Chapter 3: Milungu

I have no idea how you spell it, but "Milungu" is what the locals call it. It's the word for "white foreigner" in the local language, Changane. It sounds like a racial slur when they shout it at you on the street, but I have been assured by several Mozambicans that it isn't. And we are the Milungus, the talk of the town.

Or just the travelling freak show. Oh, how they stare. You get used to having every single Mozambican you pass stare at you (which in the village is a lot). What I am not getting used to is the random, ridiculously juvenile outbursts spewed at us by groups of young dudes. Their banal comments and foolishness only serve to remind me that yes, young dudes are stupid here just like they are in the states.

The thing is: Mozambicans are really just nice. Almost everyone you pass gives you a "goodafternoon" or at least a friendly nod. Young men my age most often give me the thumbs up and say only "It's all good" in Portuguese as they pass. If you look lost for even a moment they stop to help. And even the comments that may seem rude you quickly learn are just mishandled attempts to reach out. We are weird and new here, after all. And if you play along and turn their weird interjection into a friendly joke they almost always respond well.

The kids love me. Little boys here, just as in the states, just want you to chase them. And I do. I threaten to devour them as I chase them screaming down the streets. My six year old brother and I have become fast friends. He even let me cut his hair (which I might add went disastrously for the little bugger, but I gave him Nerds and he was appeased).

My portuguese is bad. But the thing is so is the Portuguese of a lot of the residents, who prefer the local language to the national one. It can make for some awkward moments. I tried to say that I forgot something, but as I tapped myself on the forehead to demonstrate they thought I was saying that I had burned my face. The words are really close ok give me a break.

I even went to a mass, conducted in Changane (and translated into Portuguese for the four Milungus present). Though for the most part a little slow, the singing is powerful. As I stood there listening to the words I couldn't understand I was overcome. I was embarassed by my reaction but one of the Mozambicans saw me and forced me to join a dance. And I did not represent America well. I think I stepped on an old lady.

I miss Mexican food, microwaves, my brother, being able to pet dogs, flushing toilets, not dealing with giant spiders, and being able to talk to people. But all in all, things are pretty damn good right now.