Nail polish
We left Missouri on our longest day of the year and arrived in South Africa on their shortest day. By the time we stepped off the plane in Maputo, Mozambique I'd lost count of the hours in transit.
We had passed from light to dark, from the smothering heat of the Midwestern U.S. to the brisk cool of southeastern Africa. The eleven of us, Volunteers in Missions from the Missouri United Methodist Church, descended the stairs into smoky sea air.
We cleared customs, retrieved luggage and exited the airport to the welcome sight of the cross and red flame on the side of a white minibus. We had left the parking lot of a church bearing the same symbol nearly two days before.
Clunking over potholes and dodging missing pieces of road, Telmo, our trusty driver whom we would come to know and love, transported us to the Maputo guesthouse for the first two nights of our two week stay in country.
Scents of savory beef and chicken soup met us as cordially as the staff, which hauled our luggage atop their heads, up the stairs and down a hall into our bedrooms.
We spread out- only two or three to a room. Our beds had sheets, blankets, bedspreads and folded towels and family-sized bars of soap. This was not what we had expected. I wouldn't need to unpack my sleeping bag.
Heads leaned into the bathroom trying to learn how to work the shower. Mini water heaters on the shower heads had been installed in the last two years. We had braced ourselves for cold and found not the last of many surprises.
On the knob of the mirror in the back bathroom was a sticker from a bottle of OPI nail polish, "We're Not in Kansas Anymore ... Red." It brought a smile, in spite of the sopping wet floor and troublesome toilet situation.
We weren't supposed to flush it? Throw the tissue in the waste bin and pour a pitcher of water where? In the tank? In the stool? Jet lag might have been contributing to the confusion, but floating toilet paper ensured I was not the only one who hadn't mastered this new system.
We had passed from light to dark, from the smothering heat of the Midwestern U.S. to the brisk cool of southeastern Africa. The eleven of us, Volunteers in Missions from the Missouri United Methodist Church, descended the stairs into smoky sea air.
We cleared customs, retrieved luggage and exited the airport to the welcome sight of the cross and red flame on the side of a white minibus. We had left the parking lot of a church bearing the same symbol nearly two days before.
Clunking over potholes and dodging missing pieces of road, Telmo, our trusty driver whom we would come to know and love, transported us to the Maputo guesthouse for the first two nights of our two week stay in country.
Scents of savory beef and chicken soup met us as cordially as the staff, which hauled our luggage atop their heads, up the stairs and down a hall into our bedrooms.
We spread out- only two or three to a room. Our beds had sheets, blankets, bedspreads and folded towels and family-sized bars of soap. This was not what we had expected. I wouldn't need to unpack my sleeping bag.
Heads leaned into the bathroom trying to learn how to work the shower. Mini water heaters on the shower heads had been installed in the last two years. We had braced ourselves for cold and found not the last of many surprises.
On the knob of the mirror in the back bathroom was a sticker from a bottle of OPI nail polish, "We're Not in Kansas Anymore ... Red." It brought a smile, in spite of the sopping wet floor and troublesome toilet situation.
We weren't supposed to flush it? Throw the tissue in the waste bin and pour a pitcher of water where? In the tank? In the stool? Jet lag might have been contributing to the confusion, but floating toilet paper ensured I was not the only one who hadn't mastered this new system.
posted by Catherine's Blog at 3:50 AM
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