Exploring, part 3

After two weeks without an apartment, we changed tactics, and decided to rent a car for the week so that we could drive around and get to places that were further afield (ironically, we ended up renting the first place we looked at that week, which also happened to be 5 blocks away from the hotel where we were staying. Go figure.) Even though we didn’t end up doing too much apartment-hunting after all, it was great to have the car, for, uh…well…IKEA runs. And weekend getaways, of course.

On our next weekend trip, taken just after we picked up the car, we went to a seaside town on the outskirts of Dublin called Malahide. There is a lovely, well-preserved Norman-era castle there, which was occupied by a noble family right up until the 70s. In fact, the name of the last owner was…wait for it… Lord Milo!

However, halfway through the castle tour Jorge started patting his pockets rather desperately, looking for the car keys. Yes indeed, just four hours into rental car ownership, my dear husband lost the keys. And of course, he didn’t lose them inside the house; no, he lost them somewhere along the 20 minute walk we took through the very spacious park around the castle.

Fortunately, the kind soul who discovered them lying on the path took them back to the parking lot, unlocked the car, looked for the blinking lights, and left our keys inside the car (thank you Good Samaritan, wherever you are!)

Jorge, not content to let me relax, ever, decided then to play a prank and convince me that the person who returned our keys had then stolen the I-Pad from the glove compartment in return, which sort of marred my joy at not having to walk home. He didn’t have the heart to keep up the scam for long, though. Needless to say, we no longer keep valuables in the car, and I hold the car keys when we go out.
In all the excitement, however, I didn’t take a single photo. Sorry.

Coming up Short

The order of the day in Malawi is shortages. It seems just about everything is running low these days – fuel, electricity, forex, drugs…A friend recently saw a news story in the local paper bemoaning the “shortage of models,” which is apparently crippling Malawi’s fashion industry. Half the time, we don’t even have powdered milk for our tea in my office. Life is certainly more difficult these days.

Of course, there’s also my critical shortage of time. And the shortage of words to describe just how insanely busy I have been. Swamped. Overwhelmed. Engaged. Occupied. You see? I have run out already.

But today I’ll try to squeeze out a few words in between bits of my hastily eaten lunch, banking on the likelihood that my 2:00 meeting will be late.

Of course, of all the shortages in Malawi, the biggest news is probably the fuel shortages. For weeks now, there just has not been enough fuel in the gas stations. At any given time, only a handful of stations will have fuel. You can tell which ones these are by the lines of cars stretching in every direction trying to get in, or the rush of people jostling with their jerry cans. The other stations sit empty, traffic cones placed in front of the pumps to indicate that they are dry yet again.

Of course, the fuel shortage is not just annoying for commuters, it is dangerous to the economy. I heard that at one point, even the fuel tankers were running out of gas, unable to make it back to the port in Mozambique to resupply. Naturally, a booming black market trade has sprung up for those who don’t have the time or patience to spend 6 hours waiting in line. The last few times we had major fuel shortages, the government blamed Mozambique for having problems at their port (oddly enough, though, Mozambique itself seemed to have plenty of fuel. Hmmmm.) Now, apparently, the problem is that the government has created sooooo much prosperity through its canny economic choices, that the fuel suppliers can’t keep up with the demand created by all the newly rich Malawians buying new cars.

As for us, we’re no longer so concerned about running out of fuel – Jorge unexpectedly sold our car on my birthday this Monday. In the morning, I had a car. I come home from work, no car.

Huh. I guess that’s one way to deal with the problem of the worn-out clutch and the bald tires we needed to replace. Kind of genius, actually.

Luwawa Bike Race

Now for a little time traveling, as we jump ahead six months from Dean's birth to this past weekend...


Yesterday Jorge raced in the Luwawa International Bike Race, an annual mountain-biking event that takes place a few hours north of Lilongwe on the Viphya Plateau, a wooded highlands. It was our first time to Luwawa, and I was looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet in the forest. What I got was quite different - noise, hyper-active children, and not enough sleep...the story of my life these days.


The race itself was extremely well-organized, and Jorge had a great time. He came in solidly right in the middle of the pack, which was fine with him, as his training for the 30-mile race had consisted of a couple of weekend treks through the maize fields behind our block (those of you have read about many of Jorge's past sporting exploits will not be surprised at his willingness to take on extreme feats of athleticism the way other people agree to an evening stroll).

