My Life as an African Gypsy

There is something about the night that can change the appearance of a city. The once dingy dirty city can suddenly appear beautiful and mysterious. The music playing from inside homes makes the town feel exotic and foreign.


But then you get close.

The sidewalks are alive, not only with drunk men wobbling back and forth, but with what seems like hundreds of cockroaches and handfuls of rats that carry their recent catches in their mouths.

Walking from our vehicle to the inside of our apartment building is one that requires courage and a strong heart. You must be aware of all movement. The cockroaches, I believe, are just waiting to pounce. I see them scurrying all over, and then there will be the one, the one that sits and looks at you intensely on the ledge. His stare never wavers.

My husband asked me if cockroaches jump. I am not sure if they jump, but I know they can fly, and I am quite sure that they would just love to fly into my hair and torture me.

Sometimes I am walking behind my husband, who does not seems to have the same phobia as I do, and I tell him firmly, "Hurry!" And I am not joking. If he doesn't move, I may possibly knock him over onto that ground teeming with the hideous creatures!

The strange thing is that they do not seem to come inside. I have yet to see any inside of a building. Now by all means I am not complaining. I am not sure how I would do if they resided in my house... the Lord and I would have some conversations, and we may have to reevaluate our location. Just kidding... sort of. ;)

Instead I can watch the life on the sidewalks from my balcony. I play a little game and see if I can see the first rat running in the yard, or I will attempt to count the cockroaches running on the ground. They are so fast I have a difficult time keeping them apart.

I guess it is a little exotic.

Here we go...

• Fruits and veggies
• Fresh flowers. Beautiful ones!
• Cashews
• Newspapers
  
• Artificial Christmas trees (probably only during December)
• Purses, dresses, and p.j. pants made out of the most colorful African fabrics
• Wood carvings (My personal favorite: A hippo standing, wearing a suit, glasses, and smoking a pipe. I want one. Everytime I see it it makes me giggle.)
• Shoes. They love shoes here. On the sidewalk there will be piles of shoes for sale. How you ever find the pair, I don't know.
• Maps of Mozambique. Large detailed ones on wooden dowels.
• DVDs
• Jewelry
• Plug adapters. Much needed here. Ex: A picture of how I charge my computer.

• Beautiful paintings on cloths like the following picture. (I plan to buy a few before moving to Angola. I love them!)

That's all I can think of for now. I mentally "drove" down the street. If I see anything else fun, I'll let ya know.

During our visit to the Oncology ward last week, Jon and I agreed that we would like to spend part of our Christmas day at the hospital with the patients unable to make the journey home. The Oncology department here in Maputo is the only one in all of Mozambique, so many of the patients have come a long way and family is quite far.

I can relate; I am a long way from home and my family is quite far.

Because we are new to the area and currently do not have any children, we did not have many plans for the day. We went ahead and promised our new friends a visit.

After sleeping in and eating some scrumptious homemade cinnamon rolls (a tradition I keep), we headed up to the hospital.

A man we have grown to love, Tony, saw our car pull up and came out into the parking lot to greet us enthusiastically. Precious.

During the past few weeks we have been working mainly with the children there. Jon has also had the opportunity to get to know some of the guys, who are fun loving and eager to chat, but it has been a little difficult for me to connect with the mothers of the children. They are friends with one another and not sick, so not in terrible need of conversation. I felt like I was trying to gain respect with their click.

I have not arrived and have not given up, but I had another opportunity today... I was able to spend a good amount of time with the women in the ward, who have cancer and are going through treatment. I had such precious conversations, and felt so welcomed and loved.

I kept telling them, "I do not have family here; they are in America, but today, you are my family." They assured me that I was not alone.

What a good Christmas spent with dear new family.

(Christmas morning with yummy cinnamon roll with cinnamon cream cheese icing.)

The way one thinks when becoming a missionary changes.

Of course, right?

In this blog I am going to share a story about money, just because I like to be honest, and I like you to know what goes on in the head of a missionary.

