Those Who Can, Teach

I'm tardy with this message for "2011 Teacher Appreciation Day" but, fortunately, late gratitude doesn't result in detention.

I was one of those kids that couldn't wait for the first day of school. Probably because I was fortunate enough to have some great teachers along the way, particularly in second grade. Mrs. Janelle Seaborne gets full credit for my love of monarch butterflies, spelling bees, and, most important, reading. Forty years later, I can name few pleasures that rival losing oneself in the pages of a good book.

Mrs. Nelda Wilbanks gets high marks for emphasizing art. And because she let my 4th-grade class listen to 45s on Fridays after lunch, I can also thank her for my Charley Pride appreciation.

Ms. Diane Locke taught me Algebra I and II, driver's education, and, according to my mother, swimming lessons at the Athens Country Club the summer I was three years old. The fact that I can still solve an algebraic equation, parallel park, and spend hours in the dead man's float proves she could teach just about anything.

I wish I could remember the name of my high school trigonometry and analytic geometry teacher. In the second half of my senior year, she awarded me with my first C+, thus tanking my overall class ranking. She assured me that any college admissions officer would be impressed by the fact that I took analytic geometry as an elective. And while that was a load of bunk, she did teach me that, if I really wanted to master something, I was going to have to work at it.

Dr. William Campion taught the mechanics of writing better than anyone. He was unforgiving when it came to grammatical errors or spelling mistakes, and demanded clear communication delivered with flair. The benefit of this lesson became apparent when one of my English professors correctly wrote "I don't think you actually read this book" across the top of one of my papers, but still gave me a B+ because of its pithiness. I also have Dr. Campion to thank for the fact that I was able to skate through SMU with a decent GPA by purposely choosing classes with final papers counting for more than 75% of one's ultimate grade.

Thank you, Phil Seib, for opening my eyes in your ethics of communication class.

Professor Jim Albright showed me it was possible to monetize my love of writing. He could be ruthless in his copy critiques, but his assessments always made me want to improve.

As I'm not blessed with many innate talents or a mind-blowing IQ, I can credit my successes to someone who was willing to teach me a skill or expose me to a new idea. Nine times out of 10, that person was an educator.

I give this profession an A+.

Goods, Better and Best

I traveled to Cape Town about a month and a half ago to attend Design Indaba (http://www.designindaba.com/) with Astrid Sulger, the jewelry designer I have been working with here in Maputo. Design Indaba hosts an incredibly cool expo each year curated by an advisory panel of top South African designers, stylists, critics, and industry experts. This was the third year that Astrid has been invited to participate, and she asked me to join her to assist with sales and marketing. This event attracts both the public and store buyers, so it's a great trade opportunity, although it does pose the challenge of having to switch between retail and wholesale prices, depending on the individual. The biggest personal difficulty, however, was the fact that it required me to stand around in five-inch heels for 12 hours straight three days in a row, a feat I would have sneered at last year. Manolo and Christian, I'm sorry to have let you down.

The following is lifted straight from the Design Indaba website, and best captures its mission.

A BETTER WORLD THROUGH CREATIVITY

Since 1995, Design Indaba has been committed to a vision that is built on the belief that creativity will fuel an economic revolution in South Africa.

As such, Design Indaba is a celebration of design in a country iconic of the triumph of the human spirit. Proof that even the most intractable problem can be neutralised by the will of the people, resurgent South Africa is a beacon to the world. Design Indaba typifies this can-do spirit through its belief in design and how it can help solve the problems faced by an emerging economy. With the right support, a better future can be designed.

By attracting the world's brightest talent, Design Indaba has become a respected institution on the creative landscape and one of the few global events that celebrates all the creative sectors - graphic design, advertising, film, music, fashion design, industrial design, architecture, craft, visual art, new media, publishing, broadcasting and performing arts sector. Besides the flagship conference and expo, Design Indaba has grown into a multitiered experience that incorporates an extensive range of elements such as events, publications, education, training, business, development and community initiatives.