When Jorge heard I was blogging about the race, he wanted me to make sure you all know what a hero he was, as well. There were many stretches of the course that were too steep to ride, and the racers had to push their bikes up the steep hills. Jorge, being the tireless runner that he is, figured he could make up some time be simply throwing his bike over his shoulder, and jogging up the hill. Halfway up one long stretch, he came across a woman who was struggling to get her heavy load up the hill. So he picked up her bike as well, and carried it to the top. My husband is such a gentleman.

Of course, he also apparently bit it so bad at one point that he ended up doing a flying somersault into the woods, where, in his words, he left a perfect "snow angel" impression in the bushes. So it wasn't all "Lawrence of Arabia" sophistication in the wilds of Africa.

Milo also had a great time. As he always does, he made some new friends about 3 minutes after walking through the door, and spent the weekend racing around on his bike and running off into the bush.

Hey look - even I was there! Here's photographic evidence!

The Lodge that hosted the race was packed full, and after the race, they organized an evening of local and international music acts. Which would have been really exciting, back in the days before I had two small children. As it was, I spent last night with a pillow over my head, willing the band to stop playing so that I could get at least 30 minutes of sleep before Dean started his nightly routine of waking up every 3 hours (alas, I only got 10 minutes of sleep before I had to get back up).

This morning, our friend Peter, who has been going to Luwawa for years, took us on a hike through the beautiful countryside. Milo loved it, and wanted to collect one of every wildflower he saw.

Of course, now I'm exhausted, but in one of those good, fulfilled ways. Still, I'm really hoping our next trip involves just a bit more sleep, and hopefully a lot more lazing around on the beach doing nothing!

Milo's first snow

It's the weekend in Lilongwe and that means lots of just hanging out with friends. I'm on my own tonight, as Jorge has gone out to watch some soccer game which is apparently a Very Big Deal. Milo just called me up to his room handed me a book about the rainforest which apparently was giving him the heebie-jeebies and told me "I want it go downstairs." Now that the scary frog is taken care of, I'm hoping both boys just go to sleep and stay asleep. My little guys are growing up so fast...


But that's a post for another day. I'm continuing with the flashback posts for now.


So shortly after we arrived back in Seattle intact (but only after the immigration department decided to hold us for an hour and put the fear of God, or at least the government, back into Jorge once again) we flew down to Los Angeles to visit my grandfather who had been ill. Milo got to trick-or-treat for the first time, and boy, was he sold on that concept.


And then in no time at all it was Thanksgiving. Just before the holiday, a big snow hit Seattle.



First off, let me just say that I have not been a fan of the snow since I was 8 years old and schools got shut down for 2 weeks after a big storm. That was really the last time it was fun. Since then, I've just found snow to be cold, wet, slippery, and terribly inconvenient. My childhood home is down at the bottom of a very big hill - there's no way to get out without going uphill. So once it snows, you're stuck. And being about as big as a whale by this time, I wasn't exactly going for any 3 mile walks through the snow to get to the shops.

However, making lemonade out of these lemons, I thought it would at least be great fun for Milo. I was wrong. we took him outside, he looked around, asked to get into his stroller, then never got back out. Here he is, hiding under a blanket.

My hubby, on the other hand, loves the snow, having only experienced it a handful of times in his whole life. So he took us around on a Siberian gulag march, throwing snowballs and refusing to let us go home until he was satisfied we had thoroughly experienced the snow. Then Milo and I holed ourselves up inside the house playing Wii and trying not to go stir-crazy for the rest of the week.

So there you have it - a post about snow just in time for summer to start! But it's heading into winter here in Malawi - I may even need to throw on a cardigan occasionally. So I am thankful for the experience, for reminding me that truly belong somewhere close to the equator, and I think Milo would agree.

E.S.L.

My husband says the darndest things. The other day over dinner, he looks at me with a puzzled expression, and asks me: "What do you call whale fat in English?"

"You mean blubber?"

"Yeah. That's weird." Then he starts singing the tune from one of the songs from Milo's favorite music CD. Only the words don't sound quite right: "Blubber, blubber, in the trees..."

Umm, no, honey...the song is about bluebirds, not blubber!

I am just adding this to a long list of wonderful song misinterpretations. Some of my other favorites are when he sings "Let it Be." For years he thought the song was actually called "Letter 'B'" and was some sort of odd homage to Sesame Street. He still prefers his version, even after I corrected his mistake.

