i am awake/to feel the ache

I am back. But even as I reenter the blogosphere, I am saying goodbye to a lot of other things:

First it was my parents, who flew from Joburg back to China a week ago Sunday. We had a wonderful time. One particularly hilarious moment involved two members of the family drinking a lovely rose wine straight out of the bottle, giggling in the back seat, while the third member zig-zagged around rhinos in Kruger National Park.

(I had to crop out incriminating identifiers, such as our faces.)

Today was my last day with Sampson, my dog. Jenny and Joel are moving to Chimoio, but their second-floor apartment in Gondola is paid up through September, so I'm moving in to save costs. It's much closer to the baby clinic for me.

Dear Sampson is going to William, our Zimbabwean mechanic, who will put him on his isolated farm to guard... I guess plants and goats. I don't believe this will be a good fit for Sampson, who prefers goofing off on night shift, for one, and two, would rather be compensated with loving-human-touch rather than food or the thrill of adventure. But there's nothing to be done. William will be kind enough.

He drove away late this evening, with Sampsy in the back of the truck, wildly looking around, and I knew in my heart the dog didn't understand. Whenever he saunters through my mind, my heart gives a pang. There is something transcendent about a good dog, even a smelly, amorous, weirdo like Sampson.



I am bidding adieu to my chickens, whom I promised to João, my coworker in Beira. I feel quite good about this. João is earnest about mastering the art of poultry-keeping and I couldn't think of a better recipient.


Which also meant, a grand farewell to their capoeira, their home. It underwent several inspiring design changes over the past year: a tin roof, an indoor second story, an emergency exit for flash floods. It was only a 2 mile drive to move it to Paula's house, but the police pulled Vumba and I over anyways, vagrants that we are, and dramatically threatened me with a $200 fine, which made my kidneys dance the macareña. Then, grimacing, he waved us on, and I could practically hear him thinking: "What an idiot muzungu."


I said goodbye to the hot water heater in my shower, which burned out today in a dazzling flash of smoke and flame. I'd already put the nice pear-smelling conditioner in my hair, but all I had to do was quickly rinse and exit.

Jen calls this type of water heater, "the widow maker".

I also said goodbye to electric lighting in my kitchen, which was probably related to the happenings of the water heater the same prior. The electrician said he couldn't mend it without replacing the whole light fixture - so, So Long Kitchen-Light, it's been swell.

Now I use these.

And with this prosaic conclusion, I hereby announce that soon I will also be taking leave of Mozambique itself, which is why I'm disassembling my life here: giving away the dog, the chickens, the nice things. I even have a plane ticket: April 7th. It's time to go home.

I am ready for this. It feels right.

But I know this goodbye will be a lot harder than all the others.