While I don't have a lot of experience with trade shows, this one blew me away. It's held at the Cape Town Convention Center and features booth after booth of art, furniture, fashion, toys, jewelry, decorative items, and more. Prices range from $3 finger puppets to $50,000 artworks, and include everything else in between. I'm sorry that I can't share photos as cameras were off-limits in an effort to thwart copy cats, but I've attached some links at the end of this blog.

Long before moving to Mozambique, I have had an affinity for the type of design that blends utility, history, and beauty with locally sourced materials. So it's been fun to search for things that meet that criteria here. South African designers, in particular, seem to have more than their fair share of creativity, particularly when it comes to recycling and repurposing objects. Sure, you'll find more than enough stuff unaffectionately referred to as Afri-crap. But for every lizard playing a guitar made out of discarded soda cans, there is something so exquisite it will take your breath away.

Astrid had a teensy booth located in one of the worst possible locations in the Expo Hall, so it was remarkable that anyone ever found us. But if I had a rand for every time I overheard someone say, "This jewelry is beautiful!" I'd still be shopping in Cape Town. Granted, I had absolutely nothing to do with its creation, but I still felt the pride that comes with being associated with something special. That said, I also got to experience the disgruntled shopper who reached out reverently to touch one of the necklaces, then visibly blanched when she saw the price. I went into my spiel of "...every piece of jewelry is made completely by hand by local artisans trained by Astrid, blah, blah, blah..." She looked me dead in the eye and said, "Maybe you should consider using machinery" before stomping away.

I've thought about that comment a lot lately. Although I would probably trample thirty talented African artisans if they were standing between me and, say, some ginger-flavored Altoids about right now, I have gained a tremendous appreciation for handmade goods while living in Mozambique and, in particular, traveling to South Africa and Swaziland.

I'm certainly not anti brand, as witnessed by the Pavlovian shopping response that comes over me every time I browse Taigan (www.taigan.com). And I truly understand the cost benefits of mass production, as I would hate to have to pay for the world's only iPad. But I am currently dwelling amongst the worst of the planet's mass-produced goods. Every time I go to a store (Game and Shoprite, yeah, I'm talking to you), I'm confronted by a hideous array of crappy junk devoid of quality, integrity, and, in some cases, its expiration date. It's infuriating that a manufacturer would think it's acceptable to pawn off its sub-par products to a developing country (China, I'm talking to you) and equally infuriating that this country's leaders would let it happen. The amount of poorly made, over-priced, unintentionally disposable products available here could choke a bottomless landfill. And I realize that's not limited to Mozambique.

So, in addition to grousing via this blog, I will be expressing my outrage via my wallet. If quality is unavailable - wherever I find myself - I will do without. I will consider sustainability before price. I will reward ingenuity. I will support the efforts of those who make their living creating beautiful, delicious, or unique things by hand, particularly if said things are created locally. I'll avoid things that are overly processed and overly packaged. And I'll pass along recommendations whenever I come across something I really, really love.

Here are the aforementioned links to things that qualify. I hope you like them, too!

David West. http://www.davidwest.co.za/ He has a store called "Weekend Special" that changes each season to suit his new collection. The one I saw at DI was best described as Afro-Prep.

Still bitter that this ring was not available for purchase.

http://www.iol.co.za:80/lifestyle/style/fashion/south-africa-s-most-beautiful-things-1.1052962?image=7

Recreate by Katie Thompson - love the chairs made out of vintage leather suitcases!

http://www.recreate.za.net/

Van Der Merwe Miszewski. My kind of architecture. http://www.vdmma.com/

Justin Southey, an illustrator with an awesome sense of humor. http://justinsouthey.blogspot.com/

Blue Collar White Collar. Super shirts. http://www.bluecollarwhitecollar.co.za/

Zenzulu. Great name. Even better home decoratives.

http://www.zenzulu.co.za/index.html

While I'm not sure the world needs yet another good-cause-helpin'-environmentally-friendly tote, the Give It Bag has some of the best silhouettes I've seen.

http://www.give-it-bag.com/

Sootcookie Ceramics (name means "sweet biscuit" in Afrikaans) by Tanya Laing. The creature I wanted sold before I could get back to her booth. Grrrrr. http://sonodesign.wordpress.com/2011/01/27/sootcookie-ceramics/

Also, design-minded folks should subscribe to

http://www.designindaba.com/product/subscription

Anybody got change for a sand dollar?