And just the other day, I had "Rockin' the Casbah" stuck in my head. I hollered out "Sharif don't like it!" and Jorge responded with "Rocking the cash bar! Rocking the cash bar!"

::Swooning with joy over my choice in a mate::

Five years ago today...

I was doing this:

And I'm so glad I did. I'm pretty sure they're the best five years of my life.

Happy birthday to Jorge!

My dear husband turns 30 years old today. 30 years! I guess that makes him a grown-up now.

Someone once asked me, “So, how did he win you over?” I thought for a moment, and then responded, with no irony whatsoever: “Well, he just wouldn't go away.”

Yes, that’s the secret of our love: dogged perseverance. For Jorge’s part, although I don’t think he’ll admit it, he had his mind made up early on. Whereas I took some winning over at first. But I think I sealed my fate on our first date, when, standing on a romantic balcony in the French Quarter, the subject of marriage came up. In an abstract sense, of course; not “so, when do you want to get married?”, but just thoughts on marriage in general, friends getting married, and so on. But of course, to most men, the M-word is terrifying coming out of a first date’s mouth. So, to reassure him, I said, very emphatically:

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to marry you.”

Famous last words.

Fast-forward 8 years – has it really been that long? – and I’m even happier now than I was in that first flush of romance. My husband has become my best friend, the man who nursed me through my rough days of cancer, cooks me pizza when I’ve had a bad day, who plays our wedding song sometimes for no reason and asks me to dance, the man who still tries to protect me from the ugliness in the world, even after all I’ve seen. He is loyal, genuine, funny, and determined at everything he sets his mind to. He is playful, adventurous, and a terrific travel partner. And, of course, to put it in his own words, he is 'ridiculously good-looking'.

It has been a rough couple of days. Milo has been sick, and I have been even sicker with worry. (He is much better now, don't worry). Every maternal instinct inside me was screaming out to be able to hold and nurture my son, but I’m thousands of miles away. But then I remember that Jorge is with him; Jorge, who has become such a capable, caring father, and who loves my little boy like no one else in the world. Apparently he has been such a devoted caretaker that all the nurses have developed crushes on him.

Well, hands off ladies. He’s mine.

Happy birthday, baby. I love you.

Ah, sorry, no update in a while.

You see, I am finishing my job in 2 ½ weeks. So I am sort of in crunch mode now. Not much time to blog. Those last couple of weeks are always the worst, when you start remembering all sorts of long-forgotten tasks that must be finished before you go. And then the writing of the handover notes (and mine are always incredibly comprehensive. It’s a compulsion to leave things neater than I found them). Then, the thing that always seems to keep me in the office fours after closing time on my last day – clearing off my computer files and cleaning out my desk.

Over the weekend, Jorge went with friends to Mt. Mulanje where he hiked up to the plateau, then did a 30-mile run between all the mountain huts up there. It was a challenge finding a Malawian who would consent to be their guide, and then apparently there was lots of grumbling and complaints from the poor guide that it was hot and he was tired. But they had a nice time, and Jorge is now finished with the long runs that he has been doing in preparation for the Comrades race in Durban, a ludicrous 56 miles. (I always like to point out the fate of Phidippides, the first marathon runner, when Jorge starts planning another ridiculously long race. What happened to him, you ask? He ran to Marathon, delivered his message, then keeled over, dead. That’s a good enough cautionary tale for me.)

Also, don’t ask me what happens in 2 ½ weeks. There are plans afoot, but I am not at liberty to discuss yet. All shall be revealed when the time is right.

Anyway, back to the weekend. Jorge committed a major marriage sin – leaving me to deal with the car problems. There is one chore I hate most in the world, and it’s car maintenance. One, I hate being patronized by men who think they know better than me (even when it’s true), and two, I hate being at the mercy of mechanics, who can pretty much tell you anything they want. What, am I going to rip out the engine and say “but look, the seal on the crank shaft drive is just fine!”?

However, I got it all fixed, spent the weekend on my own with Milo without my brain melting, and even managed to get a significant chunk of cleaning and photo editing done. I am Supermom. And I am considering free-lancing as a life coach. Any takers?

Happy Birthday, Milo!

I've only got a few minutes in between putting Milo down for a nap, picking up our picnic lunch, and collecting his birthday cake to hop on and post an entry.

