Namaacha Revisited

I finally made my way back down south to the lovely namaacha. I had to go to Maputo because I feel so Mozambican I was compelled to forgo the spoon and eat a semi-young coconut strait from the shell. And, that same day I gnawed on raw sugar cane as well. Of course, I chipped my front tooth.

Well anyway, I headed to Maputo for my Mozambican dentist encounter. “You went to the dentist in Mozambique” Kristen responded in muted horror as I recounted my adventure over the phone.

But yes, the man was very nice, and spoke English. I mean it was a little lower tech and not quite so shiny chrome and white like a dentist office in America – there also was no Kenny G playing in the background, which was unfortunate. But the chip was tiny, and there was no crack in the tooth, so he just sanded it smooth and sent me on the way.

When I say low tech, I mean he used a little mechanical thing to polish at first, but then switched to this like sand paper stuff, and literally sanded my tooth by hand. Not sure that this would happen in America. But it looks fine so hand-sanding is all well and good in my book. I might even prefer it to that rather unpleasant metal taste left in my mouth by the variety of instruments used and abused by American dental professionals.

Really, no need to worry, I am not gangly, you can't even tell.

So anyway, I found myself in Maputo, with a note from Peace Corps allowing me to miss school, and yearning for a little family time. So I hopped on a chapa and made my way to the beautifully mountainous Swazi border. Aka namaacha, where it all began.

Now, since some stupid Mozambican teenager swiped my phone I was sans Mama’s numero. So I was making a surprise visit. But, as I understand it, there is no such thing as an unwelcome visitor in Mozambique. In this case at least, I was right.

As I turned onto my street, Chubs, the little fat girl that lives across the street, announced my presence to the world. “Mana Catarina!” she yelled as she waddled/ran in circles.

You know your home when your Mae makes you eat a fried Meio Frango and an entire loaf of bread for breakfast. And abruptly halts your conversation with the Namaacha PCV and orders you to go take a bath. And steals your shoes in the night to wash them. And then proudly returns said shoes sparkling clean the next morning.

Although it was a short visit – literally less than 24 hours – it was worth the trip to see the look on mama’s face. She told me she is satisfied because she knows her child (me) likes her and she can tell that I am healthy and strong which means I am not only eating bread but actually cooking hot food. While I was in Namaacha she noticed my love for salads, and I think her greatest fear in sending me off into the world was that I would never recreate hot and oil/carb-hearty Mozambican dishes like the sick sweaty pasta or nauseatingly slimy textured tomato fish thing she so lovingly prepared for me.

“A life with only bread is a life of suffering” – Mama’s words of wisdom.