If asked to choose between Team Beach or Team Mountain, there's no contest: I'd be in a swimsuit faster than you can say SPF 75.

So I'm embarrassed to admit that, until a few weekends ago, I could count the times I'd been to the beach here on one finger. In my defense, it's not particularly inviting at first glance. Maputo is located on a bay, and four different rivers drain into it, thus the water is quite murky. And a boat ride to Xefina Island (site of a former Portuguese prison located about 3 miles offshore) showed me that it's teeming with jellyfish. If that wasn't enough of a deterrent, there are still remnants of giant columns where, during colonial times, the Portuguese strung nets in an effort to keep swimmers safe from sharks. So, yeah, I get my ocean fix a few hours north. Where, by the way, the beaches are absolutely stunning.

But Astrid stressed the importance of timing Maputo beach walks with low tide, so I decided to give it another shot. We went together last Saturday, and now I'm absolutely hooked. It's amazing! You can walk, literally, for miles. And the trash-strewn sand and maladorous air I remembered from my earlier venture were nowhere to be found.

On the weekends, the beach is a bit of a scene with vendors selling food, soccer matches, families on picnics, beach volleyball games, wedding photo shoots, and the occasional religious ceremony. But during the week, it's practically deserted.

Yesterday, I borrowed my friend Joanna's Portuguese Water Dog (hereafter known as The Fabulous Pedro) and went back. It was completely empty, save for the occasional fisherman and a few kite surfers, and the weather was perfect. We are heading into winter here, so the temperature was a breezy 70-something instead of the sweltering 100-plus degrees combined with 80% humidity we've had for last the five months.

I'm still a little leery of venturing too far out by myself, so it was nice to have TFP as company. Of course, in the event that I would actually be accosted by a band of evil-doers, it's unlikely that he would do much more than exhaust them via a relentless game of fetch. Regardless, he is splendid company!

When I was growing up, finding even a fraction of a sand dollar on a Texas beach was cause for great joy. So imagine my delight when happening upon a perfectly intact specimen while casually strolling along the sand on my very first outing. Then spotting an even bigger one a few feet further. And then another. And yet another. My hands became so full that I couldn't carry my sandals, so I started filling my pockets. I also came across a few intense violet sand dollars that I assumed were some exotic variety found only in the Indian Ocean. Turns out, I'm the idiot who didn't recognize what a live sand dollar looked like. I figured it out after my beautiful violet collectibles died a slow, grisly, and slightly smelly death on my balcony.

I now have more sand dollars than I know what to do with, but I still can't resist picking another up whenever I spy a particularly perfect one. The locals see me carrying them back to my car, and look at me like I've spent too much time out in the sun.

Fortunately, TFP doesn't mind.

Feliz Natal!

It's 1 p.m. my time on Christmas Eve. And instead of working on a travel article about Cape Town - due to the editor of O Pais Today on Monday morning - I'm procrastinating. In my defense, this is a particularly difficult assignment in that I've never actually been to Cape Town, thus have no first-hand recommendations on lodging, transportation, restaurants, or shopping. Apparently, my ignorance is not considered a hindrance in the world of Mozambican journalism.

In addition to dawdling, I'm disappointed in myself for not making any effort to come up with some sort of special plan for Doug and myself. As this is our first Christmas as a married couple, you would think I could have developed some unexpected take on tradition that might prove memorable and fun or, at the very least, result in an interesting anecdote. (Some of you more enlightened folks might be asking, "Why is planning your holiday celebration entirely your responsibility, Amy?" but anyone who knows my husband well knows his default approach to any special occasion is asking me where I want to go to dinner.)