We're having a nice time in South Africa. Right now we're in Franschhoek, culinary capital of the country, and I've picked up a stomach bug, naturally. Yesterday I couldn't eat anything. Today I've managed a couple sips of wine and a good breakfast. Jorge, always the supportive (and not at all melodramatic) husband, keeps saying "I can't believe you ruined the vacation."

Jorge did well in the race on Saturday - he had some leg cramps, so he wasn't as fast as he'd hoped, but he came in only about 20-30 minutes behind target. I had my video camera all set to record him crossing the finish line, and kept checking it every 30 seconds or so to make sure it didn't turn off automatically. Right after checkign it the last time I heard the announcer say, "And here we have our only runner from COLOMBIA!" I whipped up the camera, hit record...and it was turned off. $&%#!!! So there will be no footage on YouTube, I'm sorry to say. You'll just have to trust me tha he looked great.

Today we're celebrating little Milo's big milestone. One whole year already...! Yes, it's cliche and everyone says it, but it's true: I can't believe how fast he's growing up!

Off to Cape Town tomorrow!

Vacation starts tomorrow - I am so excited to get out of town!

So our plans are to spend the weekend in Cape Town with a group of friends. Jorge is running in the Two Oceans race on Saturday, a 35-mile ultramarathon that is supposed to have stunning views of the coast. On Monday we're driving up to Franschhoek in the Winelands for a few days of wine-tasting and gourmet restaurants, and where we'll celebrate Milo's FIRST BIRTHDAY! Then we're going to spend a couple days in Hermanus, an ocean-side town, where hopefully we'll catch some whale sightings. We've been to Cape Town and Franschhoek before, so we're just going to take it easy and relax on this trip. I'll post if I get a chance, but otherwise we'll be back on the 20th.

It's a strange day in Lilongwe today. There is a big campaign rally for the current president at the stadium near our house, so there are police everywhere, and throngs of people wearing identical blue t-shirts with President Bingu's face emblazoned on the chest. It seems to have everyone all astir. My office is in the main market area, and throughout the day there have been periodic bursts of people running past my office window, yelling and chanting. No idea where they're going, but they seem to be in a good mood, at least. You always have to be careful when you see groups of people running in Africa. After all, maybe there's an elephant after them or something.

Coolest pet ever

I'm not big on pets - I like cats, and I understand why people own dogs (although I hate the creatures, myself), but I don't really get why people would own any other sort of pet. Birds shouldn't be in cages. Snakes and spiders are creepy. Rabbits never seem to stop being petrified of their owners. Fish don't do much, and small rodents are, well, kinda stupid.

But I am relenting on lizards. Lizards are cool. Especially if they live in your front yard and you don't have to find insects to feed them or anything.

Meet our new pet chameleon, Senor Camacho:

Jorge found this little guy in the road during one of his runs. Chameleons are incredibly slow walkers, and they disguise themselves to match the tarmac...you can guess what usually happens next. Jorge rescued Senor Camacho and brought him home to our house. He now lives in the tree in our front yard.

Milo's a big fan!

Well, I am back in Malawi, still coughing, but not so bad that it gives me migraines anymore. The flight home was smooth, albeit long. I was a nosy busy-body and interrupted some poor woman on the flight to Malawi because she was talking about MUAC (Mid-Upper Arm Circumference - used to measure malnutrition). I take it as my personal business now whenever someone in Malawi wants to work on nutrition. I mean, the Minsitry of Health has my back on this, but still, I find an uncontrollable need lately for everyone to nkow that I am a big bwana when it comes to malnutrition. The woman, as it turns out, was very excited to meet me and wants to come to my office to see me. Thereby further inflating my big puffy ego.

I really don't have much to say, but I feel a need to keep blogging...

It is starting to be that time of year when friends move on or go back to the States. We've already had to say goodbye to Cassandra, our dearest friend here, and now we're facing the imminent departures of Christine and Ann. This is desperately sad for me. We have known these people for almost 3 years - a long time in the international expat world - and have shared a lot of good times together. And it's not so much that our friends are going away that is hard...it's the knowledge that eventually we're going to have to get out there and make NEW friends! Oh, the horror of small-talk, misunderstood in-jokes and awkward silences...I just want all my friends to stay!

Hmmm. In other news, Jorge is training for another inhumanly long race (50 miles or something similarly ungodly). We went to see an orthopedist a few weeks ago who bamboozled him into getting six shots in his neck (he was expecting one. You should have seen his face when she just kept stabbing him over and over again in the neck with that needle!) She gave him some sort of muscle relaxant that has really been great in relieving his neck pain, so I'm happy for that.

