From December 1st

Happy December 1st to All!

Today marks exactly 6 months since I arrived in Mozambique.  The past month or two have been an even more pronounced roller coaster than usual with a trip down to Maputo (Supermarkets! Taxis! Hot showers! Cheese!), a downturn in activity in the workplace ("vacation is next month, so we really shouldn't start anything right now..."), excessive heat, fresh basil aplenty, and ongoing GI problems.  Some of these were awesome, some not.  I got into a funk about the less awesome ones, and my bad mood was not getting any better.  

Then, yesterday, I literally stepped in a river of shit. In the central mareket. With, like, 25 people watching.  Remarkably, it was not as humiliating as I would have though it would be.  Some nice young man, declaring himself my husband, led me to the nearest water pump, borrowed a bucket from some bewildered lady, and dumped water on my feet until they were marginally cleaner.  Observers encouraged me to use my hands to get them even cleaner, so I then had to explain that I was not going to touch my poopy feet with the hands I was about to go use to pick out my lunch's salad ingredients.  Once I got home, I washed feet and flip flops both with a a progression of bar soap, laundry detergent, then bleach.  My feet fared just fine, sadly I must bid adieu to the flip flops i bought while travelling through Chile in 2006.  The missing bits of sole were pardonable, the pervading smell of poop is not.

I was temporarily put out by my stinking feet, and was on the verge of sinking deeper into a funk, when I realized the young man who helped me wash my feel, the bewildered bucket lady, and the woman who brushed off my knee (just dirt, not feces) were all reasons to smile, not get funky.  The impromptu visit to the police station later that day to help sort out a messy situation for an out-of-town friend threatened my new-found good mood, until a my friend's landlord accused me of single-handedly dismantling and relocating a large, solid wood, double-doored gate.  Even the exasperated policemen rolled their eyes.  I raised my eyebrows, shook my head, then grinned.  

So, today I am off to Cuamba to join some fellow PCvs in celebrating a belated Thanksgiving.  It will also be a celebration of 6 months in-country (perhaps a 'Moz'eltov will be in order?), one of the volunteer's last day at site, and I will be adding to the list of things to celebrate: my self-declared End of Funk!

Happy December Celebrating!