I think part of the problem is that, truly, I wish I could be home for the holidays. I miss hosting my annual champagne-fueled office party. I miss my family's spell-and-interpret gift exchange. I miss the holiday auction at Neiman Marcus. I miss my sister Julie's cheese grits casserole on Christmas morning. I miss all the beautiful decorations in Dallas. I miss wearing cashmere and fur. I miss my dad. And, rather than dwelling on any of those things, I over-compensated by ignoring the fact that it is Christmas time. Until now.

Before you start feeling too sorry for me, please know that Doug and I have been invited to join two other American couples and their children for Christmas dinner tomorrow. We love hanging out with Kathryn, Andrew, Laura, and Chad (a fellow Texan), and I know it's going to be a great meal made even better by the fact that someone else will be preparing it for me. (I guess me and my non-cooking self managed to uphold one of my family's traditions!) Seriously, I know it's going to be a fabulous time.

So instead of moping around this morning, I braved the heat and humidity here and took some photos so that my friends and family can think of me in context this holiday season.

For starters, the above photo is a laser-cut Christmas tree made out of particle board that is currently sitting on my coffee table. I found it at a cool little design shop in Johannesburg. I simply couldn't make myself buy an artificial tree or one of the weird Charlie-Brown-meets-the-Apocalypse pines being sold on the side of the road.

Truly, there aren't a lot of visual Christmas cues here in Maputo. Granted, some of the local grocery stores have merchandise for sale and there are a few street vendors wearing Santa hats and hawking cheap decorations but, for the most part, that's it. The only places that look Christmas-y are the insides of my friends' houses!

This is where I live. Scaffolding = exterior painting project that has been going on for a month.

These two photos are taken at the jardim across the street. There are giant weddings here every weekend. Mozambicans love a party!

Balcony and view from our balcony. That's Maputo Bay above the trees.

Our living room...yes, I lost the a-giant-television-does-not-qualify-as-home-decor battle.

Entrance. Camera flash has obscured the wood-cut prints from artist Matias Ntundo. I love them!

Dining area. We are still waiting for delivery of our dining room table. But isn't the ebony tree cool? Matumbe, one of the artists at the wood market, made it for me.

Now you've seen where I live and you have no excuse not to visit. I promise to straighten the prints on the wall in the entrance before you arrive.

Merry Christmas!

Still Feeling Thankful

It may not have been celebrated in a Pilgrim-worthy fashion, but my first Thanksgiving here in Mozambique was certainly memorable!

Our friends Andrea and Grant invited Doug and me to Bilene (a beach town about two and a half hours north of Maputo) for the weekend. Since Doug wanted to check out a few potential mobile bank locations en route, he suggested we drive up on Wednesday afternoon. The two of us would stay at a nearby resort for a few nights, then join our friends at their home on Friday.

This seemed like a fine idea until Wednesday morning came along. The weather had turned lousy, and the idea that I would spend the next two days on a beach reading a novel was no longer a reality. Plus, I had just received a writing assignment from a local English-language newspaper that I wanted to work on...and I was going to miss my weekly bridge lesson.

So I broached the sensible idea of me driving up on Friday with the Liversages. Doug, to put it mildly, was not on board with this suggestion. He gave me the big song and dance about all the time he had spent sourcing a great place for us to stay in Bilene. This had its intended effect of making me feel guilty. So, six hours later, we were loading things into our Land Cruiser and hitting the road.

By the time we pulled into Praia do Sol, it was dusk. I was initially suspicious of the resort's rustic appearance, but assumed it would be charming on the inside. We checked in, and followed the porter down a sandy path to a thatched-roof structure. The porter took a key and unlocked a door secured with a padlock. He gestured us inside, where I was hit with the fact that my husband had booked us two nights in Hell.

I was initially too busy registering the hideousness of my surroundings to realize there was something critical missing: a bathroom. At that point, the porter left our room, crossed a small vestibule, and unlocked another door secured with yet another padlock. Voila! Our bathroom, complete with a commode, a sink, and a small depression in the cement floor with a shower nozzle above it.

The only thing that kept me from running back to the car was the look on Doug's face: a previously unseen combination of appalled, horrified, and apologetic. At this point, there was nothing to do but laugh or, in my husband's case, start drinking heavily.