Milo is doing well, and merits his own update sometime soon, once I bring in some recent photos. I promise, I will do that soon!

Pictures from Jorge's accident

Here are some photos I'm sure you're all interested in seeing - I finally remembered to bring them in. I've also got one of the MONSTER bruise that Jorge had on his arm, but forgot it, so will add that as soon as I can.

Just after the accident. You can see how their things are strewn across the road. People started looting as soon as the car came to a stop. Oddly, though, they returned all of Jorge's books. Go figure.

The locals pushing the car to the side of the. You can see here how the tires blew out, causing the rims to dig in and the car to flip several times.

At the hospital. Apparently there was no runningwater, so the beds and examination rooms were covered with blood (and worse). Jorge said the nurses and doctors looked like butchers in their bloody aprons. The Portuguese man who picked them up brought a bed sheet from his home to cover the table.

The next day, trying to recover their stolen items. When the car flipped, the main impact was on the rear, not over the passengers, which was very fortunate.

Here you can see a close-up of the damage the back end of the vehicle. The man there is a local pastor, negotiating for the return of stolen items, including a very nice camera. It was returned in exchange for a $100 reward.

Coming soon - pictures from England!

Lots of random things

We had a nice Thansgiving weekend. Of course, I had to work on Thanksgiving, and out of town to boot, but I made it back to Lilongwe in time to go to a friend's for dinner. Then on Saturday we made dinner ourselves - two turkeys, plenty of stuffing, and 5 desserts. For about 18 people. We were stuffed.

Our holiday plans are finally set! We are going to Jolly Olde England! Well, at least Milo and I are. Jorge has to see if his visa comes through in time.

The visa application for the U.K. is ridiculous and insane. I have British citizenship, through my dad, and Jorge is a permanent resident of the U.S. So you would think it would be pretty straightforward for him to travel to England, right? No way. We had to fill out a 20-PAGE application and submitted even more pages of supporting documents. Dang limeys.

Jorge is doing OK. His back is hurting him more and more lately, so this week he is off to see an orthopedic specialist.

I volunteered my house today for the annual work Christmas party. I'm not sure what I was thinking.

Milo demonstrated a new talent this weekend. After he woke from him afternoon nap, we found him in his crib, naked, his diaper pulled off and lying beside him. I guess he takes after his mama - I was a nudist baby too.

We had a wonderful weekend. It was almost as if we had a life again.

We finally found a babysitter – the next-door neighbor’s housekeeper – and she comes over in the afternoons a couple days a week. It gives Jorge a chance to go off and run errands or check his e-mail without worrying about what to do with Milo.

The great thing is that she will also stay over at night, so that we can now go out on dates again! Before this weekend, my husband and I had only been out on one date since Milo was born. On Friday night the babysitter came over, and Jorge and I went out for a lovely dinner at a romantic little Italian place. After that, we drove over to the international school, which was hosting an art fair – they had assembled works, good and bad, from artists and craftsmen throughout Malawi. I bought this (it looks more muted in person):


Then, not content to go quietly into the night, we went to a friend's birthday party at Kumbali Lodge (where Madonna stays when she's in town. What, namedropping, me?) After that we finally went to bed, and I didn’t even have to get up to feed Milo!

On Saturday morning we went to breakfast at a friend’s house. Jorge normally runs with a group on Saturday mornings, and afterwards they have breakfast. This Saturday, however, there was no run, so we just got to eat instead. Our friend Marcel has an amazing home, complete with a crocodile pen. Jorge couldn’t resist dangling Milo over the enclosure, but I got video, so I can show Jorge’s mom. I can hear her now: “Jorge, Nooooooo!! Noooooo, por Dios!!”

That evening we had dinner at Cassandra’s. Her brother is a professional chef. Tasty.

On Sunday morning, Jorge ran in the annual Lilongwe Half-marathon, and I manned a water station. I was nervous about Jorge running so soon after his accident, and he planned to take it easy, walking some of the way. But once he got going, he just decided to run the whole way. He was a bit slower than usual, and a bit more sore afterward, but I think it was probably good for him, in the end.

After the run, our friend Ann hosted brunch, with homemade bagels. Mmmm.