You see, I started working out recently. Again. I am trying to get a jump start on the new year. I wanted to look for some hand weights that I could use with my video, so while we were at a large store "Game" I peeked to see the price. Most everything is more expensive here than in the States, so I knew to approach hesitantly.

18 dollars. For one 5 pound hand weight.

I need two.

Couldn't do it.

It is not so much that we don't have the money, because we do. We do because we have amazing supporters who love us and share our heart for Africa.

I am not even saying that I won't ever pay it. Maybe at some point I will decide it is worth it. First I will check in South Africa and make sure I cannot get them cheaper, but I may pay $36 for weights to help stay healthy.

But not right now.

It is different living on support. We live on comfortable budget. We do not live a deprived life by any means. I just want to be sure to honor the people who believe in us, the ones who give to see that the people of Mozambique, of Angola, are loved.

You see?

So when I make a purchase, I think twice.

That's all.

It is not a bad thing. It is just how it is, living on support.

As much as I love my two foot Christmas tree, and I do love it, it is not quite enough to bring the warm fuzzies I am used to during this time of year.

I have played much Christmas music around here, drank solely out of my red Starbucks cups, put on my red and green outfits, painted my toes red, gone to some parties, sang carols, watched 'Elf'...

Sigh.

It is just the whole waking up to 95 degree heat just kills it. Ya know?

In our apartment the sun comes up and straight into the living room, which means the minute I walk out of my room, I am hot. And grumpy.

I worked out this morning to a cardio video, and afterward I could not cool down for the life of me. I ended up taking a cool shower, but still came out with a face looking like a tomato.

Then this afternoon I was out on our balcony folding clothes (because we line dry everything, which is a story for another blog) and I thought I was going die. It was so very very hot.

Okay, okay, I am exaggerating a bit there. I wasn't going to die, but sweat was dripping from bizarre places. Only in Africa have I learned the feeling of sweat coming out the pores on my calves. Not nice.

To top things off, in all of our attempts at making Christmas like home, we missionaries bake for all the parties. The problem with this is that it means we have to turn the oven on, and that makes it even hotter.

I won't give up though.

This is my Christmas, and my first in Africa. We will have to learn to make new traditions, and somehow incorporate the things we deem most important from home... even if it means being a little extra hot.

Praise the Lord, this woman has a kitchen.

There is something about cooking, baking, and cleaning that makes me feel like a wife... like a woman. Now I realize this isn't true for everyone, but for me it is. (Those who know me, know my love for baking and such.)


I have been in limbo without my "own" kitchen for almost 6 months! And it has been rough.

This week we moved into a semi-permanent apartment. What I mean by that is that we are staying for 2-3 months in a missionary couple's apartment, who are on furlough.

And I have a kitchen.

For now...

And I am going to town!

Apple strudel muffins, baked chicken, pan seared green beans, mashed potatoes, tacos, apple crumble, and on and on... Christmas morning = homemade cinnamon rolls!

I also am enjoying the dishes! Who would think? I think that one will wear off though. =)

There were a few things that irritated me, but nothing really to justify the particular foul mood. Honestly, it had been an enjoyable morning; I made super yummy muffins, and finally I was not feeling as sick. But somewhere in there I just got "off".

How does that happen?

Don't you know what I mean? Has it happened to you? Suddenly you are just irked.

This afternoon we were going back to the hospital to volunteer with the children in the oncology ward. I was tired and not really wanting to apply my mind to Portuguese, so to be completely transparent, I was not looking forward to my time there.

Ever been there? On your way to ministry... dragging your heavy feet?

We drove up, and as we were parking I saw them. The children. They were sitting there on their stools at the white plastic table. My mood started to shift.

I hopped out of the car and waved. Big smiles and small arms flying around. Okay, their cute.

We sat down, and they welcomed us with such love. Being patient with our Portuguese, they decided to teach us a song. Jon learned better than me; I was distracted. I had a little girl sitting there in my lap. Across from me two precious boys were laughing and giggling as they showed me their belly buttons. And then one leaned in for a "beijo" or a "kiss". Then the other. My heart was full.

