One Year Later

            In my first post to this blog, I wrote of how much I missed my Mozambican host family.  Finally, after a year at my site in Montepuez, I made it back to where I started this crazy adventure: Namaacha.

            I had been looking forward to this reunion from the moment I hugged my host-mãe good-ye the morning I swore in as an official Peace Corps volunteer. So, the first thing I did after settling in at the hostel in Maputo city was call my host-mãe.

“Hi, mom! I’m here!  I’m in Maputo!  Can I still come to visit you in Namaacha tomorrow?”

“Of course, Anna.  Your Portuguese is so much better.  I’m also in Maputo tonight.  Come to the station tomorrow at 8 and we’ll travel back together.”

            Only then did I realize that I had changed my phone number and not introduced myself when I called her.  Of course, she knew who was on the other end of the unknown number anyways.  Who else would call her sounding that excited and ridiculous?

            The next morning, I found myself with my backpack waiting for my host-mãe to come claim me, much like I did over a year ago.  This time, however, I wasn’t a bundle of nerves wondering what on Earth I’ve gotten myself into. When my host-mãe finally arrived to take me back to Namaacha, we exchanged a kiss on the cheek and true to the no-nonsense woman she is, she reverted right back to host-mãe mode and herded me into the nearest chapa to Namaacha.

            On the chapa ride, we caught up on school and my host-siblings before we both succumbed to traveler’s fatigue and took a nap.  When I woke up, I could see the spot where I knew Namaacha was nestled up in the green mountains.  Once in Namaacha, it was like I had never left.  I walked up the road to my family’s house and into the yard.  At first I didn’t see anyone, but I knew better.  A few seconds later, my host-pãe’s face popped up out of his garden, pretty much right where I left him a year ago.

            Half of free time in training was spent in one of two places:  On a tattered red pleather couch talking with my host-pãe, or in a plastic chair cooking over charcoal with my host-mãe.  While my host-mãe cleaned up from her trip, I plopped down on the couch across from my host-pãe.  Finally, I understood what he was saying and he understood what I was saying.  Amazing how much easier conversations are when you actually speak the same language.  As my host-mãe walked back in the room it only just occurred to me what a funny couple they were.  My host-pãe was all smiles and small talk while my host-mãe, though warm, was so stern in comparison.

            I excused myself from the living room and followed my host-mãe to my other perch next to the charcoal in the outdoor kitchen.  Quickly, we fried up some eggs and heat water for tea.  Meal number1.  Then, tirelessly, my host-mãe immediately started preparing lunch.  Like the first time your parents let you go to the playground by yourself, I knew I’d graduated when my host-mãe handed me some money and asked me to go down to a little store to buy the fish.  Of course, my ability to clean and gut those fish clearly hadn’t reached the level she thought it should have by then.  I didn’t admit to her how often I ate (more like didn’t eat…) fish at site.  The real reminder that I was back with my host family came just as we were finishing up the cooking.  My host-mãe told me to go take a bath before we ate.

            After lunch and what was definitely much too short a visit, I hugged my host parents good-bye and was back on my way to Maputo full and freshly bathed.