And last night, I became an official member of the Lilongwe Photo Club, a group of camera geeks that gets together monthly to view photos, provide constructive criticism, and eat. The eating part seems to be taken the most seriously. I was a bit intimidated because everyone else has these cool artsy photos...and I have pictures of my baby. At least he's cute. See?:

There are more stories to tell about Jorge and his friends, but I think I need a break from all of that. All you need to know for now is that they are home, and can see “OK” on the distant horizon. They’ll all get there soon enough.

Instead, I think we need something more fun around here for a change. So let’s talk clothes. I like clothes.

Not my clothes, of course – Malawian clothes. Oh, they are the best. Have you seen the recent fashion spreads promoting the “ethnic bohemian chic” trend, with frighteningly thin women standing awkwardly in some rural, vaguely African setting? Those just make me laugh. Real African fashion is basically whatever people can get their hands on from the bins of second hand clothing sold in the market. I have read somewhere that this is where all those unwanted clothes sent to U.S. charities ends up. They are bagged up, bought in bulk, and shipped overseas.

People here dress much more conservatively than in the U.S. – you rarely see bared shoulders or skirts above the knees. Men generally wear slacks and button-down shirts if they work in an office, and pants and short-sleeved shirts – whatever they can afford – if they don’t. You see old t-shirts from every possible event or institution. Our office cleaner, an older man with 4 children, used to wear a t-shirt celebrating the “Party like it’s 1999!” prom from a U.S. high school.

Here are some of my favorite sartorial Malawi moments:

• Yesterday I saw a man wearing a big red, floppy women’s hat. Can’t blame him - it’s hot out!
• A teenage girl, her black hair in braids, walked past me once wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the words: “Blondes do it better.” Hey, thanks! I’ve always thought so!
• Jorge once saw a little girl on her way to school in Snow White’s dress. It was a Halloween costume for us, but just a pretty dress for her.
• I’ve seen many men wearing skinny little t-shirts. My suspicions about these shirts were confirmed when I read on the back of one of them: “Michelle – Varsity Cheer Squad”
• A few weeks ago one of our drivers came to work in a snazzy brown double-breasted suit from the 80s. Smmooooth. There was no occasion or anything. He was just proud of his new acquisition.
• Of course there was the diver from the Lilongwe Bridge, wearing a much-too-snug women’s bathing suit, to Jorge’s horrified amusement. May he rest in peace.
• My favorite, however, was the day I saw a man wearing an honest-to-goodness Star Trek uniform shirt. May he live long and prosper, because he is my hero.

Update

Thanks everyone for your kind messages. Jorge and his friends are doing OK. They will be back today, accessorized with bandages, neck braces, and the lot, but home safe and sound nonetheless.

My friend Cassandra's office sent a car to collect them. I had their location wrong earlier - they were 9 hours from the Malawi border, so they have been traveling back since yesterday.

Jorge sounded pretty exhausted and drained over the weekend, but when I spoke to him last night, he seemed to be getting back to his usual pain-in-the-neck self (lucky me.)

They experienced the best and worst of human nature through this ordeal. The worst was that people started stealing from them the minute the car stopped moving, even as they were lying there hurt. I would wish pain and suffering upon these thieves, but then I remember it's rural Africa - they've probably already had more than their fair share.

But they were also shown great kindness. People gave them rides, took them to the hospital, took them into their home. A pastor came and spent the day with them, helping them to navigate the process of getting the car towed and reported. It turned out that the organization I work for has an office in Nampula, so they helped Jorge and his friends get good care at a private clinic - that seemed to have helped them out a lot. And I'm not sure how, but Jorge says they were able to recover most of the stolen goods.

So for now the tally sheet seems to still have humankind in the good column, not evil.

More bad news

Jorge called late last night from Mozambique. He told me there had been an accident. I listened for a minute or two, then decided he was pulling my leg. He does that. Frequently. I said "You're messing with me." "No, I'm not," he replied. I waited another minute and said again, "you're messing with me."

"I wish I was." Was all he said.

So this time, Jorge is the boy he cried wolf, and the wolf was real. Jorge and our friends had a pretty serious accident on the road to Mozambique. First off, Jorge says he is fine, just some cuts and bruises. Cassandra, our closest friend in Malawi, is also OK. Her boyfriend and brother apparently had more serious injuries, and were taken to a hospital in Nampula, about three hours from the Malawi border. One of them seems to have a broken rib, and the other is pretty banged up, but Jorge thinks they should be OK.