There is something about serving people, something about loving people, something about giving to people... even if it has to be a deliberate scheduled choice. Your heart will catch up, I promise.

One day after arrival here in Maputo, Mozambique our friends took us to a nice little coffee shop with an outside patio and home roasted coffee beans. While driving there they said, "This place has bagels!" (Bagels are a rare commodity in Africa) Jon and I had already eaten that morning so we passed on the temptation, and only sipped some coffee... okay and I took some bites of a chocolate chip cookie, but I intended not to eat.

This Saturday morning though, I awoke with an urge to get out sip some coffee and eat this famous bagel. Because of being sick, I haven't gotten out too much, but I didn't care, I'd go sick and all! I searched online and found how to get there, and off we went to Cafe Sol (http://cafesolmozambique.com/).

My hubby and I enjoyed some conversation, some yummy coffee, and some oh so good bagels with lovely cream cheese. Boy were they good. I think it may be my special treat from time to time. Nevermind, I lied... they were cheap, so I think I will want to go once a week. Ha!

Hello toilet, let's be friends.

One thing as a missionary, you become used to tummy problems. The usual uncomfortable word "diarrhea" is said without missing a beat... "Oh, and you have diarrhea?" (along with the sympathetic nod)

Mozambique did not want to disappoint, so upon being here for only two days I already have gotten something, and I say "something" without really wanting to know what that creepy little something is. What I do know is that my body is not a fan, and is trying it's darnedest to eliminate it.

This elimination process has been quite uncomfortable and accompanied by some not so usual (for me) intense sharp pains. Boo!

I have attempted to keep moaning to a minimum, seeing as the bathroom has a large open window up top, over looking the lovely garden where people like to gather some quiet time. I would hate to interrupt. (Ha!)

Thankfully, our previous 'Around the World' trip introduced this terribly intimate occasion to our marriage, and my husband has seen the worst of it. That bout of illness was far worse than this, requiring constant supervision to prevent fainting or falling from weariness... hideous right? Yeah... needless to say, my self-consciousness about this area was forced out the window early on, and my husband is an awesome caretaker. Ah! Reminds me of a quick story. (bear with me)

While in Angola last year, I had this "bout" I spoke of earlier. At one point
I had either just vomited or used the toilet, when my husband walked in
to check on me. In my delirious state, when he walked in I heard him say,
"Oh God that stinks!" My newly married self thought, "Well gee, as if I
didn't know that." Humiliated. After recounting the story later, I realized
I had heard wrong. Though I cannot remember the exact words, he had
definitely not said that and indeed said something filled with much more
sympathy.

Anyways, this is a very real part of missions and my life in Africa so I thought I'd share. Hopefully you found some humor in my misery, you awful people, you.

I had some reservations about our journey to Mozamibque...

Last night Jon and I spent the night in Pretoria, South Africa. On our way into town, we stopped at a mall because we were needing to buy some cell phones, and South Africa tends to be cheaper than other southern African countries. Unfortunately, South Africa currently has some pretty strict rules on selling phone and SIM cards. You have to have a passport and proof of residency along with a couple of other things.

We weren't too worried, since Jon has his Botswana residency permit. The funny thing was, once we got to the store, a residency permit does not qualify as proof of residency.

A young man overheard our dilemma, and said, "What if I bought the phone?"

The sales woman wasn't a fan.

He then looked at her and said, "I would like to buy another phone."

Jon pointed and said, "YES!"

The sales woman asked, "What if they commit a crime? It will be linked to your passport!"

He shrugged, "I'll go to jail." (We loved his trust and nonchalant-ness)

The sales woman caved, and off she went to get the phones.

While waiting, we chatted with the young man and his mom. Turns out they had been missionaries in Lebanon in the past and are Christians. How awesome that the Lord would bring us together. We proceeded to ask if they had a suggestion for a guest house, since we didn't know of any in the area. Happens they had friends who owned a guesthouse, but after calling it was full.

We urged them not to worry about us, but he went ahead and called the manager. They made room for us. Our new friends even offered to let us follow them there!

