This is the moment you have all been waiting for these past eight weeks. SITE PLACEMENT!!!! Yeah! Alright! And then, at the peak of our excitement, right before real Thanksgiving and shortly before the feast of our Peace Corps Thanksgiving, they throw that last little Peace Corps catch. Everyone's placement was in an envelope, and everyone had to wait until the last envelope (there are about 70 of us) was handed out and the letter accompanying it was fully read. Yes. All seventy adults sat with our placements in hand, and couldn't open it until we could all open them. Why? A question the world will never be able to answer. But to get to the good stuff, I can and will tell you what province I will be moving to: Zambezia! A lovely little province, technically in the central region but really more northern. This is accompanied by summer days that can be up to 120 degrees Fahrenheit, and winter rains that result in a long lasting and all-encompassing red mud. This charming variety in weather is accompanied by two more human charms: the mentally unstable woman that is not only disposed to hit PCV's in the market but is also rather strong, and the “very fast legless man” (quoted from a site detail sheet left by a former volunteer) who will ask for money with applause-worthy persistence.

But let's move on since a lot has happened in the past week and I'm already prone to lengthy posts. Tuesday our health group visited two orphanages. I was determined to visit the girls' orphanage, which I did, while the other half visited a boys' orphanage. Both are privately run and funded, so along with that goes the assumption that they are better equipped than a government-run orphanage. While I haven't seen a government-funded orphanage, I did ask and was told that the orphanage I saw was far superior in funding and facilities than a government orphanage. We were greeted by all eighty-nine girls singing several songs to us in nothing short of angelic voices. It was heartwarming. The facilities were very nice, with clean, sound buildings and bright cheerful colors. Almost every bed had a mosquito net, and they just finished building a school on premises. This, of course, was constructed because the girls had been walking off site to another school, but it was discovered that some of them were being stolen and killed. Well, the woman who described it was a little vague, but the exact verbs used were robar para matar, which in a direct translation means to steal for to kill. The girls seemed very happy, healthy, and eager to wrap their arms around us. We were given morning snacks, and they even wanted to feed us, which was amazing but we were able to turn down. It was extremely uplifting. As far as the boys' orphanage goes, the main point that struck me was that the orphanage has its own school, and families in the surrounding communities actually opt to pay for their sons to attend school at the orphanage. So, while these are uncommon, it is still just awesome that they exist.

Wednesday was our Thanksgiving day, and I have to hand it to us trainees and to administration, because it was wonderful. There was so much food, and it was so traditional American, and the tables were pretty and there were little (meaty) appetizers. The effort blew my mind, and then the food blew my stomach. I don't think anyone was able to do more than waddle out of that lunch. I personally ate an entire plate of dessert. But that was only to fulfill my duty as a PCV, part of which is to bring American culture to Mozambique, and what better way to show American gluttony than me eating sugar to excess? Exactly.

And there was been a nice surprise for me this week. Another mystery has been solved within my host-house: my aunt's husband is not dead. Surprise! No, instead of death the man just lives and works in another province. Gaza, to be exact, and as a truck driver. And no, I'm not just incompetent: the Portuguese words for “to reside” and “to die” are extremely similar, and I was given this information the first night with my family. Also, the man (I now know his name is Beto) that lives with us doesn't just intentionally ignore my evening greetings. He is, in fact, partially deaf. Case closed.

I'm sure everyone has been on pins and needles wondering how my nose-blowing session with eight year-olds went. Don't worry, it was a hit. The five boys and one girl learned how to wash their hands properly. Sadly, for this exercise (upon reflection and a recent laundry day) I am pretty sure I had them wash with laundry soap. But soap is soap... right? They they ate cookies, learned a little about their boogers, made some hankies and called it a day. I learned that little kids are great at blatantly lying to me. They all said that not a single one had boogers. Ever. So I taught them the theory, if there every came a day that they did develop that which all other people seem to have. And a few days after, my brother and his friend asked me if I was having class the next day. For them. They wanted to have me teach another lesson, which was sweet. I told them that when I move to Zambezia, they are more than welcome to visit and I'll give them all the lessons they can handle.

So now all we have to do is sit back and wait. My knives have been bought from the Chinese “Walmart”, as well as a knife sharpener (since I decided against the more local manner of knife-sharpening which is against any concrete surface), and the basics in spices. Ready to move in!

Until next time, I will give you this bit of employment advise:

If you show up drunk to a work function, even if it is another nation's day of giving thanks, you will probably be fired.