Belly Flops

I love being the only woman in a group of about 20, twenty-something Mozambican men. It just makes me warm and fuzzy inside. Especially since African moonshine and a pig's head are apparently a staple at such gatherings. I actually got to see the preparation of the pig head this time. A lot of hacking with a semi-dull machete. That distinctive thumping machete-head contact sound is still drumming in my ears.

They invite me- no, more than invite, they insist I come – but none of the other female teachers go. So today, I sort of tried to avoid going, and then my school director called and mandated that I come. I say mandate, because the verb is mandar in Portuguese. I am going to return to America speaking a very funny sort of English.

So I meandered over, when I really just wanted to be taking a nap in the shade. They mandar-ed me to eat pig, but I somehow managed to decline and thus avoid the mangled hairy head goo.

And then, finally, it was time to go to the beach. If I had planned the festivities, the beach would have been first on my list – surely ahead of xima and swine. But we managed to get there at about 5pm after cramming at least 20 people in the bed of a truck. They were nice enough to let the only lady sit, as opposed to hang off the side of the vehicle and desperately grasp for dear life at someone’s shirt, which is what most people were doing.

FYI most Mozambicans don't know how to swim.

“Katarina, do you know how to swim?”
“Yes, yes I do”
“Well let me teach you the Mozambican way”
“Of course, I should have guessed Mozambicans have a better way of swimming than silly Americans.” (ok, didn't say this, but thought it).

To begin the demonstration, he proceeded to assume a little jump-stop-ish squat in anticipation of the approaching wave. Then, just as it was cresting and about to make corporeal contact, he leapt into the air, fervently flailing all his appendages in what somehow seemed like about 17 different directions, before wildly flopping down on his stomach. Post flop, he choked on about 29 gallons of sea water and awkwardly thrashed around in what I assume could really only be his flawless attempt to imitate some sort of crippled gill-less fish.

I soon learned that he wasn't alone. They all excelled at the squat, spring, flail, flop, choke… and mind you, these aquatic performers were all clad in little, cotton, semi-transparent when wet, man panties. Picture it.