He is obviously very shaken up, and worried about his friends. They have been shown great kindness by the Mozambicans they have met, who took them to the hospital, gave them a place to stay, and are taking Jorge and Cassandra to the car to file a police report and recover what they can.

The car was totaled, so they are figuring out how to get back to Malawi, or whether the two who were hurt need to be med-evaced. I want my husband home, and I can hear in his voice that he wants nothing more than to be safe back with us again as well. But I am not sure when our friends will be able to travel, so they expect to be in Nampula at least another night.

I know Jorge would not want me to be writing about this here - he will not want people to worry. But I am selfish. If I am worried, I want supportive people worrying and praying along with me. I will post an update when I get a chance, but probably not until Monday.

But really, Jorge would say, I don't want you to worry - everything will be just fine.

Preemptive redemption

My 4th day of being a single mom. I think I've got it down. I've been working from home in the mornings, where I'm surprisingly productive even with an ankle-biter doing the worm to get close to me so that he can literally bite my ankles. (Or gum my feet, close enough).

~~Did I mention already that my son has a future as a b-boy? He can't crawl yet, but his worm moves are awesome. ~~

Anyway, between, Godfrey, the part-time nanny, and me, Milo is not lacking for attention and care. And he doesn't seem to even notice that Jorge is gone. So ha! I am winning the favorite parent race!

Anyway, I realize in my last post I complained about my husband just a wee bit (again) and lest you think that I really attached myself to a deadbeat loser, I thought I should tell you about our anniversary.

On Oct. 30th it was our 4th anniversary. Such a short time, yet it feels like forever. I mean, for-eeee-verrrr. I was working out in the field and didn't get home until almost 6. And you know what my husband had done for me? Well, apart from supervising Godfrey making me a delicious dinner of roast chicken, Jorge made me homemade chocolate eclairs. You could really taste the love. And love is yummy.

Do you see now why I married him?

Woman's work

This week I get to experience the thrill of single motherhood. I say this with a voice full of irony.

My dear husband, worn out from his “wife management” duties (his self-described job), has gone off on a holiday to recharge. He will be climbing up Mt. Mulanje starting today, then on Thursday will drive with friends to the Mozambican coast for swimming, diving, and copious consumption of rum-based drinks served in coconut shells. It’s a hard life.

One of the conditions of his release was that he arrange for childcare for Milo while he was away. And he did. Sort of. He found a woman to come Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, in the afternoons. Hmph. Not exactly what I meant by “find a nanny or else.” So poor Godfrey is watching Milo the rest of the time, while also taking care of the household chores.

To make it easier on Godfrey, I am doing as much of the housework as I can – that meant ironing for 3 hours over the weekend, doing the laundry, the diapers, the dishes…(Just like a common person!)

I know, I am not getting much sympathy from my fellow moms. Poor Gwyneth, she only has a part-time nanny and the housekeeper is so busy that she has to help out!

But it is tiring. I work hard all day, and even when Jorge is here, all the parenting falls to me once I get home. I appreciate that child care is a real job, so I understand why Jorge wants a break after 8 hours of being a full-time stay-at-home dad. But I work full-time too! And there’s no break for me. I work 24-7.

This seems to be the way for all the mothers I know, working or not. It always seems that the fathers get to take the evenings off, while the mothers never stop working. I read a study that backed this up once. It showed that working mothers, rather than getting to ease back on their household work, just added their office-work onto their existing workload. Whereas men spent about the same amount of time working and parenting whether or not they had a job outside the home.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband, and have nothing but appreciation for the hard work he does looking after Milo day after day. But I just wonder – when do I get my holiday?

Finally, Lex asked about the African reaction to Obama’s victory. I think that’s a whole other post, but the quick version is that people here were very happy with the result. The prevailing theme was that everyone was so impressed with American democracy, and McCain’s gracious concession of the election. The trend here is to dispute an election loss, loudly and vociferously, until you are at least granted a seat at the negotiating table. I think Africans took new hope in democracy this last week, and are particularly hopeful that Obama will institute favorable policies and aid toward Africa.

However, Jorge thinks many Malawians actually believe that Obama was born and raised in an African village, and that they are mostly just hopeful for their own presidential prospects.

If you want to see some photos and stories about how the expats in Malawi celebrated the election, check out my friends Emily and Amy’s blogs.