma. I comfort myself with the thought that we won't get malaria, and indeed I don't see a single mosquito in our room during the entire trip.

I'm excited to have arrived, but I'm also a little tentative. Why am I here? I hope that after getting over jet lag this will all start to make a little more sense. And I hope even more strongly that I'll find out that this whole thing was God's idea, not just my own.

P.S. If you would like to comment on my blog, please note that the ministry I was visiting has asked us to not use their name online. Please avoid using the name of the city, the name of the ministry, and the director of the ministry in your comments.