Greetings from beautiful Zambezia. I am, right now, accessing the internet at a hotel that has free wireless, and I want to thank you (if you are American) for the chance, since it is YOUR tax dollars at work that fund the organization that has been given a PCV that is my friend and offered me the access. So thank you.

Yestday I saw my house! Sadly, it was from the road. We traveled through my new hometown and saw the house but couldn't stop. It is great, bar-front property with a lovely, treeless yard. A duplex, which is almost like having a free, human security system because generally Mozambicans know what is going on in their neighbors houses. It doesn't look like it has a latrine, which is a major disappointment for me. I can live without the mango trees, papaya trees, fence, and porch. However, I was really wanting a latrine. I know what you're thinking: but Melissa, not having a latrine means having an inside toilet! Yes. Exactly. So imagine that you have a toilet, and it is inside, and it is not an automatic flush. This is a little hard for a lot of people, so I will be explicit. A manual flush toilet never really fully flushes, since you have to force the waste into the piping system using only the natural force of gravity and water. I, as it turns out, am not quite tall enough to be able to get the necessary acceleration when I pour water out of a bucket to actually clear the toilet. So now I have a cement house with a tin roof (read: the hottest house you can have. Like a toasty little people oven!) and a toilet that is housing some remnants of my waste. Oh latrine, how I want you. But at least this way I won't have to buy an extra bucket for my xi-xi bucket, which saves me about two dollars.

Yesterday we did stop in the ol' town to have a quick lunch on the road. A boy asked me for money (estou pedir= i am asking, which quickly turns into a loathsome phrase), so I told him that I am going to be living and working in his town by Wednesday. He gave me an up-and-down look, and walked away. Clearly I wasn't worth asking twice.

I must be going now. I have to prepare for a party we are going to with our new supervisors. It is important, I think, to form good relationships right off the bat, and create opportunities for direct, open communication. And with a beer in you, it is easier to let go of language inhibitions.

Tchao.

So this is how public transportation from city to city works. You get on a chapa, which is a lovely, often bug-infested, plastic-coated seat van that seats between 24-30 people, depending on the size of the people. And no, this is not like a cargo van. It is about the size of an average minivan. Then, as the chapa gets going out of the city, you stop for gas. At every stop, people crowd the windows to try to sell you homomake freezepops (in sandwich bags, made with what i am sure is clean water), roasted cashews, or chicken stock. Once on the road again, someone inevitably closes all the windows, trapping in the luxurious amount of body heat and odors. Then, your chapa will either get a flat tire, or like yesterday the radiator will overhead three different times. This allows for a breezy break at the side of the road, since the engine is underneath the passenger seats, not in the front of the van. Stretch your legs, but please try not to get hit by the speeding, sometimes careening traffic, as my host-sister did two years ago (inflicting permanent back damage). Load back in, perhaps get peed on by a chicken or a small child, and hold your tonge if you see that child (hopefully at least 6 months old) being fed Fanta from a bottle. Eh. It is better than a lot of other things anyway. Once you near the end, pay the conductor in exact change as most people do not like to give change. Ever.
Safely arrive at your destination, disembark, pull the sweat-soaked shirt away from your back, and enjoy wherever you end up.

Hi. I had a lovely entry prepared, but then the computer crashed at the internet cafe, and the computer at the Peace Corps office isn't allowing me to copy or cut and paste. So, instead, you get this.

My host-mama had her beautiful baby boy. He is great, but may or may not be named Weidy or Melvin. I was pushing for Kennedy, but we'll see. Mama is ok, but had a C-Section, so she's still recovering. Surgeries can have a lot of complications here, so she's staying in Maputo.

I did and saw a few things:
1) I woke up to an over six inch long cockroach. I killed him. Is it weird that it was a little nice to wake up to another creature in my room in the morning?
2) I saw my little sister Mae pee on the sidewalk around our house. Now I know why my family insisted on me wearing sandals whenever I wasn't.
3)I heard my first war myth. It's that one of the fighting parties would tear unborn babes from the mother and pilar them (essentially, crushing something with a very large wooden mortar and pestle, usually used for peanut-flour production). Yuck.
4) I took a very solumn oath and am now in the position to defend you all (if you're American) from foreign or domestic enemies, and to defend the consistitution, come hell or high water!

okbye!