In the car I was worried what kind of place this might be that "made room for us", but may I tell you that is was quite the opposite of the images that flashed in my head. It was luxury! The bed was huge, the pillows perfect, the shower was amazing, and there was breakfast!

Off our friends went, friends that we may never see again, friends who showed us the love of Jesus, who did unto to us as they would do to Jesus...

Then to top things off, while checking out, the woman said that she knew we were missionaries, so she would discount the room for us.

At one point, I looked at my husband and said, "I think the Lord is going to take care of us."

Of course He will. He always has.


(The picture is a double rainbow we had the other day in Lobatse, Botswana

The other night we joined a home group Bible study in our friends’ house. It was a sweet time of new and old believers, Batswana, Zimbabwean, and American delving into the Scriptures and finding ways to implement them into our daily lives.

Remember, I said it was night.

And the lights were on, as we needed to see our Bibles.

This equals bugs.

No biggie. Moths are common and some June bugs aren’t too scary.

Unfortunately, just when it came time to read another portion of scripture, in flew a beetle... and not just any beetle, a BIG beetle. You could hear this thing from all the way across the room, and then it would hover right around head height. Now mind you, it wasn't just this white girl wiggin', all of us were. From time to time it would hit the ceiling so hard it would plummet in unknown directions.

The lady reading the Bible was persistent and kept plowing on, trying not to take part in the distraction.

The beetle won.

Attention was gone.

Finally, the man leading the Bible study stood up and with his bare hand he whacked the beetled, sending it spiraling downward to the floor. Stunned and nearly dead. Maybe the beetle didn't win after all.

Bible study commenced.

I asked my husband the other night, "Will we ever stay in one place?" His answer was, "We are gypsies!" I decided I don't want to be a gypsy forever. Or maybe even for long...

I think this whole living out of bags, being without a kitchen, sleeping in strange beds, etc. has begun to wear on me. I feel unsettled, and the honest problem is that I am not sure when we may "settle". This hasn't just been the case since we got to Africa, but since we left for Portugal... and even a bit since we have been married.

Yeah, yeah, I know the whole "the Lord is preparing you" and "He is shaping you" and all that jazz. I even believe it! But during this process, many times I am an emotional basket case. And the trouble with this is that my poor husband has to live with me!

I go from crying without reason to laughing and wanting to be playful. One moment everything irritates me and the next I want to snuggle. I asked him just last night, "Do you think I am crazy?" He just, "Just a tiny tiny can of crazy." I love him.

I think there is hope though. Someday I will have a place to call home... at least I keep telling myself this cannot go on forever. Right?

In the meantime, my hubby is getting practice for when I become pregnant. After all this, it will be a piece of cake for him.

Welcome back to Africa. Remember, Layne, things aren't quite on your time schedule.

Phew. This one is a toughy for me. I am extremely time conscious, and if I am given a time estimate, I expect it to be somewhat in range.

Nope. Not here. This is not new news to me, but it hasn't made it any easier thus far. =/

The other day we had an appointment to get our windows tinted for our vehicle. We purposely set an appointment the day before, so we'd only have to be in town a couple hours. Being in town without a vehicle and trying not to spend much money is difficult, AND we have done it about four or five times in the last two weeks.

8:30am appointment - check!

We asked how long it would take, and they said maybe two or two and a half hours. No prob. We'll grab coffee and check internet, and it shouldn't be too much longer.

Five and a half hours later, we sat on a couch in the business's reception area, watching as they did the back windows.

Then today we had to change the registration of our vehicle to our name. We arrived at the office at nine in the morning, and our ticket estimated a four hour and twenty minute wait. (Yes, I think they should open more than two counters too.) We decided to leave and come back. We came back, giving an hour grace period for cancellations and whatnot.

We missed our number. Not by many, but too bad. I tried to remain calm.

The new ticket estimated our new wait time to be at two hours and twenty-ish minutes. We ran home, grabbed our Kindles to read, and headed back. A little over three hours later, much sweat lost, and many chapters read, our registration was changed.

Get used to it, eh? I am thinkin' I am going to gain some patience... or high blood pressure. I think I'll go with the first.