About 3 a.m., however, it was no longer funny. The heat, the swarm of mosquitos safely ensconced INSIDE the mosquito net with me, and the foam pad I was attempting to sleep upon had conspired to turn me into a machete-waving maniac, if only a machete had been handy.

By 6 a.m. the next morning, Doug was in the car and looking for a new place to stay. He secured us a room at The Aquarius (a motel about half a mile away). Under normal circumstances, I might have made fun of the consciousness-expanding mural on its outside wall and the 70s-era furnishings, but these were not normal circumstances. I was just thrilled to be staying in a room with air conditioning and a mattress purchased in the last 40 years.

Doug helped me get settled into our new digs, then hit the road. So now it's Thanksgiving day and I'm all alone. I don't have internet access and, since the weather is lousy, I'm stuck inside a motel room decorated in shades of pistachio green with Portuguese-language music videos playing in the background. And I know my family is in Austin, sitting around my sister Julie's dining room table, eating a Greenberg turkey. It was the first time I've felt homesick since I came back to Mozambique in September.

But within 24 hours, everything changed. The two of us joined Andrea, Grant, their children Raymond and Sophie, plus our friends Kathryn and Andrew and their boys Drew and Bradley for two days of pure bliss. The weather was gorgeous, the house was spectacular, and the beaches in Bilene reminded me of The Caribbean: sugar white sand and crystal clear water in shades of blue, turquoise, aquamarine, jade, and glass green. It was magical!

We spent most of our time in the Liversage's boat. The lagoon in Bilene is perfect for waterskiing and wake boarding, and I can proudly say that I actually got up on skis for the first time in probably 20 years. It wasn't pretty, but it was certainly fun! We all wound up a little sunburned, a little exhausted, and a lot happy.

I had previously wondered how I would handle being away from my friends and family this holiday season. And, let's face it, there are so many things I miss about the US! But even without my mother's inimitable cornbread dressing, I wouldn't change one thing about this past weekend...well, okay, except for my 12 hours at Praia do Sol.

Talking Shop

I've always been a fan of Saturday mornings, and never more so than here in Maputo. There's a craft market next to the Fortaleza (fort built by the Portuguese in the mid-19th century) that I love to explore. It's got that whole seedy carnival vibe - dirt, music, dancing, and hucksters galore.

While I'm certainly not as talented at uncovering flea market treasures as my sister Jill, I do fancy myself skilled in the art of recognizing that which is special. Where I falter, however, is when it comes time to start bargaining.

Dealing in the market is not for the faint of heart. What I've learned the hard way is that you don't casually ask the price of anything you aren't seriously considering buying, you don't smile at anyone unless you are prepared to have them follow you for thirty minutes saying "Senhora! Senhora!" while demonstrating the effectiveness of, say, their refrigerator magnets, and you must be willing to walk away from an item that is exactly and precisely perfect for the empty space in your living room. Your ultimate goal is for the seller to send someone to chase you down the street holding the item you wanted, then offering it for the price that, only minutes ago, was met with a gasp and look that implied you had insulted not only the vendor, but every one of his living relatives and deceased ancestors. (Granted, the aforementioned exchange has only happened to me once, but the memory still fills me with pride. That said, I don't kid myself for a second that I got the better of anyone. To paraphrase Matt Damon in the movie Rounders, if you can't spot the sucker in the first thirty minutes, then you're the sucker.)

You also have to have the patience and persistence to wade through some less-than-desirable items, as witnessed by the five-foot-tall wooden miner, second from left. Does anyone need a gag gift for their upcoming office Christmas party? Seriously, I am considering hosting a Marketing 101 workshop where I explain that if no one is interested in purchasing your hand-painted and -carved sculptures of beer bottles, it is best to stop producing them in bulk. Same with the wood animal sculptures. While I have no problem with hippos per se, being confronted with an entire herd of them makes their appeal wane somewhat. Displaying one or two at a time might up their allure.

