Rachel's Reflections

I woke up the next morning with the same sense of peace, contentment, and happiness permeating me. I listened to the movement of the family already going about their tasks outside before getting up. Emerging from the house I breathed in the fresh morning scent and greeted the aunt as she swept the yard.  Sitting in the sun for warmth, I helped shell the last of the peanuts with Clementina and the aunts. One of the older women said something in Macua; she sounded pleased with my work. The party moved back to the tarp in the shade of the cashew tree. I tried learning how to flip the peanuts and shells in a reed basket to separate them. We all laughed together at my feeble attempts. Later, we drove to another village to hike to a mountain, which was an adventure that lasted the whole day. On our way back that night we had a car problem. I sat on the ground watching the men trying to fix the car. When I looked up at the starry sky, I saw the Southern Cross hanging over my car...

I didn't post a blog the other week because I was off on a grand adventure! I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Yet I would do it again in a heartbeat.  "Hey, I know this is last minute, but we're going up to Memba tomorrow morning. Do you want to come with us?" my friend Nelson said on the phone. "You could do some research about the people and culture. There are no churches in the area." What a great opportunity , I thought. Unfortunately  I had plans for the following two days but it just so happened that another family was going to Memba on Friday. It was agreed that I would follow them to meet up with my friends for the weekend. In the craziness of the next two days, I made several wrong assumptions about the weekend. I assumed there would be decent roads, electricity to charge my phone, cell service in order to call my parents and post my blog on Saturday, and other faulty assumptions. Midway to Memba Friday morning the nice paved road disapp...

What can change a heart of pity to a heart full of admiration? "There are four kids knocking on my gate, asking for food. They all speak Kimwani, only one of them speaks Portuguese. Do you want to come and talk to them?" one of my new Nampula friends told me over the phone. I jumped in my car and went over. As I pulled up to her gate I saw the four kids, dusty from walking up and down the dirt roads. I greeted them in Kimwani and they broke into grins. "She speaks Kimwani," they whispered to each other. As my friend gave them a snack, which they devoured hungrily,  I offered to give them a ride home so I could meet their family. The four kids currently live with their grandparents. They used to live with their parents in a village north of Pemba, but last year they and their grandmother had to flee. To this day they don't know what happened to their parents. The kids go around the neighborhoods begging and bring back whatever they are given. As I drove away that...