Of course, this mass-produced mentality to handmade goods makes the unique easier to spot. I love these dolls! Many of the sellers in the market are simply dealers. But some of the people actually sell their own wares, like this woman here.

I'm also a huge fan of George (see below). He's from Zimbabwe and creates these painstakingly beaded wire sculptures. Can't you just see a bunch of different animals hung on the wall of a child's bedroom? It's definitely a fresh take on taxidermy.

As with many of my experiences here in Mozambique, fun times (a la shopping in the market) are often tinged with sadness. While it is well and good for me to snicker at something I deem tasteless, the reality is that someone has spent a good deal of time making it in hopes that its sale will help them feed, shelter, and clothe their family. I realize that is the objective of practically every business enterprise, but a lack of success seems especially poignant here.

This past Saturday, I was approached by a painfully thin woman with a baby strapped to her back. She was selling moldy peanuts from a basket, and I'm still feeling guilty for shaking my head and walking briskly away from her. The capitalist in me has tried to justify my behavior by telling myself that buying her moldy peanuts would encourage the misguided notion that there is a market for moldy peanuts. The selfish jerk in me believed that slipping her money would make me a prime target for all the panhandlers, peddlers, and pickpockets staked between the market and my car.

But it's the me sitting here in the dark that's having trouble sleeping.

Let The Countdown Begin!

I cannot believe that I'll be boarding a plane and heading back to Texas a week from tomorrow! I've been gone a little over four months, and it seems like it's only been a couple of weeks.

I'm loving it here in Maputo, but I'm totally jazzed at the prospect of seeing my family, friends, and beloved Boxer Kishka. That said, dwelling on the people (and pet) I've missed would make for a fairly emotional blog post, and I think I'm due something superficial.

So, in no particular order, here are a few things I'm most looking forward to experiencing when I get back home.

1. Two words: Tex Mex. I'm craving fajitas, chips and hot sauce, refried beans, and tequila! The beverage that tries to pass itself off as a margarita 'round these parts is an affront to anyone who has ever had a real one. The only thing I haven't missed is guacamole since the avocados here are the size of cantaloupes and beyond delicious.

2. Fret-free mosquitos. Don't get me wrong - I hate those blood-sucking insects! But at least I don't have to schedule a malaria test after getting bit in Texas.

3. Getting my hair cut by Patrick O'Hara.

I am unreasonably particular about who does my tresses, thus I've spent the last four-plus months eschewing salons and watching my hair slowly start to resemble something best described as a rat's nest. There's a hairdresser here that many of my friends recommend, and their hair looks great. But I've long maintained that one should never have their hair cut by a professional with a bad hair cut and, boy, does she qualify. Plus, she's got those magenta highlights that brunettes sometimes get, so I've been afraid to let her try color on me. This means I've had to attempt to pass off the gray follicles glistening across my hairline as highlights, and I don't think Doug is falling for it any more.

4. Stocking up on cinnamon-flavored Crest, the best toothpaste in the history of the world. I just finished my last tube and my overdue shipment containing my replacement stash won't be arriving until mid- to late August.

5. Being someplace where I can make myself understood without having to resort to pantomime. Instead of answering questions with a simple yes or no when I get back home, I plan on crafting long-winded responses simply because I know lots of words in English and want to show them all off. Unlike here when the only time I can correctly answer a question is if someone asks me if I speak Portuguese. (That would be "nao.")

6. Drinking water straight from the tap.

7. Dressing up. Maputo is extremely casual, and there are very few places where you wouldn't be comfortable wearing jeans. (This has been a bit of a godsend, since my wardrobe is limited to the things I brought over in my luggage, which was primarily shorts, jeans, T-shirts, and workout clothes.) That said, I'm looking forward to "making an effort," as my mother would say.

8. Taking yoga classes at all my favorite places: Tsada, Uptown Yoga, and with Bruce Boyd.

9. Voice mail. Seriously! For some reason, no one here - including myself - has access to voice mail on their cell phones. Texts, yes, voice mail, nao. So don't be surprised if I leave you a lengthy voice mail message simply because I can. You better do the same for me.

See you soon!